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Title: Lives of the Engineers

Author: Samuel Smiles

Release date: January 5, 2009 [eBook #27710]

Language: English

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Credits: This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIVES OF THE
ENGINEERS ***

This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.

LIVES
of the
ENGINEERS.

THE LOCOMOTIVE.

GEORGE AND ROBERT STEPHENSON.
BY SAMUEL SMILES,
author of ‘character,’ ‘self-help,’ etc.

“Bid Harbours open, Public Ways extend;
Bid Temples, worthier of God, ascend;
Bid the broad Arch the dang’rous flood contain,
The Mole projected break the roaring main,
Back to his bounds their subject sea command,
And roll obedient rivers through the land.
These honours, Peace to happy Britain brings;
These are imperial works, and worthy kings.”
Pope.

A NEW AND REVISED EDITION.

LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1879.
The right of Translation is reserved.

INTRODUCTION.

Since the appearance of this book in its original form, some seventeen years
since, the construction of Railways has continued to make extraordinary
progress. Although Great Britain, first in the field, had then, after about
twenty-five years’ work, expended nearly 300 millions sterling in the
construction of 8300 miles of railway, it has, during the last seventeen
years, expended about 288 millions more in constructing 7780 additional
miles.
But the construction of railways has proceeded with equal rapidity on the
Continent. France, Germany, Spain, Sweden, Belgium, Switzerland,
Holland, have largely added to their railway mileage. Austria is actively
engaged in carrying new lines across the plains of Hungary, which Turkey
is preparing to meet by lines carried up the valley of the Lower Danube.
Russia is also occupied with extensive schemes for connecting Petersburg
and Moscow with her ports in the Black Sea on the one hand, and with the
frontier towns of her Asiatic empire on the other.
Italy is employing her new-born liberty in vigorously extending railways
throughout her dominions. A direct line of communication has already been
opened between France and Italy, through the Mont Cenis Tunnel; while
another has been opened between Germany and Italy through the Brenner
Pass,—so that the entire journey may now be made by two different railway
routes (excepting only the short sea-passage across the English Channel)
from London to Brindisi, situated in the south-eastern extremity of the
Italian peninsula.
During the last sixteen years, nearly the whole of the Indian railways have
been made. When Edmund Burke, in 1783, arraigned the British
Government for their neglect of India in his speech on Mr. Fox’s Bill, he
said: “England has built no bridges, made no high roads, cut no navigations,

dug out no reservoirs. . . . Were we to be driven out of India this day,
nothing would remain to tell that it had been possessed, during the
inglorious period of our dominion, by anything better than the ourang-
outang or the tiger.”
But that reproach no longer exists. Some of the greatest bridges erected in
modern times—such as those over the Sone near Patna, and over the Jumna
at Allahabad—have been erected in connection with the Indian railways.
More than 5000 miles are now at work, and they have been constructed at
an expenditure of about £88,000,000 of British capital, guaranteed by the
British Government. The Indian railways connect the capitals of the three
Presidencies—uniting Bombay with Madras on the south, and with Calcutta
on the north-east—while a great main line, 2200 miles in extent, passing
through the north-western provinces, and connecting Calcutta with
Lucknow, Delhi, Lahore, Moultan, and Kurrachee, unites the mouths of the
Hooghly in the Bay of Bengal with those of the Indus in the Arabian Sea.
When the first edition of this work appeared, in the beginning of 1857, the
Canadian system of railways was but in its infancy. The Grand Trunk was
only begun, and the Victoria Bridge—the greatest of all railway structures
—was not half erected. The Colony of Canada has now more than 3000
miles in active operation along the great valley of the St. Lawrence,
connecting Rivière du Loup at the mouth of that river, and the harbour of
Portland in the State of Maine, viâ Montreal and Toronto, with Sarnia on
Lake Huron, and with Windsor, opposite Detroit in the State of Michigan.
During the same time the Australian Colonies have been actively engaged
in providing themselves with railways, many of which are at work, and
others are in course of formation. The Cape of Good Hope has several lines
open, and others making. France has constructed about 400 miles in
Algeria; while the Pasha of Egypt is the proprietor of 360 miles in operation
across the Egyptian desert. The Japanese are also making railroads.
But in no country has railway construction been prosecuted with greater
vigour than in the United States. There the railway furnishes not only the
means of intercommunication between already established settlements, as in
the Old World; but it is regarded as the pioneer of colonization, and as
instrumental in opening up new and fertile territories of vast extent in the
west,—the food-grounds of future nations. Hence railway construction in

that country was scarcely interrupted even by the great Civil War,—at the
commencement of which Mr. Seward publicly expressed the opinion that
“physical bonds—such as highways, railroads, rivers, and canals—are
vastly more powerful for holding civil communities together than any mere
covenants, though written on parchment or engraved on iron.”
The people of the United States were the first to follow the example of
England, after the practicability of steam locomotion had been proved on
the Stockton and Darlington, and Liverpool and Manchester Railways. The
first sod of the Baltimore and Ohio Railway was cut on the 4th of July,
1828, and the line was completed and opened for traffic in the following
year, when it was worked partly by horse-power, and partly by a locomotive
built at Baltimore, which is still preserved in the Company’s workshops. In
1830, the Hudson and Mohawk Railway was begun, while other lines were
under construction in Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and New Jersey; and in
the course of ten years, 1843 miles were finished and in operation. In ten
more years, 8827 miles were at work; at the end of 1864, 35,000 miles; and
at the 31st of December, 1873, not less than 70,651 miles were in operation,
of which 3916 had been made during that year. One of the most extensive
trunk-lines is the Great Pacific Railroad, connecting the lines in the valleys
of the Mississippi and the Missouri with the city of San Francisco on the
shores of the Pacific, by means of which it is possible to make the journey
from England to Hong Kong, via New York, in little more than a month.

The results of the working of railways have been in many respects different
from those anticipated by their projectors. One of the most unexpected has
been the growth of an immense passenger-traffic. The Stockton and
Darlington line was projected as a coal line only, and the Liverpool and
Manchester as a merchandise line. Passengers were not taken into account
as a source of revenue, for at the time of their projection, it was not believed
that people would trust themselves to be drawn upon a railway by an
“explosive machine,” as the locomotive was described to be. Indeed, a
writer of eminence declared that he would as soon think of being fired off
on a ricochet rocket, as travel on a railway at twice the speed of the old
stagecoaches. So great was the alarm which existed as to the locomotive,
that the Liverpool and Manchester Committee pledged themselves in their

second prospectus, issued in 1825, “not to require any clause empowering
its use;” and as late as 1829, the Newcastle and Carlisle Act was conceded
on the express condition that the line should not be worked by locomotives,
but by horses only.
Nevertheless, the Liverpool and Manchester Company obtained powers to
make and work their railway without any such restriction; and when the line
was made and opened, a locomotive passenger train was advertised to be
run upon it, by way of experiment. Greatly to the surprise of the directors,
more passengers presented themselves as travellers by the train than could
conveniently be carried.
The first arrangements as to passenger-traffic were of a very primitive
character, being mainly copied from the old stage-coach system. The
passengers were “booked” at the railway office, and their names were
entered in a way-bill which was given to the guard when the train started.
Though the usual stage-coach bugleman could not conveniently accompany
the passengers, the trains were at first played out of the terminal stations by
a lively tune performed by a trumpeter at the end of the platform; and this
continued to be done at the Manchester Station until a comparatively recent
date.
But the number of passengers carried by the Liverpool and Manchester line
was so unexpectedly great, that it was very soon found necessary to
remodel the entire system. Tickets were introduced, by which a great
saving of time was effected. More roomy and commodious carriages were
provided, the original first-class compartments being seated for four
passengers only. Everything was found to have been in the first instance
made too light and too slight. The prize ‘Rocket,’ which weighed only 4½
tons when loaded with its coke and water, was found quite unsuited for
drawing the increasingly heavy loads of passengers. There was also this
essential difference between the old stage-coach and the new railway train,
that, whereas the former was “full” with six inside and ten outside, the latter
must be able to accommodate whatever number of passengers came to be
carried. Hence heavier and more powerful engines, and larger and more
substantial carriages were from time to time added to the carrying stock of
the railway.

The speed of the trains was also increased. The first locomotives used in
hauling coal-trains ran at from four to six miles an hour. On the Stockton
and Darlington line the speed was increased to about ten miles an hour; and
on the Liverpool and Manchester line the first passenger-trains were run at
the average speed of seventeen miles an hour, which at that time was
considered very fast. But this was not enough. When the London and
Birmingham line was opened, the mail-trains were run at twenty-three miles
an hour; and gradually the speed went up, until now the fast trains are run at
from fifty to sixty miles an hour,—the pistons in the cylinders, at sixty
miles, travelling at the inconceivable rapidity of 800 feet per minute!
To bear the load of heavy engines run at high speeds, a much stronger and
heavier road was found necessary; and shortly after the opening of the
Liverpool and Manchester line, it was entirely relaid with stronger
materials. Now that express passenger-engines are from thirty to thirty-five
tons each, the weight of the rails has been increased from 35 lbs. to 75 lbs.
or 86 lbs. to the yard. Stone blocks have given place to wooden sleepers;
rails with loose ends resting on the chairs, to rails with their ends firmly
“fished” together; and in many places, where the traffic is unusually heavy,
iron rails have been replaced by those of steel.
And now see the enormous magnitude to which railway passenger-traffic
has grown. In the year 1873, 401,465,086 passengers were carried by day
tickets in Great Britain alone. But this was not all. For in that year 257,470
periodical tickets were issued by the different railways; and assuming half
of them to be annual, one-fourth half-yearly, and the remainder quarterly
tickets, and that their holders made only five journeys each way weekly,
this would give an additional number of 47,024,000 journeys, or a total of
448,489,086 passengers carried in Great Britain in one year.
It is difficult to grasp the idea of the enormous number of persons
represented by these figures. The mind is merely bewildered by them, and
can form no adequate notion of their magnitude. To reckon them singly
would occupy twenty-five years, counting at the rate of one a second for
twelve hours every day. Or take another illustration. Supposing every man,
woman, and child in Great Britain to make ten journeys by rail yearly, the
number would greatly fall short of the passengers carried in 1873.

Mr. Porter, in his ‘Progress of the Nation,’ estimated that thirty millions of
passengers, or about eighty-two thousand a day, travelled by coaches in
Great Britain in 1834, an average distance of twelve miles each, at an
average cost of 5s. a passenger, or at the rate of 5d. a mile; whereas above
448 millions are now carried by railway an average distance of 8½ miles
each, at an average cost of 1s. 1½d. per passenger, or about three halfpence
per mile, in considerably less than one-fourth of the time.
But besides the above number of passengers, over one hundred and sixty-
two million tons of minerals and merchandise were carried by railway in
the United Kingdom in 1873, besides mails, cattle, parcels, and other
traffic. The distance run by passenger and goods trains in the year was
162,561,304 miles; to accomplish which it is estimated that four miles of
railway must have been covered by running trains during every second all
the year round.
To perform this service, there were, in 1873, 11,255 locomotives at work in
the United Kingdom, consuming about four million tons of coal and coke,
and flashing into the air every minute some forty tons of water in the form
of steam in a high state of elasticity. There were also 24,644 passenger-
carriages, 9128 vans and breaks attached to passenger-trains, and 329,163
trucks, waggons, and other vehicles appropriated to merchandise. Buckled
together, buffer to buffer, the locomotives and tenders would extend from
London to Peterborough; while the carrying vehicles, joined together,
would form two trains occupying a double line of railway extending from
London to beyond Inverness.
A notable feature in the growth of railway traffic of late years has been the
increase in the number of third-class passengers, compared with first and
second class. Sixteen years since, the third-class passengers constituted
only about one-third; ten years later, they were about one-half; whereas now
they form more than three-fourths of the whole number carried. In 1873,
there were about 23 million first-class passengers, 62 million second-class,
and not less than 306 million third-class. Thus George Stephenson’s
prediction, “that the time would come when it would be cheaper for a
working man to make a journey by railway than to walk on foot,” is already
verified.

The degree of safety with which this great traffic has been conducted is not
the least remarkable of its features. Of course, so long as railways are
worked by men they will be liable to the imperfections belonging to all
things human. Though their machinery may be perfect and their
organisation as complete as skill and forethought can make it, workmen will
at times be forgetful and listless; and a moment’s carelessness may lead to
the most disastrous results. Yet, taking all circumstances into account, the
wonder is, that travelling by railway at high speed should have been
rendered comparatively so safe.
To be struck by lightning is one of the rarest of all causes of death; yet more
persons are killed by lightning in Great Britain than are killed on railways
from causes beyond their own control. Most persons would consider the
probability of their dying by hanging to be extremely remote; yet, according
to the Registrar-General’s returns, it is considerably greater than that of
being killed by railway accident.
The remarkable safety with which railway traffic is on the whole conducted,
is due to constant watchfulness and highly-applied skill. The men who
work the railways are for the most part the picked men of the country, and
every railway station may be regarded as a practical school of industry,
attention, and punctuality.
Few are aware of the complicated means and agencies that are in constant
operation on railways day and night, to ensure the safety of the passengers
to their journey’s end. The road is under a system of continuous
inspection. The railway is watched by foremen, with “gangs” of men under
them, in lengths varying from twelve to five miles, according to
circumstances. Their continuous duty is to see that the rails and chairs are
sound, their fastenings complete, and the line clear of all obstructions.
Then, at all the junctions, sidings, and crossings, pointsmen are stationed,
with definite instructions as to the duties to be performed by them. At these
places, signals are provided, worked from the station platforms, or from
special signal boxes, for the purpose of protecting the stopping or passing
trains. When the first railways were opened, the signals were of a very
simple kind. The station men gave them with their arms stretched out in
different positions; then flags of different colours were used; next fixed

signals, with arms or discs of rectangular or triangular shape. These were
followed by a complete system of semaphore signals, near and distant,
protecting all junctions, sidings, and crossings.
When Government inspectors were first appointed by the Board of Trade to
examine and report upon the working of railways, they were alarmed by the
number of trains following each other at some stations, in what then seemed
to be a very rapid succession. A passage from a Report written in 1840 by
Sir Frederick Smith, as to the traffic at “Taylor’s Junction,” on the York and
North Midland Railway, contrasts curiously with the railway life and
activity of the present day:—“Here,” wrote the alarmed Inspector, “the
passenger trains from York as well as Leeds and Selby, meet four times a
day. No less than 23 passenger-trains stop at or pass this station in the 21
hours—an amount of traffic requiring not only the utmost perfect
arrangements on the part of the management, but the utmost vigilance and
energy in the servants of the Company employed at this place.”
Contrast this with the state of things now. On the Metropolitan Line, 667
trains pass a given point in one direction or the other during the eighteen
hours of the working day, or an average of 36 trains an hour. At the Cannon
Street Station of the South-Eastern Railway, 627 trains pass in and out daily,
many of them crossing each other’s tracks under the protection of the
station-signals. Forty-five trains run in and out between 9 and 10 a.m., and
an equal number between 4 and 5 p.m. Again, at the Clapham Junction, near
London, about 700 trains pass or stop daily; and though to the casual
observer the succession of trains coming and going, running and stopping,
coupling and shunting, appears a scene of inextricable confusion and
danger, the whole is clearly intelligible to the signalmen in their boxes, who
work the trains in and out with extraordinary precision and regularity.
The inside of a signal-box reminds one of a pianoforte on a large scale, the
lever-handles corresponding with the keys of the instrument; and, to an
uninstructed person, to work the one would be as difficult as to play a tune
on the other. The signal-box outside Cannon Street Station contains 67
lever-handles, by means of which the signalmen are enabled at the same
moment to communicate with the drivers of all the engines on the line
within an area of 800 yards. They direct by signs, which are quite as
intelligible as words, the drivers of the trains starting from inside the

station, as well as those of the trains arriving from outside. By pulling a
lever-handle, a distant signal, perhaps out of sight, is set some hundred
yards off, which the approaching driver—reading it quickly as he comes
along—at once interprets, and stops or advances as the signal may direct.
The precision and accuracy of the signal-machinery employed at important
stations and junctions have of late years been much improved by an
ingenious contrivance, by means of which the setting of the signal prepares
the road for the coming train. When the signal is set at “Danger,” the points
are at the same time worked, and the road is “locked” against it; and when
at “Safety,” the road is open,—the signal and the points exactly
corresponding.
The Electric Telegraph has also been found a valuable auxiliary in ensuring
the safe working of large railway traffics. Though the locomotive may run
at 60 miles an hour, electricity, when at its fastest, travels at the rate of
288,000 miles a second, and is therefore always able to herald the coming
train. The electric telegraph may, indeed, be regarded as the nervous
system of the railway. By its means the whole line is kept throbbing with
intelligence. The method of working the electric signals varies on different
lines; but the usual practice is, to divide a line into so many lengths, each
protected by its signal-stations,—the fundamental law of telegraph-working
being, that two engines are not to be allowed to run on the same line
between two signal-stations at the same time.
When a train passes one of such stations, it is immediately signalled on—
usually by electric signal-bells—to the station in advance, and that interval
of railway is “blocked” until the signal has been received from the station in
advance that the train has passed it. Thus an interval of space is always
secured between trains following each other, which are thereby alike
protected before and behind. And thus, when a train starts on a journey, it
may be of hundreds of miles, it is signalled on from station to station—it
“lives along the line,”—until at length it reaches its destination and the last
signal of “train in” is given. By this means an immense number of trains
can be worked with regularity and safety. On the South-Eastern Railway,
where the system has been brought to a state of high efficiency, it is no
unusual thing during Easter week to send 600,000 passengers through the

London Bridge Station alone; and on some days as many as 1200 trains a-
day.
While such are the expedients adopted to ensure safety, others equally
ingenious are adopted to ensure speed. In the case of express and mail
trains, the frequent stopping of the engines to take in a fresh supply of water
occasions a considerable loss of time on a long journey, each stoppage for
this purpose occupying from ten to fifteen minutes. To avoid such
stoppages, larger tenders have been provided, capable of carrying as much
as 2000 gallons of water each. But as a considerable time is occupied in
filling these, a plan has been contrived by Mr. Ramsbottom, the Locomotive
Engineer of the London and North-Western Railway, by which the engines
are made to feed themselves while running at full speed! The plan is as
follows:—An open trough, about 440 feet long, is laid longitudinally
between the rails. Into this trough, which is filled with water, a dip-pipe or
scoop attached to the bottom of the tender of the running train is lowered;
and, at a speed of 50 miles an hour, as much as 1070 gallons of water are
scooped up in the course of a few minutes. The first of such troughs was
laid down between Chester and Holyhead, to enable the Express Mail to run
the distance of 841 miles in two hours and five minutes without stopping;
and similar troughs have since been laid down at Bushey near London, at
Castlethorpe near Wolverton, and at Parkside near Liverpool. At these four
troughs about 130,000 gallons of water are scooped up daily.
Wherever railways have been made, new towns have sprung up, and old
towns and cities been quickened into new life. When the first English lines
were projected, great were the prophecies of disaster to the inhabitants of
the districts through which they were proposed to be forced. Such fears
have long since been dispelled in this country. The same prejudices existed
in France. When the railway from Paris to Marseilles was laid out so as to
pass through Lyons, a local prophet predicted that if the line were made the
city would be ruined—“Ville traversée, ville perdue;” while a local priest
denounced the locomotive and the electric telegraph as heralding the reign
of Antichrist. But such nonsense is no longer uttered. Now it is the city
without the railway that is regarded as the “city lost;” for it is in a measure
shut out from the rest of the world, and left outside the pale of civilisation.

Perhaps the most striking of all the illustrations that could be offered of the
extent to which railways facilitate the locomotion, the industry, and the
subsistence of the population of large towns and cities, is afforded by the
working of the railway system in connection with the capital of Great
Britain.
The extension of railways to London has been of comparatively recent date;
the whole of the lines connecting it with the provinces and terminating at its
outskirts, having been opened during the last thirty years, while the lines
inside London have for the most part been opened within the last sixteen
years.
The first London line was the Greenwich Railway, part of which was
opened for traffic to Deptford in February 1836. The working of this
railway was first exhibited as a show, and the usual attractions were
employed to make it “draw.” A band of musicians in the garb of the Beef-
eaters was stationed at the London end, and another band at Deptford. For
cheapness’ sake the Deptford band was shortly superseded by a large barrel-
organ, which played in the passengers; but, when the traffic became
established, the barrel organ, as well as the beef-eater band at the London
end, were both discontinued. The whole length of the line was lit up at
night by a row of lamps on either side like a street, as if to enable the
locomotives or the passengers to see their way in the dark; but these lamps
also were eventually discontinued as unnecessary.
As a show, the Greenwich Railway proved tolerably successful. During the
first eleven months it carried 456,750 passengers, or an average of about
1300 a-day. But the railway having been found more convenient to the
public than either the river boats or the omnibuses, the number of
passengers rapidly increased. When the Croydon, Brighton, and South-
Eastern Railways began to pour their streams of traffic over the Greenwich
viaduct, its accommodation was found much too limited; and it was
widened from time to time, until now nine lines of railway are laid side by
side, over which more than twenty millions of passengers are carried yearly,
or an average of about 60,000 a day all the year round.
Since the partial opening of the Greenwich Railway in 1836, a large extent
of railways has been constructed in and about the metropolis, and

convenient stations have been established almost in the heart of the City.
Sixteen of these stations are within a circle of half a mile radius from the
Mansion House, and above three hundred stations are in actual use within
about five miles of Charing Cross.
To accommodate this vast traffic, not fewer than 3600 local trains are run in
and out daily, besides 340 trains which depart to and arrive from distant
places, north, south, east, and west. In the morning hours, between 8.30
and 10.30, when business men are proceeding inwards to their offices and
counting-houses, and in the afternoon between four and six, when they are
returning outwards to their homes, as many as two thousand stoppages are
made in the hour, within the metropolitan district, for the purpose of taking
up and setting down passengers, while about two miles of railway are
covered by the running trains.
One of the remarkable effects of railways has been to extend the residential
area of all large towns and cities. This is especially notable in the case of
London. Before the introduction of railways, the residential area of the
metropolis was limited by the time occupied by business men in making the
journey outwards and inwards daily; and it was for the most part bounded
by Bow on the east, by Hampstead and Highgate on the north, by
Paddington and Kensington on the west, and by Clapham and Brixton on
the south. But now that stations have been established near the centre of the
city, and places so distant as Waltham, Barnet, Watford, Hanwell,
Richmond, Epsom, Croydon, Reigate, and Erith, can be more quickly
reached by rail than the old suburban quarters were by omnibus, the
metropolis has become extended in all directions along its railway lines,
and the population of London, instead of living in the City or its immediate
vicinity, as formerly, have come to occupy a residential area of not less than
six hundred square miles!
The number of new towns which have consequently sprung into existence
near London within the last twenty years has been very great; towns
numbering from ten to twenty thousand inhabitants, which before were but
villages,—if, indeed, they existed. This has especially been the case along
the lines south of the Thames, principally in consequence of the termini of
those lines being more conveniently situated for city men of business.
Hence the rapid growth of the suburban towns up and down the river, from

Richmond and Staines on the west, to Erith and Gravesend on the east, and
the hives of population which have settled on the high grounds south of the
Thames, in the neighbourhood of Norwood and the Crystal Palace, rapidly
spreading over the Surrey Downs, from Wimbledon to Guildford, and from
Bromley to Croydon, Epsom, and Dorking. And now that the towns on the
south and south-east coast can be reached by city men in little more time
than it takes to travel to Clapham or Bayswater by omnibus, such places
have become as it were parts of the great metropolis, and Brighton and
Hastings are but the marine suburbs of London.
The improved state of the communications of the City with the country has
had a marked effect upon its population. While the action of the railways
has been to add largely to the number of persons living in London, it has
also been accompanied by their dispersion over a much larger area. Thus
the population of the central parts of London is constantly decreasing,
whereas that of the suburban districts is as constantly increasing. The
population of the City fell off more than 10,000 between 1851 and 1861;
and during the same period, that of Holborn, the Strand, St. Martin’s-in-the-
Fields, St. James’s, Westminster, East and West London, showed a
considerable decrease. But, as regards the whole mass of the metropolitan
population, the increase has been enormous. Thus, starting from 1801,
when the population of London was 958,863, we find it increasing in each
decennial period at the rate of between two and three hundred thousand,
until the year 1841, when it amounted to 1,948,369. Railways had by that
time reached London, after which its population increased at nearly double
the former ratio. In the ten years ending 1851, the increase was 513,867;
and in the ten years ending 1861, 441,753: until now, to quote the words of
the Registrar-General in a recent annual Report, “the population within the
registration limits is by estimate 2,993,513; but beyond this central mass
there is a ring of life growing rapidly, and extending along railway lines
over a circle of fifteen miles from Charing Cross. The population within
that circle, patrolled by the metropolitan police, is about 3,463,771”!
The aggregation of so vast a number of persons within so comparatively
limited an area—the immense quantity of food required for their daily
sustenance, as well as of fuel, clothing, and other necessaries—would be
attended with no small inconvenience and danger, but for the facilities again
provided by the railways. The provisioning of a garrison of even four

thousand men is considered a formidable affair; how much more so the
provisioning of nearly four millions of people!
The whole mystery is explained by the admirable organisation of the
railway service, and the regularity and despatch with which it is conducted.
We are enabled by the courtesy of the General Managers of the London
railways to bring together the following brief summary of facts relating to
the food supply of London, which will probably be regarded by most
readers as of a very remarkable character.
Generally speaking, the railways to the south of the Thames contribute
comparatively little towards the feeding of London. They are, for the most
part passenger and residential lines, traversing a limited and not very fertile
district bounded by the sea-coast; and, excepting in fruit and vegetables,
milk and hops, they probably carry more food from London than they bring
to it. The principal supplies of grain, flour, potatoes, and fish, are brought
by railway from the eastern counties of England and Scotland; and of cattle
and sheep, beef and mutton, from the grazing counties of the west and
north-west of Britain, as far as the Highlands of Scotland, which have,
through the instrumentality of railways, become part of the great grazing
grounds of the metropolis.
Take first “the staff of life”—bread and its constituents. Of wheat, not less
than 222,080 quarters were brought into London by railway in 1867,
besides what was brought by sea; of oats 151,757 quarters; of barley 70,282
quarters; of beans and peas 51,448 quarters. Of the wheat and barley, by far
the largest proportion is brought by the Great Eastern Railway, which
delivers in London in one year 155,000 quarters of wheat and 45,500
quarters of barley, besides 600,429 quarters more in the form of malt. The
largest quantity of oats is brought by the Great Northern Railway,
principally from the north of England and the East of Scotland,—the
quantity delivered by that Company in 1867 having been 97,500 quarters,
besides 24,664 quarters of wheat, 5560 quarters of barley, and 103,917
quarters of malt. Again, of 1,250,566 sacks of flour and meal delivered in
London in one year, the Great Eastern brings 654,000 sacks, the Great
Northern 232,022 sacks, and the Great Western 136,312 sacks; the principal
contribution of the London and North-Western Railway towards the London
bread-stores being 100,760 boxes of American flour, besides 24,300 sacks

of English. The total quantity of malt delivered at the London railway
stations in 1867 was thirteen hundred thousand sacks.
Next, as to flesh meat. In 1867, not fewer than 172,300 head of cattle were
brought to London by railway,—though this was considerably less than the
number carried before the cattle-plague, the Great Eastern Railway alone
having carried 44,672 less than in 1864. But this loss has since been more
than made up by the increased quantities of fresh beef, mutton, and other
kinds of meat imported in lieu of the live animals. The principal supplies of
cattle are brought, as we have said, by the Western, Northern, and Eastern
lines: by the Great Western from the western counties and Ireland; by the
London and North-Western, the Midland, and the Great Northern from the
northern counties and from Scotland; and by the Great Eastern from the
eastern counties and from the ports of Harwich and Lowestoft.
In 1867, also, 1,147,609 sheep were brought to London by railway, of
which the Great Eastern delivered not less than 265,371 head. The London
and North-Western and Great Northern between them brought 390,000 head
from the northern English counties, with a large proportion from the Scotch
Highlands. While the Great Western brought up 130,000 head from the
Welsh mountains and from the rich grazing districts of Wilts, Gloucester,
Somerset, and Devon. Another important freight of the London and North-
Western Railway consists of pigs, of which they delivered 54,700 in
London, principally Irish; while the Great Eastern brought up 27,500 of the
same animal, partly foreign.
While the cattle-plague had the effect of greatly reducing the number of live
stock brought into London yearly, it gave a considerable impetus to the
Fresh Meat traffic. Thus, in addition to the above large numbers of cattle
and sheep delivered in London in 1867, the railways brought 76,175 tons of
meat, which—taking the meat of an average beast at 800 lbs., and of an
average sheep at 64 lbs.—would be equivalent to about 112,000 more
cattle, and 1,267,500 more sheep. The Great Northern brought the largest
quantity; next the London and North-Western;—these two Companies
having brought up between them, from distances as remote as Aberdeen and
Inverness, about 42,000 tons of fresh meat in 1867, at an average freight of
about ½d. a lb.

Again as regards Fish, of which six-tenths of the whole quantity consumed
in London is now brought by rail. The Great Eastern and the Great
Northern are by far the largest importers of this article, and justify their
claim to be regarded as the great food lines of London. Of the 61,358 tons
of fish brought by railway in 1867, not less than 24,500 tons were delivered
by the former, and 22,000 tons, brought from much longer distances, by the
latter Company. The London and North-Western brought about 6000 tons,
the principal part of which was salmon from Scotland and Ireland. The
Great Western also brought about 4000 tons, partly salmon, but the greater
part mackerel from the south-west coast. During the mackerel season, as
much as a hundred tons at a time are brought into the Paddington Station by
express fish-train from Cornwall.
The Great Eastern and Great Northern Companies are also the principal
carriers of turkeys, geese, fowls, and game; the quantity delivered in
London by the former Company having been 5042 tons. In Christmas week
no fewer than 30,000 turkeys and geese were delivered at the Bishopsgate
Station, besides about 300 tons of poultry, 10,000 barrels of beer, and
immense quantities of fish, oysters, and other kinds of food. As much as
1600 tons of poultry and game were brought last year by the South-Western
Railway; 600 tons by the Great Northern Railway; and 130 tons of turkeys,
geese, and fowls, by the London, Chatham and Dover line, principally from
France.
Of miscellaneous articles, the Great Northern and the Midland each brought
about 3000 tons of cheese, the South-Western 2600 tons, and the London
and North-Western 10,034 cheeses in number; while the South-Western and
Brighton lines brought a splendid contribution to the London breakfast-
table in the shape of 11,259 tons of French eggs; these two Companies
delivering between them an average of more than three millions of eggs a
week all the year round! The same Companies delivered in London 14,819
tons of butter, for the most part the produce of the farms of Normandy,—the
greater cleanness and neatness with which the Normandy butter is prepared
for market rendering it a favourite both with dealers and consumers of late
years compared with Irish butter. The London, Chatham and Dover
Company also brought from Calais 96 tons of eggs.

Next, as to the potatoes, vegetables, and fruit, brought by rail. Forty years
since, the inhabitants of London relied for their supply of vegetables on the
garden-grounds in the immediate neighbourhood of the metropolis, and the
consequence was that they were both very dear and limited in quantity. But
railways, while they have extended the grazing-grounds of London as far as
the Highlands, have at the same time extended the garden-grounds of
London into all the adjoining counties—into East Kent, Essex, Suffolk, and
Norfolk, the vale of Gloucester, and even as far as Penzance in Cornwall.
The London, Chatham and Dover, one of the youngest of our main lines,
brought up from East Kent in 1867 5279 tons of potatoes, 1046 tons of
vegetables, and 5386 tons of fruit, besides 542 tons of vegetables from
France. The South-Eastern brought 25,163 tons of the same produce. The
Great Eastern brought from the eastern counties 21,315 tons of potatoes,
and 3596 tons of vegetables and fruit; while the Great Northern brought no
less than 78,505 tons of potatoes—a large part of them from the east of
Scotland—and 3768 tons of vegetables and fruit. About 6000 tons of early
potatoes were brought from Cornwall, with about 5000 tons of broccoli, and
the quantities are steadily increasing. “Truly London hath a large belly,”
said old Fuller, two hundred years since. But how much more capacious is
it now!
One of the most striking illustrations of the utility of railways in
contributing to the supply of wholesome articles of food to the population
of large cities, is to be found in the rapid growth of the traffic in Milk.
Readers of newspapers may remember the descriptions published some
years since of the horrid dens in which London cows were penned, and of
the odious compound sold by the name of milk, of which the least
deleterious ingredient in it was supplied by the “cow with the iron tail.”
That state of affairs is now completely changed. What with the greatly
improved state of the London dairies and the better quality of the milk
supplied by them, together with the large quantities brought by railway
from a range of a hundred miles and more all round London, even the
poorest classes in the metropolis are now enabled to obtain as wholesome a
supply of the article as the inhabitants of most country towns.
These great streams of food, which we have thus so summarily described,
flow into London so continuously and uninterruptedly, that comparatively
few persons are aware of the magnitude and importance of the process thus

daily going forward. Though gathered from an immense extent of country
—embracing England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland—the influx is so
unintermitted that it is relied upon with as much certainty as if it only came
from the counties immediately adjoining London. The express meat-train
from Aberdeen arrives in town as punctually as the Clapham omnibus, and
the express milk-train from Aylesbury is as regular in its delivery as the
penny post. Indeed London now depends so much upon railways for its
subsistence, that it may be said to be fed by them from day to day, having
never more than a few days’ food in stock. And the supply is so regular and
continuous, that the possibility of its being interrupted never for a moment
occurs to any one. Yet in these days of strikes amongst workmen, such a
contingency is quite within the limits of possibility. Another contingency,
which might arise during a state of war, is probably still more remote. But
were it possible for a war to occur between England and a combination of
foreign powers possessed of stronger ironclads than ours, and that they
were able to ram our ships back into port and land an enemy of
overpowering force on the Essex coast, it would be sufficient for them to
occupy or cut the railways leading from the north, to starve London into
submission in less than a fortnight.
Besides supplying London with food, railways have also been instrumental
in ensuring the more regular and economical supply of fuel,—a matter of
almost as vital importance to the population in a climate such as that of
England. So long as the market was supplied with coal brought by sea in
sailing ships, fuel in winter often rose to a famine price, especially during
long-continued easterly winds. But now that railways are in full work, the
price is almost as steady in winter as in summer, and (but for strikes) the
supply is more regular at all seasons.
But the carriage of food and fuel to London forms but a small part of the
merchandise traffic carried by railway. Above 600,000 tons of goods of
various kinds yearly pass through one station only, that of the London and
North-Western Company, at Camden Town; and sometimes as many as
20,000 parcels daily. Every other metropolitan station is similarly alive
with traffic inwards and outwards, London having since the introduction of
railways become more than ever a great distributive centre, to which
merchandise of all kinds converges, and from which it is distributed to all
parts of the country. Mr. Bazley, M.P., stated at a late public meeting at

Manchester, that it would probably require ten millions of horses to convey
by road the merchandise traffic which is now annually carried by railway.
Railways have also proved of great value in connection with the Cheap
Postage system. By their means it has become possible to carry letters,
newspapers, books and post parcels, in any quantity, expeditiously, and
cheaply. The Liverpool and Manchester line was no sooner opened in 1830,
than the Post Office authorities recognised its utility, and used it for
carrying the mails between the two towns. When the London and
Birmingham line was opened eight years later, mail trains were at once put
on,—the directors undertaking to perform the distance of 113 miles within 5
hours by day and 5½ hours by night. As additional lines were opened, the
old four-horse mail coaches were gradually discontinued, until in 1858, the
last of them, the “Derby Dilly,” which ran between Manchester and Derby,
was taken off on the opening of the Midland line to Rowsley.
The increased accommodation provided by railways was found of essential
importance, more particularly after the adoption of the Cheap Postage
system; and that such accommodation was needed will be obvious from the
extraordinary increase which has taken place in the number of letters and
packets sent by post. Thus, in 1839, the number of chargeable letters
carried was only 76 millions, and of newspapers 44½ millions; whereas, in
1865, the numbers of letters had increased to 720 millions, and in 1867 to
775 millions, or more than ten-fold, while the number of newspapers,
books, samples and patterns (a new branch of postal business began in
1864) had increased, in 1865, to 98½ millions.
To accommodate this largely-increasing traffic, the bulk of which is carried
by railway, the mileage run by mail trains in the United Kingdom has
increased from 25,000 miles a day in 1854 (the first year of which we have
any return of the mileage run) to 60,000 miles a day in 1867, or an increase
of 240 per cent. The Post Office expenditure on railway service has also
increased, but not in like proportion, having been £364,000 in the former
year, and £559,575 in the latter, or an increase of 154 per cent. The
revenue, gross and net, has increased still more rapidly. In 1841, the first
complete year of the Cheap Postage system, the gross revenue was
£1,359,466 and the net revenue £500,789; in 1854, the gross revenue was
£2,574,407, and the net revenue £1,173,723; and in 1867, the gross revenue

was £4,548,129, and the net revenue £2,127,125, being an increase of 420
per cent. compared with 1841, and of 180 per cent. compared with 1854.
How much of this net increase might fairly be credited to the Railway
Postal service we shall not pretend to say; but assuredly the proportion must
be very considerable.
One of the great advantages of railways in connection with the postal
service is the greatly increased frequency of communication which they
provide between all the large towns. Thus Liverpool has now six deliveries
of Manchester letters daily; while every large town in the kingdom has two
or more deliveries of London letters daily. In 1863, 393 towns had two
mails daily from London; 50 had three mails daily; 7 had four mails a day
from London, and 15 had four mails a day to London; while 3 towns had
five mails a day from London, and 6 had five mails a day to London.
Another feature of the railway mail train, as of the passenger train, is its
capacity to carry any quantity of letters and post parcels that may require to
be carried. In 1838, the aggregate weight of all the evening mails
despatched from London by twenty-eight mail coaches was 4 tons 6 cwt., or
an average of about 3¼ cwt. each, though the maximum contract weight
was 15 cwt. The mails now are necessarily much heavier, the number of
letters and packets having, as we have seen, increased more than ten-fold
since 1839. But it is not the ordinary so much as the extraordinary mails
that are of considerable weight,—more particularly the American, the
Continental, and the Australian mails. It is no unusual thing, we are
informed, for the last-mentioned mail to weigh as much as 40 tons. How
many of the old mail coaches it would take to carry such a mail the 79 miles
journey to Southampton, with a relay of four horses every five or seven
miles, is a problem for the arithmetician to solve. But even supposing each
coach to be loaded to the maximum weight of 15 cwt. per coach, it would
require about sixty vehicles and about 1700 horses to carry the 40 tons,
besides the coachman and guards.
Whatever may be said of the financial management of railways, there can
be no doubt as to the great benefits conferred by them on the public
wherever made. Even those railways which have exhibited the most
“frightful examples” of financing and jobbing, have been found to prove of
unquestionable public convenience and utility. And notwithstanding all the

faults and imperfections that have been alleged against railways, we think
that they must, nevertheless, be recognised as by far the most valuable
means of communication between men and nations that has yet been given
to the world.
The author’s object in publishing this book in its original form, was to
describe, in connection with the ‘Life of George Stephenson,’ the origin and
progress of the railway system,—to show by what moral and material
agencies its founders were enabled to carry their ideas into effect, and work
out results which even then were of a remarkable character, though they
have since, as above described, become so much more extraordinary. The
favour with which successive editions of the book have been received, has
justified the author in his anticipation that such a narrative would prove of
general, if not of permanent interest.
The book was written with the concurrence and assistance of Robert
Stephenson, who also supplied the necessary particulars relating to himself.
Such portions of these were accordingly embodied in the narrative as could
with propriety be published during his lifetime, and the remaining portions
have since been added, with the object of rendering more complete the
record of the son’s life as well as of the early history of the Railway system.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
Newcastle and the Great Northern Coal-Fields.
The colliery districts of the North—Newcastle-upon-Tyne in ancient Pages
times—The Roman settlement—Social insecurity in the Middle 1–11
Ages—Northumberland roads—The coal-trade—Modern Newcastle
—Coal haulage—Early waggon-roads, tram-roads, and railways—
Machinery of coal-mines—Newcomen’s fire-engine—The colliers,
their character and habits—Coal-staiths—The keelmen
CHAPTER II.
Wylam and Dewley Burn—George Stephenson’s Early Years.
Wylam Colliery and village—George Stephenson’s birth-place—His 12–
parents—The Stephenson family—Old Robert Stephenson— 30
George’s boyhood—Dewley Burn Colliery—Sister Nell’s bonnet—
Employed as a herd-boy—Makes clay engines—Follows the plough
—Employed as corf-bitter—Drives the gin-horse—Black Callerton
Colliery—Love of animals—Made assistant-fireman—Old Robert
and family shift their home—Jolly’s Close, Newburn—Family
earnings—George as fireman—His athletic feats—Throckley Bridge
—“A made man for life!”—Appointed engineman—Studies his
engine—Experiments in egg-hatching—Puts himself to school, and
learns to read—His schoolmasters—Progress in arithmetic—His dog
—Learns to brake—Brakesman at Black Callerton—Duties of
brakesman—Begins shoe-making—Fanny Henderson—Saves his
first guinea—Fight with a pitman
CHAPTER III.
Engineman at Willington Quay and Killingworth.

Sobriety and studiousness—Inventiveness—Removes to Willington 31–
Quay—Marries Fanny Henderson—Their cottage at Willington— 46
Attempts at perpetual motion—William Fairbairn and George
Stephenson—Ballast-heaving—Chimney on fire, and clock-cleaning
—Birth of Robert Stephenson—George removes to West Moor,
Killingworth—Death of his wife—Engineman at Montrose, Scotland
—His pump-boot—Saves money—His return to Killingworth—
Brakesman at West Moor—Is drawn for the Militia—Thinks of
emigrating to America—Takes a contract for brakeing engines—
Improves the winding-engine—Cures a pumping-engine—Becomes
famous as an engine-doctor—Appointed engine-wright of a colliery
CHAPTER IV.
The Stephensons at Killingworth—Education and Self-Education of
Father and Son.
George Stephenson’s self-improvement—John Wigham—Studies in 47–
Natural Philosophy—Sobriety—Education of Robert Stephenson— 62
Sent to Rutter’s school, Benton—Bruce’s school, Newcastle—
Literary and Philosophical Institute—George educates his son in
Mechanics—Ride to Killingworth—Robert’s boyish tricks—Repeats
the Franklin kite-experiment—Stephenson’s cottage, West Moor—
Odd mechanical expedients—Competition in last-making—Father
and son make a sun-dial—Colliery improvements—Stephenson’s
mechanical expertness
CHAPTER V.
Early History of the Locomotive—George Stephenson begins its
Improvement.

Various expedients for coal-haulage—Sailing-waggons—Mr. 63–
Edgworth’s experiments—Cugnot’s first locomotive steam-carriage 88
—Murdock’s model locomotive—Trevithick’s steam-carriage and
tram-engine—Blenkinsop’s engine—Chapman and Brunton’s
locomotives—The Wylam waggon-way—Mr. Blackett’s
experiments—Jonathan Foster—William Hedley—The Wylam
engine—Stephenson determines to build a locomotive—Lord
Ravensworth—The first Killingworth engine described—The steam-
blast invented—Stephenson’s second locomotive
CHAPTER VI.
Invention of the “Geordy” Safety-Lamp.
Frequency of colliery explosions—Accident in the Killingworth Pit 89–
—Stephenson’s heroic conduct—A safety-lamp described—Dr. 108
Clanny’s lamp—Stephenson’s experiments on fire-damp—Designs a
lamp, and tests it in the pit—Cottage experiments with coal-gas—
Stephenson’s second and third lamps—The Stephenson and Davy
controversy—Scene at the Newcastle Institute—The Davy
testimonial—The Stephenson testimonial—Merits of the “Geordy”
lamp
CHAPTER VII.
George Stephenson’s further Improvements in the Locomotive—The
Hetton Railway—Robert Stephenson as Viewer’s Apprentice and
Student.
The Killingworth mine machinery—Stephenson improves his 109–
locomotive—Strengthens the road—His patent—His steam-springs 122
—Experiments on friction—Steam-locomotion on common roads—
Early neglect of the locomotive—Stephenson again thinks of
emigration—Constructs the Hetton Railway—The working power
employed—Robert Stephenson viewer’s apprentice—His pursuits at
Killingworth—His father sends him to Edinburgh University—His
application to the studies of Chemistry, Natural History, and Natural
Philosophy—His MS. volumes of Lectures—Geological tour with
Professor Jameson in the Highlands
CHAPTER VIII.

George Stephenson Engineer of the Stockton and Darlington Railway.
The Bishop Auckland Coal-field—Edward Pease projects a railway 123–
from Witton to Stockton—The Bill rejected—The line re-surveyed, 145
and the Act obtained—George Stephenson’s visit to Edward Pease—
Appointed engineer of the railway—Again surveys the line—Mr.
Pease visits Killingworth—The Newcastle locomotive works
projected—The railway constructed—Locomotives ordered—
Stephenson’s anticipations as to railways—Public opening of the line
—The coal traffic—The first railway passenger-coach—The
coaching traffic described—The “Locomotion” engine—Race with
stage-coach—Commercial results of the Stockton and Darlington
Railway—The town of Middlesborough created
CHAPTER IX.
The Liverpool and Manchester Railway projected.
Insufficient communications between Manchester and Liverpool— 146–
The canal monopoly—A tramroad projected—Joseph Sanders—Sir 172
R. Phillip’s speculations as to railways—Thomas Gray—William
James surveys a line between Liverpool and Manchester—
Opposition to the survey—Mr. James’s visits to Killingworth—
Robert Stephenson assists in the survey—George Stephenson
appointed engineer—The first prospectus—Stephenson’s survey
opposed—The canal companies—Speculations as to railway speed
—Stephenson’s notions thought extravagant—Article in the
‘Quarterly’—The Bill before Parliament—The Evidence—George
Stephenson in the witness box—Examined as to speed—His cross-
examination—The survey found defective—Mr. Harrison’s speech—
Evidence of opposing engineers—Mr. Alderson’s speech—The Bill
withdrawn—Stephenson’s vexation—The scheme prosecuted—The
line re-surveyed—Sir Isaac Coffin’s speech—The Act passed
CHAPTER X.
Chat Moss—Construction of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway.
George Stephenson appointed engineer—Chat Moss described—The 173–
resident engineers—Mr. Dixon’s visit of inspection—Stephenson’s 192
theory of a floating road—Operations begun—Tar-barrel drains—

The embankment sinks in the Moss—Proposed abandonment of the
work—Stephenson perseveres—The obstacles conquered—Road
across Parr Moss—The road formed—Stephenson’s organization of
labour—The Liverpool Tunnel—Olive Mount Cutting—Sankey
Viaduct—Stephenson and Cropper—Stephenson’s labours—Pupils
and assistants—His daily life—Practical education—Evenings at
home
CHAPTER XI.
Robert Stephenson’s Residence in Colombia and Return—The Battle of
the Locomotive—The “Rocket.”

Robert Stephenson mining engineer in Colombia—Mule journey to 193–
Bogota—Mariquita—Silver mining—Difficulties with the 220
Cornishmen—His cottage at Santa Anna—Longs to return home—
Resigns his post—Meeting with Trevithick—Voyage to New York,
and shipwreck—Returns to Newcastle, and takes charge of the
factory—The working power of the Liverpool and Manchester
Railway—Fixed engines and locomotives, and their respective
advocates—Walker and Rastrick’s report—A prize offered for the
best locomotive—Conferences of the Stephensons—Boiler
arrangements and heating surface—Mr. Booth’s contrivance—
Building of the “Rocket”—The competition of engines at Rainhill—
The “Novelty” and “Sanspareil”—Triumph of the “Rocket,” and its
destination
CHAPTER XII.
Opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, and Extension of the
Railway System.
The railway finished—The traffic arrangements organized—Public 221–
opening of the line—Accident to Mr. Huskisson—Arrival of the 236
trains at Manchester—The traffic results—Improvement of the road
and rolling stock—Improvements in the locomotive—The railway a
wonder—Extension of the railway system—Joint-stock railway
companies—New lines projected—New engineers—The Grand
Junction—Public opposition to railways—Robert Stephenson
engineer to the Leicester and Swannington Railway—George

Stephenson removes to Snibston—Sinks for and gets coal—
Stimulates local enterprise—His liberality
CHAPTER XIII.
Robert Stephenson constructs the London and Birmingham Railway.
The line projected—George and Robert Stephenson appointed 237–
engineers—Opposition—Hostile pamphlets and public meetings— 252
Robert Stephenson and Sir Astley Cooper—The survey obstructed—
The opposing clergyman—The Bill in Parliament—Thrown out in
the Lords—Proprietors conciliated, and the Act obtained—The
works let in contracts—The difficulties of the undertaking—The line
described—Blisworth Cutting—Primrose Hill Tunnel—Kilsby
Tunnel—Its construction described—Cost of the Railway greatly
increased—Failure of contractors—Magnitude of the works—
Railway navvies
CHAPTER XIV.
Manchester and Leeds, and Midland Railways—Stephenson’s Life at
Alton—Visit to Belgium—General Extension of Railways and their
Results.
Projection of new lines—Dutton Viaduct, Grand Junction—The 253–
Manchester and Leeds—Summit Tunnel, Littleborough—Magnitude 274
of the work—The Midland Railway—The works compared with the
Simplon road—Slip near Ambergate—Bull Bridge—The York and
North Midland—George Stephenson on his surveys—His quick
observation—Travelling and correspondence—Life at Alton Grange
—The Stephensons’ London office—Visits to Belgium—Interviews
with the King—Public openings of English railways—Stephenson’s
pupils and assistants—Prophecies falsified concerning railways—
Their advantageous results
CHAPTER XV.
George Stephenson’s Coal Mines—The Atmospheric System—Railway
Mania—Visits to Belgium and Spain.
George Stephenson on railways and coal-traffic—Leases the 275–
Claycross estate, and sinks for coal—His extensive lime-works— 300
Removes to Tapton House—British Association at Newcastle—

Appears at Mechanics’ Institutes—Speech at Leeds—His self-acting
brake—His views of railway speed—Theory of “undulating lines”—
Chester and Birkenhead Company—Stephenson’s liberality—
Atmospheric railways projected—Stephenson opposes the principle
of working—The railway mania—Stephenson resists, and warns
against it—George Hudson, “Railway King”—Parliament and the
mania—Stephenson’s letter to Sir R. Peel—Again visits Belgium—
Interviews with King Leopold—Journey into Spain
CHAPTER XVI.
Robert Stephenson’s Career—The Stephensons and Brunel—East Coast
Route to Scotland—Royal Border Bridge, Berwick—High Level
Bridge, Newcastle.
George Stephenson’s retirement—Robert’s employment as 301–
Parliamentary Engineer—His rival Brunel—The Great Western 319
Railway—The width of gauge—Robert Stephenson’s caution as to
investments—The Newcastle and Berwick Railway—Contest in
Parliament—George Stephenson’s interview with Lord Howick—
Royal Border Bridge, Berwick—Progress of iron-bridge building—
Robert Stephenson constructs the High Level Bridge, Newcastle—
Pile-driving by steam—Characteristics of the structure—Through
railway to Scotland completed
CHAPTER XVII.
Robert Stephenson’s Tubular Bridges at Menai and Conway.
George Stephenson surveys a line from Chester to Holyhead— 320–
Robert Stephenson’s construction of the works at Penmaen Mawr— 340
Crossing of the Menai Strait—Various plans proposed—A tubular
beam determined on—Strength of wrought-iron tubes—Mr. William
Fairbairn consulted—His experiments—The design settled—The
Britannia Bridge described—The Conway Bridge—Floating of the
tubes—Lifting of the tubes—Robert Stephenson’s anxieties—
Bursting of the Hydraulic Press—The works completed—Merits of
the Britannia and Conway Bridges
CHAPTER XVIII.
George Stephenson’s Closing Years—Illness and Death.

George Stephenson’s Life at Tapton—Experiments in Horticulture, 341–
Gardening, and Farming—Affection for animals—Bird-hatching and 356
bee-keeping—Reading and conversation—Rencontre with Lord
Denman—Hospitality at Tapton—Experiments with the microscope
—Frolics—“A crowdie night”—Visits to London—Visit to Sir
Robert Peel at Drayton Manor—Encounter with Dr. Buckland—Coal
formed by the sun’s light—Opening of the Trent Valley Railway—
Meeting with Emerson—Illness, death, and funeral—Memorial
Statues
CHAPTER XIX.
Robert Stephenson’s Victoria Bridge, Lower Canada—Illness and
Death—Stephenson Characteristics.
Robert Stephenson’s inheritances—Gradual retirement from the 357–
profession of engineer—His last great works—Tubular Bridges over 380
the St. Lawrence and the Nile—The Grand Trunk Railway, Canada
—Necessity for a great railway bridge near Montreal—Discussion as
to the plan—Robert Stephenson’s report—A tubular bridge
determined on—Massiveness of the piers—Ice-floods in the St.
Lawrence—Victoria Bridge constructed and completed—Tubular
bridges in Egypt—The Suez Canal—Robert Stephenson’s
employment as arbitrator—Assists Brunel at launching of the “Great
Eastern”—Regardlessness of health—Death and Funeral—
Characteristics of the Stephensons and resumé of their history—
Politics of father and son—Services rendered to civilization by the
Stephensons
Index 381

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page
Portrait of George Stephenson to face title page
High Level Bridge, to face 1
Map of Newcastle District 2
Flange rail 6
Coal-staith on the Tyne 10
Coal waggons 11
Wylam Colliery and village 12
High Street House, Wylam—George Stephenson’s birthplace 14
Newburn on the Tyne 20
Colliery Whimsey 30
Stephenson’s Cottage, Willington Quay 31
West Moor Colliery 37
Killingworth High Pit 46
Glebe Farm House, Benton 47
Rutter’s School House, Long Benton 51
Bruce’s School, Newcastle 53
Stephenson’s Cottage, West Moor 57
Sun-dial at Killingworth 60
Colliers’ Cottages at Long Benton 62

Cugnot’s Engine 64
Section of Murdock’s Model Locomotive 66
Trevithick’s high-pressure Tram-Engine 70
Improved Wylam Engine 78
Spur-gear 83
The Pit-head, West Moor 91
Davy’s and Stephenson’s Safety-lamps 101
West Moor Pit, Killingworth 108
Half-lap joint 111
Old Killingworth Locomotive 113
Map of Stockton and Darlington Railway 123
Portrait of Edward Pease 124
The first Railway Coach 139
The No. 1 Engine at Darlington 142
Middlesborough-on-Tees 145
Map of Liverpool and Manchester Railway (Western Part) 150
,, (Eastern part) 151
Surveying on Chat Moss 172
Olive Mount Cutting 184
Sankey Viaduct 186
Robert Stephenson’s Cottage at Santa Anna 198
The “Rocket” 212
Locomotive competition, Rainhill 215
Railway versus Road 220
Map of Leicester and Swannington Railway 233

Stephenson’s House at Alton Grange 236
Portrait of Robert Stephenson, to face 237
Map of London and Birmingham Railway (Rugby to Watford) 242
Blisworth Cutting 243
Shafts over Kilsby Tunnel 246
Dutton Viaduct 254
Entrance to Summit Tunnel, Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway 256
Land-slip, near Ambergate, North Midland Railway 259
Bullbridge, near Ambergate 260
Coalville and Snibston Colliery 274
Tapton House, near Chesterfield 275
Lime-works at Ambergate 278
Newcastle, from the High Level Bridge 301
Royal Border Bridge, Berwick-upon-Tweed 311
High Level Bridge—Elevation of one Arch 318
Penmaen Mawr 322
Map of Menai Straits 325
Conway Tubular Bridge 334
Britannia Bridge 339
Conway Bridge—Floating the first Tube 340
View in Tapton Gardens 341
Pathway to Tapton House 347
Trinity Church, Chesterfield 355
Tablet in Trinity Church, Chesterfield 356
The Victoria Bridge, Montreal 357

Robert Stephenson’s Burial-place in Westminster Abbey 369
The Stephenson Memorial Schools, Willington Quay 380

CHAPTER I.
Newcastle and the Great Northern Coal-Field.

In no quarter of England have greater changes been wrought by the
successive advances made in the practical science of engineering than in the
extensive colliery districts of the North, of which Newcastle-upon-Tyne is
the centre and the capital.
In ancient times the Romans planted a colony at Newcastle, throwing a
bridge across the Tyne near the site of the low-level bridge shown in the
prefixed engraving, and erecting a strong fortification above it on the high
ground now occupied by the Central Railway Station. North and north-
west lay a wild country, abounding in moors, mountains, and morasses, but
occupied to a certain extent by fierce and barbarous tribes. To defend the
young colony against their ravages, a strong wall was built by the Romans,
extending from Wallsend on the north bank of the Tyne, a few miles below
Newcastle, across the country to Burgh-upon-Sands on the Solway Firth.
The remains of the wall are still to be traced in the less populous hill-
districts of Northumberland. In the neighbourhood of Newcastle they have
been gradually effaced by the works of succeeding generations, though the
“Wallsend” coal consumed in our household fires still serves to remind us
of the great Roman work.

After the withdrawal of the Romans, Northumbria became planted by
immigrant Saxons from North Germany and Norsemen from Scandinavia,
whose Eorls or Earls made Newcastle their principal seat. Then came the
Normans, from whose New Castle, built some eight hundred years since,
the town derived its present name. The keep of this venerable structure,
black with age and smoke, still stands entire at the northern end of the noble
high-level bridge—the utilitarian work of modern times thus confronting
the warlike relic of the older civilisation.
The nearness of Newcastle to the Scotch Border was a great hindrance to its
security and progress in the middle ages of English history. Indeed, the
district between it and Berwick continued to be ravaged by moss-troopers
long after the union of the Crowns. The gentry lived in their strong Peel
castles; even the larger farm-houses were fortified; and bloodhounds were
trained for the purpose of tracking the cattle-reavers to their retreats in the
hills. The Judges of Assize rode from Carlisle to Newcastle guarded by an
escort armed to the teeth. A tribute called “dagger and protection money”
was annually paid by the Sheriff of Newcastle for the purpose of providing
daggers and other weapons for the escort; and, though the need of such
protection has long since ceased, the tribute continues to be paid in broad
gold pieces of the time of Charles the First.
Until about the middle of last century the roads across Northumberland
were little better than horse-tracks, and not many years since the primitive

agricultural cart with solid wooden wheels was almost as common in the
western parts of the county as it is in Spain now. The tract of the old
Roman road continued to be the most practicable route between Newcastle
and Carlisle, the traffic between the two towns having been carried along it
upon packhorses until a comparatively recent period.
Since that time great changes have taken place on the Tyne. When wood
for firing became scarce and dear, and the forests of the South of England
were found inadequate to supply the increasing demand for fuel, attention
was turned to the rich stores of coal lying underground in the
neighbourhood of Newcastle and Durham. It then became an article of
increasing export, and “seacoal” fires gradually supplanted those of wood.
Hence an old writer described Newcastle as “the Eye of the North, and the
Hearth that warmeth the South parts of this kingdom with Fire.” Fuel has
become the staple product of the district, the quantity exported increasing
from year to year, until the coal raised from these northern mines amounts
to upwards of sixteen millions of tons a year, of which not less than nine
millions are annually conveyed away by sea.
Newcastle has in the mean time spread in all directions far beyond its
ancient boundaries. From a walled mediæval town of monks and
merchants, it has been converted into a busy centre of commerce and
manufactures inhabited by nearly 100,000 people. It is no longer a Border
fortress—a “shield and defence against the invasions and frequent insults of
the Scots,” as described in ancient charters—but a busy centre of peaceful
industry, and the outlet for a vast amount of steam-power, which is exported
in the form of coal to all parts of the world. Newcastle is in many respects
a town of singular and curious interest, especially in its older parts, which
are full of crooked lanes and narrow streets, wynds, and chares, [4] formed
by tall, antique houses, rising tier above tier along the steep northern bank
of the Tyne, as the similarly precipitous streets of Gateshead crowd the
opposite shore.
All over the coal region, which extends from the Coquet to the Tees, about
fifty miles from north to south, the surface of the soil exhibits the signs of
extensive underground workings. As you pass through the country at night,
the earth looks as if it were bursting with fire at many points; the blaze of

coke-ovens, iron-furnaces, and coal-heaps reddening the sky to such a
distance that the horizon seems to be a glowing belt of fire.
From the necessity which existed for facilitating the transport of coals from
the pits to the shipping places, it is easy to understand how the railway and
the locomotive should have first found their home in such a district as we
have thus briefly described. At an early period the coal was carried to the
boats in panniers, or in sacks upon horses’ backs. Then carts were used, to
facilitate the progress of which tramways of flag-stone were laid down.
This led to the enlargement of the vehicle, which became known as a
waggon, and it was mounted on four wheels instead of two. A local writer
about the middle of the seventeenth century says, “Many thousand people
are engaged in this trade of coals; many live by working of them in the pits;
and many live by conveying them in waggons and wains to the river Tyne.”
Still further to facilitate the haulage of the waggons, pieces of planking
were laid parallel upon wooden sleepers, or imbedded in the ordinary track,
by which friction was still further diminished. It is said that these wooden
rails were first employed by one Beaumont, about 1630; and on a road thus
laid, a single horse was capable of drawing a large loaded waggon from the
coal-pit to the shipping staith. Roger North, in 1676, found the practice had
become extensively adopted, and he speaks of the large sums then paid for
way-leaves; that is, the permission granted by the owners of lands lying
between the coal-pit and the river-side to lay down a tramway between the
one and the other. A century later, Arthur Young observed that not only had
these roads become greatly multiplied, but important works had been
constructed to carry them along upon the same level. “The coal-waggon
roads from the pits to the water,” he says, “are great works, carried over all
sorts of inequalities of ground, so far as the distance of nine or ten miles.
The tracks of the wheels are marked with pieces of wood let into the road
for the wheels of the waggons to run on, by which one horse is enabled to
draw, and that with ease, fifty or sixty bushels of coals.” [5]
Similar waggon-roads were laid down in the coal districts of Wales,
Cumberland, and Scotland. At the time of the Scotch rebellion in 1745, a
tramroad existed between the Tranent coal-pits and the small harbour of
Cockenzie in East Lothian; and a portion of the line was selected by
General Cope as a position for his cannon at the battle of Prestonpans.

In these rude wooden tracks we find the germ of the modern railroad.
Improvements were gradually made in them. Thus, at some collieries, thin
plates of iron were nailed upon their upper surface, for the purpose of
protecting the parts most exposed to friction. Cast-iron rails were also tried,
the wooden rails having been found liable to rot. The first rails of this kind
are supposed to have been used at Whitehaven as early as 1738. This cast-
iron road was denominated a “plate-way,” from the plate-like form in which
the rails were cast. In 1767, as appears from the books of the
Coalbrookdale Iron Works, in Shropshire, five or six tons of rails were cast,
as an experiment, on the suggestion of Mr. Reynolds, one of the partners;
and they were shortly after laid down to form a road.
In 1776, a cast-iron tramway, nailed to wooden sleepers, was laid down at
the Duke of Norfolk’s colliery near Sheffield. The person who designed
and constructed this coal line was Mr. John Curr, whose son has
erroneously claimed for him the invention of the cast-iron railway. He
certainly adopted it early, and thereby met the fate of men before their age;
for his plan was opposed by the labouring people of the colliery, who got up
a riot in which they tore up the road and burnt the coal-staith, whilst Mr.
Curr fled into a neighbouring wood for concealment, and lay there perdu
for three days and nights, to escape the fury of the populace. The plates of
these early tramways had a ledge cast on their edge to guide the wheel
along the road, after the manner shown in the annexed cut.

In 1789, Mr. William Jessop constructed a railway at Loughborough, in
Leicestershire, and there introduced the cast-iron edge-rail, with flanches
cast upon the tire of the waggon-wheels to keep them on the track, instead
of having the margin or flanch cast upon the rail itself; and this plan was
shortly after adopted in other places. In 1800, Mr. Benjamin Outram, of
Little Eaton, in Derbyshire (father of the distinguished General Outram),
used stone props instead of timber for supporting the ends or joinings of the
rails. Thus the use of railroads, in various forms, gradually extended, until
they were found in general use all over the mining districts.
Such was the growth of the railway, which, it will be observed, originated
in necessity, and was modified according to experience; progress in this, as
in all departments of mechanics, having been effected by the exertions of
many men, one generation entering upon the labours of that which preceded
it, and carrying them onward to further stages of improvement. We shall
afterwards find that the invention of the locomotive was made by like
successive steps. It was not the invention of one man, but of a succession
of men, each working at the proper hour, and according to the needs of that
hour; one inventor interpreting only the first word of the problem which his
successors were to solve after long and laborious efforts and experiments.
“The locomotive is not the invention of one man,” said Robert Stephenson
at Newcastle, “but of a nation of mechanical engineers.”
The same circumstances which led to the rapid extension of railways in the
coal districts of the north tended to direct the attention of the mining
engineers to the early development of the powers of the steam-engine as a
useful instrument of motive power. The necessity which existed for a more
effective method of hauling the coals from the pits to the shipping places
was constantly present to many minds; and the daily pursuits of a large
class of mechanics occupied in the management of steam power, by which
the coal was raised from the pits, and the mines were pumped clear of
water, had the effect of directing their attention to the same agency as the
best means for accomplishing that object.
Among the upper-ground workmen employed at the coal-pits, the principal
are the firemen, enginemen, and brakes-men, who fire and work the
engines, and superintend the machinery by means of which the collieries
are worked. Previous to the introduction of the steam-engine the usual

machine employed for the purpose was what is called a “gin.” The gin
consists of a large drum placed horizontally, round which ropes attached to
buckets and corves are wound, which are thus drawn up or sent down the
shafts by a horse travelling in a circular track or “gin race.” This method
was employed for drawing up both coals and water, and it is still used for
the same purpose in small collieries; but where the quantity of water to be
raised is great, pumps worked by steam power are called into requisition.
Newcomen’s atmospheric engine was first made use of to work the pumps;
and it continued to be so employed long after the more powerful and
economical condensing engine of Watt had been invented. In the
Newcomen or “fire engine,” as it was called, the power is produced by the
pressure of the atmosphere forcing down the piston in the cylinder, on a
vacuum being produced within it by condensation of the contained steam by
means of cold water injection. The piston-rod is attached to one end of a
lever, whilst the pump-rod works in connexion with the other,—the
hydraulic action employed to raise the water being exactly similar to that of
a common sucking-pump.
The working of a Newcomen engine was a clumsy and apparently a very
painful process, accompanied by an extraordinary amount of wheezing,
sighing, creaking, and bumping. When the pump descended, there was
heard a plunge, a heavy sigh, and a loud bump: then, as it rose, and the
sucker began to act, there was heard a croak, a wheeze, another bump, and
then a strong rush of water as it was lifted and poured out. Where engines
of a more powerful and improved description are used, the quantity of water
raised is enormous—as much as a million and a half gallons in the twenty-
four hours.
The pitmen, or “the lads belaw,” who work out the coal below ground, are a
peculiar class, quite distinct from the workmen on the surface. They are a
people with peculiar habits, manners, and character, as much as fishermen
and sailors, to whom, indeed, they bear, in some respects, a considerable
resemblance. Some fifty years since they were a much rougher and worse
educated class than they are now; hard workers, but very wild and uncouth;
much given to “steeks,” or strikes; and distinguished, in their hours of
leisure and on pay-nights, for their love of cock-fighting, dog-fighting, hard
drinking, and cuddy races. The pay-night was a fortnightly saturnalia, in

which the pitman’s character was fully brought out, especially when the
“yel” was good. Though earning much higher wages than the ordinary
labouring population of the upper soil, the latter did not mix nor intermarry
with them; so that they were left to form their own communities, and hence
their marked peculiarities as a class. Indeed, a sort of traditional disrepute
seems long to have clung to the pitmen, arising perhaps from the nature of
their employment, and from the circumstance that the colliers were among
the last classes enfranchised in England, as they were certainly the last in
Scotland, where they continued bondmen down to the end of last century.
The last thirty years, however, have worked a great improvement in the
moral condition of the Northumbrian pitmen; the abolition of the twelve
months’ bond to the mine, and the substitution of a month’s notice previous
to leaving, having given them greater freedom and opportunity for
obtaining employment; and day-schools and Sunday-schools, together with
the important influences of railways, have brought them fully up to a level
with the other classes of the labouring population.
The coals, when raised from the pits, are emptied into the waggons placed
alongside, from whence they are sent along the rails to the staiths erected by
the river-side, the waggons sometimes descending by their own gravity
along inclined planes, the waggoner standing behind to check the speed by
means of a convoy or wooden brake bearing upon the rims of the wheels.
Arrived at the staiths, the waggons are emptied at once into the ships
waiting alongside for cargo. Any one who has sailed down the Tyne from
Newcastle Bridge cannot but have been struck with the appearance of the
immense staiths, constructed of timber, which are erected at short distances
from each other on both sides of the river.

But a great deal of the coal shipped from the Tyne comes from above-
bridge, where sea-going craft cannot reach, and is floated down the river in
“keels,” in which the coals are sometimes piled up according to
convenience when large, or, when the coal is small or tender, it is conveyed
in tubs to prevent breakage. These keels are of a very ancient model,—
perhaps the oldest extant in England: they are even said to be of the same
build as those in which the Norsemen navigated the Tyne centuries ago.
The keel is a tubby, grimy-looking craft, rounded fore and aft, with a single
large square sail, which the keel-bullies, as the Tyne watermen are called,
manage with great dexterity; the vessel being guided by the aid of the
“swape,” or great oar, which is used as a kind of rudder at the stern of the
vessel. These keelmen are an exceedingly hardy class of workmen, not by
any means so quarrelsome as their designation of “bully” would imply—the
word being merely derived from the obsolete term “boolie,” or beloved, an
appellation still in familiar use amongst brother workers in the coal
districts. One of the most curious sights upon the Tyne is the fleet of
hundreds of these black-sailed, black-hulled keels, bringing down at each
tide their black cargoes for the ships at anchor in the deep water at Shields
and other parts of the river below Newcastle.
These preliminary observations will perhaps be sufficient to explain the
meaning of many of the occupations alluded to, and the phrases employed,

in the course of the following narrative, some of which might otherwise
have been comparatively unintelligible to the general reader.

CHAPTER II.
Wylam and Dewley Burn—George Stephenson’s
Early Years.

The colliery village of Wylam is situated on the north bank of the Tyne,
about eight miles west of Newcastle. The Newcastle and Carlisle railway
runs along the opposite bank; and the traveller by that line sees the usual
signs of a colliery in the unsightly pumping-engines surrounded by heaps of
ashes, coal-dust, and slag; whilst a neighbouring iron-furnace in full blast
throws out dense smoke and loud jets of steam by day and lurid flames at
night. These works form the nucleus of the village, which is almost entirely
occupied by coal-miners and iron-furnacemen. The place is remarkable for
its large population, but not for its cleanness or neatness as a village; the
houses, as in most colliery villages, being the property of the owners or
lessees, who employ them in temporarily accommodating the workpeople,
against whose earnings there is a weekly set-off for house and coals. About
the end of last century the estate of which Wylam forms part, belonged to
Mr. Blackett, a gentleman of considerable celebrity in coal-mining, then
more generally known as the proprietor of the ‘Globe’ newspaper.
There is nothing to interest one in the village itself. But a few hundred
yards from its eastern extremity stands a humble detached dwelling, which
will be interesting to many as the birthplace of one of the most remarkable
men of our times—George Stephenson, the Railway Engineer. It is a
common two-storied, red-tiled, rubble house, portioned off into four
labourers’ apartments. It is known by the name of High Street House, and
was originally so called because it stands by the side of what used to be the
old riding post road or street between Newcastle and Hexham, along which
the post was carried on horseback within the memory of persons living.

The lower room in the west end of this house was the home of the
Stephenson family; and there George Stephenson was born, the second of a
family of six children, on the 9th of June, 1781. The apartment is now,
what it was then, an ordinary labourer’s dwelling,—its walls are
unplastered, its floor is of clay, and the bare rafters are exposed overhead.
Robert Stephenson, or “Old Bob,” as the neighbours familiarly called him,
and his wife Mabel, were a respectable couple, careful and hard-working. It
is said that Robert Stephenson’s father was a Scotchman, and came into
England as a gentleman’s servant. Mabel, his wife, was the daughter of
Robert Carr, a dyer at Ovingham. When first married, they lived at
Walbottle, a village situated between Wylam and Newcastle, afterwards
removing to Wylam, where Robert was employed as fireman of the old
pumping engine at that colliery.

An old Wylam collier, who remembered George Stephenson’s father, thus
described him:—“Geordie’s fayther war like a peer o’ deals nailed thegither,
an’ a bit o’ flesh i’ th’ inside; he war as queer as Dick’s hatband—went
thrice aboot, an’ wudn’t tie. His wife Mabel war a delicat’ boddie, an’ varry

flighty. Thay war an honest family, but sair hadden doon i’ th’ world.”
Indeed, the earnings of old Robert did not amount to more than twelve
shillings a week; and, as there were six children to maintain, the family,
during their stay at Wylam, were necessarily in very straitened
circumstances. The father’s wages being barely sufficient, even with the
most rigid economy, for the sustenance of the household, there was little to
spare for clothing, and nothing for education, so none of the children were
sent to school.
Old Robert was a general favourite in the village, especially amongst the
children, whom he was accustomed to draw about him whilst tending the
engine-fire, and feast their young imaginations with tales of Sinbad the
Sailor and Robinson Crusoe, besides others of his own invention; so that
“Bob’s engine-fire” came to be the most popular resort in the village.
Another feature in his character, by which he was long remembered, was
his affection for birds and animals; and he had many tame favourites of
both sorts, which were as fond of resorting to his engine-fire as the boys
and girls themselves. In the winter time he had usually a flock of tame
robins about him; and they would come hopping familiarly to his feet to
pick up the crumbs which he had saved for them out of his humble dinner.
At his cottage he was rarely without one or more tame blackbirds, which
flew about the house, or in and out at the door. In summer-time he would
go a-birdnesting with his children; and one day he took his little son George
to see a blackbird’s nest for the first time. Holding him up in his arms, he
let the wondering boy peep down, through the branches held aside for the
purpose, into a nest full of young birds—a sight which the boy never forgot,
but used to speak of with delight to his intimate friends when he himself
had grown an old man.
The boy George led the ordinary life of working-people’s children. He
played about the doors; went birdnesting when he could; and ran errands to
the village. He was also an eager listener, with the other children, to his
father’s curious tales; and he early imbibed from him that affection for birds
and animals which continued throughout his life. In course of time he was
promoted to the office of carrying his father’s dinner to him while at work,
and it was on such occasions his great delight to see the robins fed. At
home he helped to nurse, and that with a careful hand, his younger brothers
and sisters. One of his duties was to see that the other children were kept

out of the way of the chaldron waggons, which were then dragged by horses
along the wooden tramroad immediately in front of the cottage-door. This
waggon-way was the first in the northern district on which the experiment
of a locomotive engine was tried. But at the time of which we speak, the
locomotive had scarcely been dreamt of in England as a practicable
working power; horses only were used to haul the coal; and one of the first
sights with which the boy was familiar was the coal-waggons dragged by
them along the wooden railway at Wylam.
Thus eight years passed; after which, the coal having been worked out, the
old engine, which had grown “dismal to look at,” as one of the workmen
described it, was pulled down; and then Robert, having obtained
employment as a fireman at the Dewley Burn Colliery, removed with his
family to that place. Dewley Burn, at this day, consists of a few old-
fashioned low-roofed cottages standing on either side of a babbling little
stream. They are connected by a rustic wooden bridge, which spans the rift
in front of the doors. In the central one-roomed cottage of this group, on
the right bank, Robert Stephenson lived for a time with his family; the pit at
which he worked standing in the rear of the cottages.
Young though he was, George was now of an age to be able to contribute
something towards the family maintenance; for in a poor man’s house,
every child is a burden until his little hands can be turned to profitable
account. That the boy was shrewd and active, and possessed of a ready
mother wit, will be evident enough from the following incident. One day
his sister Nell went into Newcastle to buy a bonnet; and Geordie went with
her “for company.” At a draper’s shop in the Bigg Market, Nell found a
“chip” quite to her mind, but on pricing it, alas! it was found to be fifteen
pence beyond her means, and she left the shop very much disappointed.
But Geordie said, “Never heed, Nell; see if I canna win siller enough to buy
the bonnet; stand ye there, till I come back.” Away ran the boy and
disappeared amidst the throng of the market, leaving the girl to wait his
return. Long and long she waited, until it grew dusk, and the market people
had nearly all left. She had begun to despair, and fears crossed her mind
that Geordie must have been run over and killed; when at last up he came
running, almost breathless. “I’ve gotten the siller for the bonnet, Nell!”
cried he. “Eh Geordie!” she said, “but hoo hae ye gotten it?” “Haudin the

gentlemen’s horses!” was the exultant reply. The bonnet was forthwith
bought, and the two returned to Dewley happy.
George’s first regular employment was of a very humble sort. A widow,
named Grace Ainslie, then occupied the neighbouring farmhouse of
Dewley. She kept a number of cows, and had the privilege of grazing them
along the waggon-road. She needed a boy to herd the cows, to keep them
out of the way of the waggons, and prevent their straying or trespassing on
the neighbours’ “liberties;” the boy’s duty was also to bar the gates at night
after all the waggons had passed. George petitioned for this post, and, to
his great joy, he was appointed at the wage of twopence a day.
It was light employment, and he had plenty of spare time on his hands,
which he spent in birdnesting, making whistles out of reeds and scrannel
straws, and erecting Lilliputian mills in the little water-streams that ran into
the Dewley bog. But his favourite amusement at this early age was erecting
clay engines in conjunction with his chosen playmate, Bill Thirlwall. The
place is still pointed out where the future engineers made their first essays
in modelling. The boys found the clay for their engines in the adjoining
bog, and the hemlocks which grew about supplied them with imaginary
steam-pipes. They even proceeded to make a miniature winding-machine
in connexion with their engine, and the apparatus was erected upon a bench
in front of the Thirlwalls’ cottage. The corves were made out of hollowed
corks; the ropes were supplied by twine; and a few bits of wood gleaned
from the refuse of the carpenter’s shop completed their materials. With this
apparatus the boys made a show of sending the corves down the pit and
drawing them up again, much to the marvel of the pitmen. But some
mischievous person about the place seized the opportunity early one
morning of smashing the fragile machinery, much to the grief of the young
engineers.
As Stephenson grew older and abler to work, he was set to lead the horses
when ploughing, though scarce big enough to stride across the furrows; and
he used afterwards to say that he rode to his work in the mornings at an
hour when most other children of his age were asleep in their beds. He was
also employed to hoe turnips, and do similar farm-work, for which he was
paid the advanced wage of fourpence a day. But his highest ambition was
to be taken on at the colliery where his father worked; and he shortly joined

his elder brother James there as a “corf-bitter,” or “picker,” to clear the coal
of stones, bats, and dross. His wages were then advanced to sixpence a day,
and afterwards to eightpence when he was set to drive the gin-horse.
Shortly after, George went to Black Callerton to drive the gin there; and as
that colliery lies about two miles across the fields from Dewley Burn, he
walked that distance early in the morning to his work, returning home late
in the evening. One of the old residents at Black Callerton, who
remembered him at that time, described him to the author as “a grit growing
lad, with bare legs an’ feet;” adding that he was “very quick-witted and full
of fun and tricks: indeed, there was nothing under the sun but he tried to
imitate.” He was usually foremost also in the sports and pastimes of youth.
Among his first strongly-developed tastes was the love of birds and
animals, which he inherited from his father. Blackbirds were his special
favourites. The hedges between Dewley and Black Callerton were capital
bird-nesting places; and there was not a nest there that he did not know of.
When the young birds were old enough, he would bring them home with
him, feed them, and teach them to fly about the cottage unconfined by
cages. One of his blackbirds became so tame, that, after flying about the
doors all day, and in and out of the cottage, it would take up its roost upon
the bed-head at night. And most singular of all, the bird would disappear in
the spring and summer months, when it was supposed to go into the woods
to pair and rear its young, after which it would reappear at the cottage, and
resume its social habits during the winter. This went on for several years.
George had also a stock of tame rabbits, for which he built a little house
behind the cottage, and for many years he continued to pride himself upon
the superiority of his breed.
After he had driven the gin for some time at Dewley and Black Callerton,
he was taken on as an assistant to his father in firing the engine at Dewley.
This was a step of promotion which he had anxiously desired, his only fear
being lest he should be found too young for the work. Indeed, he used
afterwards to relate how he was wont to hide himself when the owner of the
colliery went round, in case he should be thought too little a boy to earn the
wages paid him. Since he had modelled his clay engines in the bog, his
young ambition was to be an engineman; and to be an assistant fireman was
the first step towards this position. Great therefore was his joy when, at

about fourteen years of age, he was appointed assistant-fireman, at the wage
of a shilling a day.
But the coal at Dewley Burn being at length worked out, the pit was ordered
to be “laid in,” and old Robert and his family were again under the
necessity of shifting their home; for, to use the common phrase, they must
“follow the wark.” They removed accordingly to a place called Jolly’s
Close, a few miles to the south, close behind the village of Newburn, where
another coal-mine belonging to the Duke of Northumberland, called “the
Duke’s Winnin,” had recently been opened out.

One of the old persons in the neighbourhood, who knew the family well,
describes the dwelling in which they lived as a poor cottage of only one
room, in which the father, mother, four sons, and two daughters, lived and
slept. It was crowded with three low-poled beds. The one apartment served
for parlour, kitchen, sleeping-room, and all.
The children of the Stephenson family were now growing apace, and
several of them were old enough to be able to earn money at various kinds

of colliery work. James and George, the two eldest sons, worked as
assistant-firemen; and the younger boys worked as wheelers or pickers on
the bank-tops. The two girls helped their mother with the household work.
Other workings of the coal were opened out in the neighbourhood; and to
one of these George was removed as fireman on his own account. This was
called the “Mid Mill Winnin,” where he had for his mate a young man
named Coe. They worked together there for about two years, by twelve-
hour shifts, George firing the engine at the wage of a shilling a day. He was
now fifteen years old. His ambition was as yet limited to attaining the
standing of a full workman, at a man’s wages; and with that view he
endeavoured to attain such a knowledge of his engine as would eventually
lead to his employment as an engineman, with its accompanying advantage
of higher pay. He was a steady, sober, hard-working young man, but
nothing more in the estimation of his fellow-workmen.
One of his favourite pastimes in by-hours was trying feats of strength with
his companions. Although in frame he was not particularly robust, yet he
was big and bony, and considered very strong for his age. At throwing the
hammer George had no compeer. At lifting heavy weights off the ground
from between his feet, by means of a bar of iron passed through them—
placing the bar against his knees as a fulcrum, and then straightening his
spine and lifting them sheer up—he was also very successful. On one
occasion he lifted as much as sixty stones weight—a striking indication of
his strength of bone and muscle.
When the pit at Mid Mill was closed, George and his companion Coe were
sent to work another pumping-engine erected near Throckley Bridge, where
they continued for some months. It was while working at this place that his
wages were raised to 12s. a week—an event to him of great importance.
On coming out of the foreman’s office that Saturday evening on which he
received the advance, he announced the fact to his fellow-workmen, adding
triumphantly “I am now a made man for life!”
The pit opened at Newburn, at which old Robert Stephenson worked,
proving a failure, it was closed; and a new pit was sunk at Water-row, on a
strip of land lying between the Wylam waggon-way and the river Tyne,
about half a mile west of Newburn Church. A pumping engine was erected

there by Robert Hawthorn, the Duke’s engineer; and old Stephenson went
to work it as fireman, his son George acting as the engineman or plugman.
At that time he was about seventeen years old—a very youthful age at
which to fill so responsible a post. He had thus already got ahead of his
father in his station as a workman; for the plugman holds a higher grade
than the fireman, requiring more practical knowledge and skill, and usually
receiving higher wages.
George’s duty as plugman was to watch the engine, to see that it kept well
in work, and that the pumps were efficient in drawing the water. When the
water-level in the pit was lowered, and the suction became incomplete
through the exposure of the suction-holes, it was then his duty to proceed to
the bottom of the shaft and plug the tube so that the pump should draw:
hence the designation of “plugman.” If a stoppage in the engine took place
through any defect which he was incapable of remedying, it was for him to
call in the aid of the chief engineer to set it to rights.
But from the time when George Stephenson was appointed fireman, and
more particularly afterwards as engineman, he applied himself so
assiduously and so successfully to the study of the engine and its gearing—
taking the machine to pieces in his leisure hours for the purpose of cleaning
and understanding its various parts—that he soon acquired a thorough
practical knowledge of its construction and mode of working, and very
rarely needed to call the engineer of the colliery to his aid. His engine
became a sort of pet with him, and he was never wearied of watching and
inspecting it with admiration.
Though eighteen years old, like many of his fellow-workmen, Stephenson
had not yet learnt to read. All that he could do was to get some one to read
for him by his engine fire, out of any book or stray newspaper which found
its way into the neighbourhood. Buonaparte was then overrunning Italy,
and astounding Europe by his brilliant succession of victories; and there
was no more eager auditor of his exploits, as read from the newspaper
accounts, than the young engineman at the Water-row Pit.
There were also numerous stray bits of information and intelligence
contained in these papers, which excited Stephenson’s interest. One of
these related to the Egyptian method of hatching birds’ eggs by means of

artificial heat. Curious about everything relating to birds, he determined to
test it by experiment. It was spring time, and he forthwith went a
birdnesting in the adjoining woods and hedges. He gathered a collection of
eggs of various sorts, set them in flour in a warm place in the engine-house,
covering the whole with wool, and then waited the issue. The heat was kept
as steady as possible, and the eggs were carefully turned every twelve
hours, but though they chipped, and some of them exhibited well-grown
chicks, they never hatched. The experiment failed, but the incident shows
that the inquiring mind of the youth was fairly at work.
Modelling of engines in clay continued to be another of his favourite
occupations. He made models of engines which he had seen, and of others
which were described to him. These attempts were an improvement upon
his first trials at Dewley Burn bog, when occupied there as a herd-boy. He
was, however, anxious to know something of the wonderful engines of
Boulton and Watt, and was told that they were to be found fully described in
books, which he must search for information as to their construction, action
and uses. But, alas! Stephenson could not read; he had not yet learnt even
his letters.
Thus he shortly found, when gazing wistfully in the direction of knowledge,
that to advance further as a skilled workman, he must master this wonderful
art of reading—the key to so many other arts. Only thus could he gain an
access to books, the depositories of the wisdom and experience of the past.
Although a grown man, and doing the work of a man, he was not ashamed
to confess his ignorance, and go to school, big as he was, to learn his
letters. Perhaps, too, he foresaw that, in laying out a little of his spare
earnings for this purpose, he was investing money judiciously, and that, in
every hour he spent at school, he was really working for better wages.
His first schoolmaster was Robin Cowens, a poor teacher in the village of
Walbottle. He kept a night-school, which was attended by a few of the
colliers and labourers’ sons in the neighbourhood. George took lessons in
spelling and reading three nights in the week. Robin Cowen’s teaching cost
threepence a week; and though it was not very good, yet George, being
hungry for knowledge and eager to acquire it, soon learnt to read. He also
practised “pothooks,” and at the age of nineteen he was proud to be able to
write his own name.

A Scotch dominie, named Andrew Robertson, set up a night-school in the
village of Newburn, in the winter of 1799. It was more convenient for
George to attend this school, as it was nearer to his work, and only a few
minutes’ walk from Jolly’s Close. Besides, Andrew had the reputation of
being a skilled arithmetician; and this branch of knowledge Stephenson was
very desirous of acquiring. He accordingly began taking lessons from him,
paying fourpence a week. Robert Gray, the junior fireman at the Water-row
Pit, began arithmetic at the same time; and Gray afterwards told the author
that George learnt “figuring” so much faster than he did, that he could not
make out how it was—“he took to figures so wonderful.” Although the two
started together from the same point, at the end of the winter George had
mastered “reduction,” while Robert Gray was still struggling with the
difficulties of simple division. But George’s secret was his perseverance.
He worked out the sums in his bye-hours, improving every minute of his
spare time by the engine-fire, and studying there the arithmetical problems
set for him upon his slate by the master. In the evenings he took to
Robertson the sums which he had “worked,” and new ones were “set” for
him to study out the following day. Thus his progress was rapid, and, with
a willing heart and mind, he soon became well advanced in arithmetic.
Indeed, Andrew Robertson became very proud of his scholar; and shortly
after, when the Water-row Pit was closed, and George removed to Black
Callerton to work there, the poor schoolmaster, not having a very extensive
connexion in Newburn, went with his pupils, and set up his night-school at
Black Callerton, where he continued his lessons.
George still found time to attend to his favourite animals while working at
the Water-row Pit. Like his father, he used to tempt the robin-redbreasts to
hop and fly about him at the engine-fire, by the bait of bread-crumbs saved
from his dinner. But his chief favourite was his dog—so sagacious that he
almost daily carried George’s dinner to him at the pit. The tin containing
the meal was suspended from the dog’s neck, and, thus laden, he proceeded
faithfully from Jolly’s Close to Water-row Pit, quite through the village of
Newburn. He turned neither to left nor right, nor heeded the barking of curs
at his heels. But his course was not unattended with perils. One day the big
strange dog of a passing butcher espying the engineman’s messenger with
the tin can about his neck, ran after and fell upon him. There was a terrible
tussle and worrying, which lasted for a brief while, and, shortly after, the

dog’s master, anxious for his dinner, saw his faithful servant approaching,
bleeding but triumphant. The tin can was still round his neck, but the
dinner had been spilt in the struggle. Though George went without his
dinner that day, he was prouder of his dog than ever when the
circumstances of the combat were related to him by the villagers who had
seen it.
It was while working at the Water-row Pit that Stephenson learnt the art of
brakeing an engine. This being one of the higher departments of colliery
labour, and among the best paid, George was very anxious to learn it. A
small winding-engine having been put up for the purpose of drawing the
coals from the pit, Bill Coe, his friend and fellow-workman, was appointed
the brakesman. He frequently allowed George to try his hand at the
machine, and instructed him how to proceed. Coe was, however, opposed
in this by several of the other workmen—one of whom, a banksman named
William Locke, [26] went so far as to stop the working of the pit because
Stephenson had been called in to the brake. But one day as Mr. Charles
Nixon, the manager of the pit, was observed approaching, Coe adopted an
expedient which put a stop to the opposition. He called upon Stephenson to
“come into the brake-house, and take hold of the machine.” Locke, as
usual, sat down, and the working of the pit was stopped. When requested
by the manager to give an explanation, he said that “young Stephenson
couldn’t brake, and, what was more, never would learn, he was so clumsy.”
Mr. Nixon, however, ordered Locke to go on with the work, which he did;
and Stephenson, after some further practice, acquired the art of brakeing.
After working at the Water-row Pit and at other engines near Newburn for
about three years, George and Coe went to Black Callerton early in 1801.
Though only twenty years of age, his employers thought so well of him that
they appointed him to the responsible office of brakesman at the Dolly Pit.
For convenience’ sake, he took lodgings at a small farmer’s in the village,
finding his own victuals, and paying so much a week for lodging and
attendance. In the locality this was called “picklin in his awn poke neuk.”
It not unfrequently happens that the young workman about the collieries,
when selecting a lodging, contrives to pitch his tent where the daughter of
the house ultimately becomes his wife. This is often the real attraction that
draws the youth from home, though a very different one may be pretended.

George Stephenson’s duties as brakesman may be briefly described. The
work was somewhat monotonous, and consisted in superintending the
working of the engine and machinery by means of which the coals were
drawn out of the pit. Brakesman are almost invariably selected from those
who have had considerable experience as engine-firemen, and borne a good
character for steadiness, punctuality, watchfulness, and “mother wit.” In
George Stephenson’s day the coals were drawn out of the pit in corves, or
large baskets made of hazel rods. The corves were placed together in a
cage, between which and the pit-ropes there was usually from fifteen to
twenty feet of chain. The approach of the corves towards the pit mouth was
signalled by a bell, brought into action by a piece of mechanism worked
from the shaft of the engine. When the bell sounded, the brakesman
checked the speed, by taking hold of the hand-gear connected with the
steam-valves, which were so arranged that by their means he could regulate
the speed of the engine, and stop or set it in motion when required.
Connected with the fly-wheel was a powerful wooden brake, acting by
pressure against its rim, something like the brake of a railway-carriage
against its wheels. On catching sight of the chain attached to the ascending
corve-cage, the brakesman, by pressing his foot upon a foot-step near him,
was enabled, with great precision, to stop the revolutions of the wheel, and
arrest the ascent of the corves at the pit mouth, when they were forthwith
landed on the “settle board.” On the full corves being replaced by empty
ones, it was then the duty of the brakesman to reverse the engine, and send
the corves down the pit to be filled again.
The monotony of George Stephenson’s occupation as a brakesman was
somewhat varied by the change which he made, in his turn, from the day to
the night shift. His duty, on the latter occasions, consisted chiefly in
sending men and materials into the mine, and in drawing other men and
materials out. Most of the workmen enter the pit during the night shift, and
leave it in the latter part of the day, whilst coal-drawing is proceeding. The
requirements of the work at night are such, that the brakesman has a good
deal of spare time on his hands, which he is at liberty to employ in his own
way. From an early period, George was accustomed to employ those vacant
night hours in working the sums set for him by Andrew Robertson upon his
slate, practising writing in his copy-book, and mending the shoes of his
fellow-workmen. His wages while working at the Dolly Pit amounted to

from £1 15s. to £2 in the fortnight; but he gradually added to them as he
became more expert at shoe-mending, and afterwards at shoe-making.
Probably he was stimulated to take in hand this extra work by the
attachment he had by this time formed for a young woman named Fanny
Henderson, who officiated as servant in the small farmer’s house in which
he lodged. We have been informed that the personal attractions of Fanny,
though these were considerable, were the least of her charms. Mr. William
Fairbairn, who afterwards saw her in her home at Willington Quay,
describes her as a very comely woman. But her temper was one of the
sweetest; and those who knew her were accustomed to speak of the
charming modesty of her demeanour, her kindness of disposition, and
withal her sound good sense.
Amongst his various mendings of old shoes at Callerton. George was on
one occasion favoured with the shoes of his sweetheart to sole. One can
imagine the pleasure with which he would linger over such a piece of work,
and the pride with which he would execute it. A friend of his, still living,
relates that, after he had finished the shoes, he carried them about with him
in his pocket on the Sunday afternoon, and that from time to time he would
pull them out and hold them up, exclaiming, “what a capital job he had
made of them!”
Out of his earnings by shoe-mending at Callerton, George contrived to save
his first guinea. The first guinea saved by a working man is no trivial
thing. If, as in Stephenson’s case, it has been the result of prudent self-
denial, of extra labour at bye-hours, and of the honest resolution to save and
economise for worthy purposes, the first guinea saved is an earnest of better
things. When Stephenson had saved this guinea he was not a little elated at
the achievement, and expressed the opinion to a friend, who many years
after reminded him of it, that he was “now a rich man.”
Not long after he began to work at Black Callerton as brakesman, he had a
quarrel with a pitman named Ned Nelson, a roistering bully, who was the
terror of the village. Nelson was a great fighter; and it was therefore
considered dangerous to quarrel with him. Stephenson was so unfortunate
as not to be able to please this pitman by the way in which he drew him out
of the pit; and Nelson swore at him grossly because of the alleged

clumsiness of his brakeing. George defended himself, and appealed to the
testimony of the other workmen. But Nelson had not been accustomed to
George’s style of self-assertion; and, after a great deal of abuse, he
threatened to kick the brakesman, who defied him to do so. Nelson ended
by challenging Stephenson to a pitched battle; and the latter accepted the
challenge, when a day was fixed on which the fight was to come off.
Great was the excitement at Black Callerton when it was known that
George Stephenson had accepted Nelson’s challenge. Everybody said he
would be killed. The villagers, the young men, and especially the boys of
the place, with whom George was a great favourite, all wished that he might
beat Nelson, but they scarcely dared to say so. They came about him while
he was at work in the engine-house to inquire if it was really true that he
was “goin to fight Nelson?” “Ay; never fear for me; I’ll fight him.” And
fight him he did. For some days previous to the appointed day of battle,
Nelson went entirely off work for the purpose of keeping himself fresh and
strong, whereas Stephenson went on doing his daily work as usual, and
appeared not in the least disconcerted by the prospect of the affair. So, on
the evening appointed, after George had done his day’s labour, he went into
the Dolly Pit Field, where his already exulting rival was ready to meet him.
George stripped, and “went in” like a practised pugilist—though it was his
first and last fight. After a few rounds, George’s wiry muscles and practised
strength enabled him severely to punish his adversary, and to secure an easy
victory.
This circumstance is related in illustration of Stephenson’s personal pluck
and courage; and it was thoroughly characteristic of the man. He was no
pugilist, and the very reverse of quarrelsome. But he would not be put
down by the bully of the colliery, and he fought him. There his pugilism
ended; they afterwards shook hands, and continued good friends. In after
life, Stephenson’s mettle was often as hardly tried, though in a different
way; and he did not fail to exhibit the same resolute courage in contending
with the bullies of the railway world, as he showed in his encounter with
Ned Nelson, the fighting pitman of Callerton.

CHAPTER III.
Engineman at Willington Quay and
Killingworth.

George Stephenson had now acquired the character of an expert workman.
He was diligent and observant while at work, and sober and studious when
the day’s work was over. His friend Coe described him to the author as “a
standing example of manly character.” On pay-Saturday afternoons, when
the pitmen held their fortnightly holiday, occupying themselves chiefly in
cock-fighting and dog-fighting in the adjoining fields, followed by
adjournments to the “yel-house,” George was accustomed to take his engine
to pieces, for the purpose of obtaining “insight,” and he cleaned all the parts
and put the machine in thorough working order before leaving it.
In the evenings he improved himself in the arts of reading and writing, and
occasionally took a turn at modelling. It was at Callerton, his son Robert
informed us, that he began to try his hand at original invention; and for
some time he applied his attention to a machine of the nature of an engine-
brake, which reversed itself by its own action. But nothing came of the
contrivance, and it was eventually thrown aside as useless. Yet not
altogether so; for even the highest skill must undergo the inevitable
discipline of experiment, and submit to the wholesome correction of
occasional failure.
After working at Callerton for about two years, he received an offer to take
charge of the engine on Willington Ballast Hill at an advanced wage. He
determined to accept it, and at the same time to marry Fanny Henderson,
and begin housekeeping on his own account. Though he was only twenty-
one years old, he had contrived, by thrift, steadiness, and industry, to save
as much money as enabled him to take a cottage-dwelling at Willington

Quay, and furnish it in a humble but comfortable style for the reception of
his bride.
Willington Quay lies on the north bank of the Tyne, about six miles below
Newcastle. It consists of a line of houses straggling along the river-side;
and high behind it towers up the huge mound of ballast emptied out of the
ships which resort to the quay for their cargoes of coal for the London
market. The ballast is thrown out of the ships’ holds into waggons laid
alongside, which are run up to the summit of the Ballast Hill, and emptied
out there. At the foot of the great mound of shot rubbish was the fixed
engine of which George Stephenson acted as brakesman.
The cottage in which he took up his abode was a small two-storied
dwelling, standing a little back from the quay with a bit of garden ground in
front. [33] The Stephenson family occupied the upper room in the west end
of the cottage. Close behind rose the Ballast Hill.
When the cottage dwelling had been made snug, and was ready for
occupation, the marriage took place. It was celebrated in Newburn Church,
on the 28th of November, 1802. After the ceremony, George, with his
newly-wedded wife, proceeded to the house of his father at Jolly’s Close.
The old man was now becoming infirm, and, though he still worked as an
engine-fireman, contrived with difficulty “to keep his head above water.”
When the visit had been paid, the bridal party set out for their new home at
Willington Quay, whither they went in a manner quite common before
travelling by railway came into use. Two farm horses, borrowed from a
neighbouring farmer, were each provided with a saddle and pillion, and
George having mounted one, his wife seated herself behind him, holding on
by his waist. The bridesman and bridesmaid in like manner mounted the
other horse; and in this wise the wedding party rode across the country,
passing through the old streets of Newcastle, and then by Wallsend to
Willington Quay—a ride of about fifteen miles.
George Stephenson’s daily life at Willington was that of a steady workman.
By the manner, however, in which he continued to improve his spare hours
in the evening, he was silently and surely paving the way for being
something more than a manual labourer. He set himself to study diligently
the principles of mechanics, and to master the laws by which his engine

worked. For a workman, he was even at that time more than ordinarily
speculative—often taking up strange theories, and trying to sift out the truth
that was in them. While sitting by his wife’s side in his cottage-dwelling in
the winter evenings, he was usually occupied in studying mechanical
subjects, or in modelling experimental machines. Amongst his various
speculations while at Willington, he tried to discover a means of Perpetual
Motion. Although he failed, as so many others had done before him, the
very efforts he made tended to whet his inventive faculties, and to call forth
his dormant powers. He went so far as to construct the model of a machine
for the purpose. It consisted of a wooden wheel, the periphery of which
was furnished with glass tubes filled with quicksilver; as the wheel rotated,
the quicksilver poured itself down into the lower tubes, and thus a sort of
self-acting motion was kept up in the apparatus, which, however, did not
prove to be perpetual. Where he had first obtained the idea of this machine
—whether from conversation or reading, is not known; but his son Robert
was of opinion that he had heard of the apparatus of this kind described in
the “History of Inventions.” As he had then no access to books, and indeed
could barely read with ease, it is probable that he had been told of the
contrivance, and set about testing its value according to his own methods.
Much of his spare time continued to be occupied by labour more
immediately profitable, regarded in a pecuniary point of view. In the
evenings, after his day’s labour at his engine, he would occasionally employ
himself for an hour or two in casting ballast out of the collier ships, by
which means he was enabled to earn a few extra shillings weekly. Mr.
William Fairbairn of Manchester has informed us that while Stephenson
was employed at Willington, he himself was working in the neighbourhood
as an engine apprentice at the Percy Main Colliery. He was very fond of
George, who was a fine, hearty fellow, besides being a capital workman. In
the summer evenings young Fairbairn was accustomed to go down to the
Quay to see his friend, and on such occasions he would frequently take
charge of George’s engine while he took a turn at heaving ballast out of the
ships’ holds. It is pleasant to think of the future President of the British
Association thus helping the future Railway Engineer to earn a few extra
shillings by overwork in the evenings, at a time when both occupied the
rank of humble working men in an obscure northern village.

Mr. Fairbairn was also a frequent visitor at George’s cottage on the Quay,
where, though there was no luxury, there was comfort, cleanliness, and a
pervading spirit of industry. Even at home George was never for a moment
idle. When there was no ballast to heave out at the Quay he took in shoes to
mend; and from mending he proceeded to making them, as well as shoe-
lasts, in which he was admitted to be very expert.
But an accident occurred in Stephenson’s household about this time, which
had the effect of directing his industry into a new and still more profitable
channel. The cottage chimney took fire one day in his absence, when the
alarmed neighbours, rushing in, threw quantities of water upon the flames;
and some, in their zeal, even mounted the ridge of the house, and poured
buckets of water down the chimney. The fire was soon put out, but the
house was thoroughly soaked. When George came home he found
everything in disorder, and his new furniture covered with soot. The eight-
day clock, which hung against the wall—one of the most highly-prized
articles in the house—was much damaged by the steam with which the
room had been filled; and its wheels were so clogged by the dust and soot
that it was brought to a complete standstill. George was always ready to
turn his hand to anything, and his ingenuity, never at fault, immediately set
to work to repair the unfortunate clock. He was advised to send it to the
clockmaker, but that would cost money; and he declared that he would
repair it himself—at least he would try. The clock was accordingly taken to
pieces and cleaned; the tools which he had been accumulating for the
purpose of constructing his Perpetual Motion machine, enabled him to do
this readily; and he succeeded so well that, shortly after, the neighbours sent
him their clocks to clean, and he soon became one of the most famous
clock-doctors in the neighbourhood.
It was while living at Willington Quay that George Stephenson’s only son
was born, on the 16th of October, 1803. The child was a great favourite
with his father, and added much to the happiness of his evening hours.
George’s “philoprogenitiveness,” as phrenologists call it, had been
exercised hitherto upon birds, dogs, rabbits, and even the poor old gin-
horses which he had driven at the Callerton Pit; but in his boy he now found
a much more genial object for the exercise of his affection.

The christening took place in the school-house at Wallsend, the old parish
church being at the time in so dilapidated a condition from the “creeping”
or subsidence of the ground, consequent upon the excavation of the coal,
that it was considered dangerous to enter it. On this occasion, Robert Gray
and Anne Henderson, who had officiated as bridesman and bridesmaid at
the wedding, came over again to Willington, and stood godfather and
godmother to little Robert,—so named after his grandfather.
After working for several years more as a brakesman at the Willington
machine, George Stephenson was induced to leave his situation there for a
similar one at the West Moor Colliery, Killingworth. It was not without
considerable persuasion that he was induced to leave the Quay, as he knew
that he should thereby give up the chance of earning extra money by casting
ballast from the keels. At last, however, he consented, in the hope of
making up the loss in some other way.
The village of Killingworth lies about seven miles north of Newcastle, and
is one of the best-known collieries in that neighbourhood. The workings of
the coal are of vast extent, and give employment to a large number of work-
people. To this place Stephenson first came as a brakesman about the
beginning of 1805. He had not been long in his new place, ere his wife died
(in 1806), shortly after giving birth to a daughter, who survived the mother
only a few months. George deeply felt the loss of his wife, for they had
been very happy together. Their lot had been sweetened by daily successful
toil. The husband was sober and hard-working, and his wife made his
hearth so bright and his home so snug, that no attraction could draw him
from her side in the evening hours. But this domestic happiness was all to
pass away; and George felt as one that had thenceforth to tread the journey
of life alone.

Shortly after this event, while his grief was still fresh, he received an
invitation from some gentlemen concerned in large spinning works near
Montrose in Scotland, to proceed thither and superintend the working of
one of Boulton and Watt’s engines. He accepted the offer, and made
arrangements to leave Killingworth for a time.
Having left his little boy in good keeping, he set out upon his long journey
to Scotland on foot, with his kit upon his back. While working at Montrose
he gave a striking proof of that practical ability in contrivance for which he
was afterwards so distinguished. It appears that the water required for the
purposes of his engine, as well as for the use of the works, was pumped
from a considerable depth, being supplied from the adjacent extensive sand
strata. The pumps frequently got choked by the sand drawn in at the bottom
of the well through the snore-holes, or apertures through which the water to
be raised is admitted. The barrels soon became worn, and the bucket and
clack leathers destroyed, so that it became necessary to devise a remedy;
and with this object the engineman proceeded to adopt the following simple
but original expedient. He had a wooden box or boot made, twelve feet
high, which he placed in the sump or well, and into this he inserted the
lower end of the pump. The result was, that the water flowed clear from the

outer part of the well over into the boot, and being drawn up without any
admixture of sand, the difficulty was thus conquered. [38]
Being paid good wages, Stephenson contrived, during the year he worked at
Montrose, to save a sum of £28, which he took back with him to
Killingworth. Longing to get back to his kindred, his heart yearning for the
son whom he had left behind, our engineman took leave of his employers,
and trudged back to Northumberland on foot as he had gone. While on his
journey southward he arrived late one evening, footsore and wearied, at the
door of a small farmer’s cottage, at which he knocked, and requested shelter
for the night. It was refused, and then he entreated that, being tired, and
unable to proceed further, the farmer would permit him to lie down in the
outhouse, for that a little clean straw would serve him. The farmer’s wife
appeared at the door, looked at the traveller, then retiring with her husband,
the two confabulated a little apart, and finally they invited Stephenson into
the cottage. Always full of conversation and anecdote, he soon made
himself at home in the farmer’s family, and spent with them a few pleasant
hours. He was hospitably entertained for the night, and when he left the
cottage in the morning, he pressed them to make some charge for his
lodging, but they refused to accept any recompense. They only asked him
to remember them kindly, and if he ever came that way, to be sure and call
again. Many years after, when Stephenson had become a thriving man, he
did not forget the humble pair who had succoured and entertained him on
his way; he sought their cottage again, when age had silvered their hair; and
when he left the aged couple, they may have been reminded of the old
saying that we may sometimes “entertain angels unawares.”
Reaching home, Stephenson found that his father had met with a serious
accident at the Blucher Pit, which had reduced him to great distress and
poverty. While engaged in the inside of an engine, making some repairs, a
fellow-workman accidentally let in the steam upon him. The blast struck
him full in the face; he was terribly scorched, and his eyesight was
irretrievably lost. The helpless and infirm man had struggled for a time
with poverty; his sons who were at home, poor as himself, were little able
to help him, while George was at a distance in Scotland. On his return,
however, with his savings in his pocket, his first step was to pay off his
father’s debts, amounting to about £15; and shortly after he removed the
aged pair from Jolly’s Close to a comfortable cottage adjoining the

tramroad near the West Moor at Killingworth, where the old man lived for
many years, supported entirely by his son.
Stephenson was again taken on as a brakesman at the West Moor Pit. He
does not seem to have been very hopeful as to his prospects in life about
this time (1807–8). Indeed the condition of the working class generally was
very discouraging. England was engaged in a great war, which pressed
upon the industry, and severely tried the resources, of the country. There
was a constant demand for men to fill the army. The working people were
also liable to be pressed for the navy, or drawn for the militia; and though
they could not fail to be discontented under such circumstances, they
scarcely dared even to mutter their discontent to their neighbours.
Stephenson was drawn for the militia: he must therefore either quit his work
and go a-soldiering, or find a substitute. He adopted the latter course, and
borrowed £6, which, with the remainder of his savings, enabled him to
provide a militiaman to serve in his stead. Thus the whole of his hard-won
earnings were swept away at a stroke. He was almost in despair, and
contemplated the idea of leaving the country, and emigrating to the United
States. Although a voyage thither was then a much more formidable thing
for a working man to accomplish than a voyage to Australia is now, he
seriously entertained the project, and had all but made up his mind to go.
His sister Ann, with her husband, emigrated about that time, but George
could not raise the requisite money, and they departed without him. After
all, it went sore against his heart to leave his home and his kindred, the
scenes of his youth and the friends of his boyhood; and he struggled long
with the idea, brooding over it in sorrow. Speaking afterwards to a friend of
his thoughts at the time, he said: “You know the road from my house at the
West Moor to Killingworth. I remember once when I went along that road I
wept bitterly, for I knew not where my lot in life would be cast.”
In 1808, Stephenson, with two other brakesmen, took a small contract under
the colliery lessees for brakeing the engines at the West Moor Pit. The
brakesmen found the oil and tallow; they divided the work amongst them,
and were paid so much per score for their labour. It was the interest of the
brakesmen to economise the working as much as possible, and George no
sooner entered upon the contract than he proceeded to devise ways and
means of making it “pay.” He observed that the ropes which, at other pits

in the neighbourhood, lasted about three months, at the West Moor Pit
became worn out in about a month. He immediately set about ascertaining
the cause of the defect; and finding it to be occasioned by excessive
friction, he proceeded, with the sanction of the head engine-wright and the
colliery owners, to shift the pulley-wheels and re-arrange the gearing,
which had the effect of greatly diminishing the tear and wear, besides
allowing the work of the colliery to proceed without interruption.
About the same time he attempted an improvement in the winding-engine
which he worked, by placing a valve between the air-pump and condenser.
This expedient, although it led to no practical result, showed that his mind
was actively engaged in studying new mechanical adaptations. It continued
to be his regular habit, on Saturdays, to take his engine to pieces, for the
purpose, at the same time, of familiarising himself with its action, and of
placing it in a state of thorough working order. By mastering its details, he
was enabled, as opportunity occurred, to turn to practical account the
knowledge he thus diligently and patiently acquired.
Such an opportunity was not long in presenting itself. In the year 1810, a
new pit was sunk by the “Grand Allies” (the lessees of the mines) at the
village of Killingworth, now known as the Killingworth High Pit. An
atmospheric or Newcomen engine, made by Smeaton, was fixed there for
the purpose of pumping out the water from the shaft; but somehow it failed
to clear the pit. As one of the workmen has since described the
circumstance—“She couldn’t keep her jack-head in water: all the
enginemen in the neighbourhood were tried, as well as Crowther of the
Ouseburn, but they were clean bet.” The engine had been fruitlessly
pumping for nearly twelve months, and began to be spoken of as a total
failure. Stephenson had gone to look at it when in course of erection, and
then observed to the over-man that he thought it was defective; he also gave
it as his opinion that, if there were much water in the mine, the engine
would never keep it under. Of course, as he was only a brakesman, his
opinion was considered to be worth very little on such a point. He
continued, however, to make frequent visits to the engine, to see “how she
was getting on.” From the bank-head where he worked his brake he could
see the chimney smoking at the High Pit; and as the men were passing to
and from their work, he would call out and inquire “if they had gotten to the

bottom yet?” And the reply was always to the same effect—the pumping
made no progress, and the workmen were still “drowned out.”
One Saturday afternoon he went over to the High Pit to examine the engine
more carefully than he had yet done. He had been turning the subject over
thoughtfully in his mind; and seemed to have satisfied himself as to the
cause of the failure. Kit Heppel, one of the sinkers, asked him, “Weel,
George, what do you mak’ o’ her? Do you think you could do anything to
improve her?” Said George, “I could alter her, man, and make her draw: in
a week’s time I could send you to the bottom.”
Forthwith Heppel reported this conversation to Ralph Dodds, the head
viewer, who, being now quite in despair, and hopeless of succeeding with
the engine, determined to give George’s skill a trial. At the worst he could
only fail, as the rest had done. In the evening, Dodds went in search of
Stephenson, and met him on the road, dressed in his Sunday’s suit, on the
way to “the preaching” in the Methodist Chapel, which he attended. “Well,
George,” said Dodds, “they tell me that you think you can put the engine at
the High Pit to rights.” “Yes, sir,” said George. “I think I could.” “If that’s
the case, I’ll give you a fair trial, and you must set to work immediately.
We are clean drowned out, and cannot get a stop further. The engineers
hereabouts are all bet; and if you really succeed in accomplishing what they
cannot do, you may depend upon it I will make you a man for life.”
Stephenson began his operations early next morning. The only condition
that he made, before setting to work, was that he should select his own
workmen. There was, as he knew, a good deal of jealousy amongst the
“regular” men that a colliery brakesman should pretend to know more about
their engine than they themselves did, and attempt to remedy defects which
the most skilled men of their craft, including the engineer of the colliery,
had failed to do. But George made the condition a sine quâ non. “The
workmen,” said he, “must either be all Whigs or all Tories.” There was no
help for it, so Dodds ordered the old hands to stand aside. The men
grumbled, but gave way; and then George and his party went in.
The engine was taken entirely to pieces. The cistern containing the
injection water was raised ten feet; the injection cock, being too small, was
enlarged to nearly double its former size, and it was so arranged that it

should be shut off quickly at the beginning of the stroke. These and other
alterations were necessarily performed in a rough way, but, as the result
proved, on true principles. Stephenson also, finding that the boiler would
bear a greater pressure than five pounds to the inch, determined to work it at
a pressure of ten pounds, though this was contrary to the directions of both
Newcomen and Smeaton. The necessary alterations were made in about
three days, and many persons came to see the engine start, including the
men who had put her up. The pit being nearly full of water, she had little to
do on starting, and, to use George’s words, “came bounce into the house.”
Dodds exclaimed, “Why, she was better as she was; now, she will knock the
house down.” After a short time, however, the engine got fairly to work,
and by ten o’clock that night the water was lower in the pit than it had ever
been before. It was kept pumping all Thursday, and by the Friday afternoon
the pit was cleared of water, and the workmen were “sent to the bottom,” as
Stephenson had promised. Thus the alterations effected in the pumping
apparatus proved completely successful.
Dodds was particularly gratified with the manner in which the job had been
done, and he made Stephenson a present of ten pounds, which, though very
inadequate when compared with the value of the work performed, was
accepted with gratitude. George was proud of the gift as the first marked
recognition of his skill as a workman; and he used afterwards to say that it
was the biggest sum of money he had up to that time earned in one lump.
Ralph Dodds, however, did more than this. He released the brakesman
from the handles of his engine at West Moot, and appointed him engineman
at the High Pit, at good wages, during the time the pit was sinking,—the job
lasting for about a year; and he also kept him in mind for further
advancement.
Stephenson’s skill as an engine-doctor soon became noised abroad, and he
was called upon to prescribe remedies for all the old, wheezy, and
ineffective pumping-machines in the neighbourhood. In this capacity he
soon left the “regular” men far behind, though they in their turn were very
mach disposed to treat the Killingworth brakesman as no better than a
quack. Nevertheless, his practice was really founded upon a close study of
the principles of mechanics, and on an intimate practical acquaintance with
the details of the pumping-engine.

Another of his smaller achievements in the same line is still told by the
people of the district. At the corner of the road leading to Long Benton,
there was a quarry from which a peculiar and scarce kind of ochre was
taken. In the course of working it out, the water had collected in
considerable quantities; and there being no means of draining it off, it
accumulated to such an extent that the further working of the ochre was
almost entirely stopped. Ordinary pumps were tried, and failed; and then a
windmill was tried, and failed too. On this, George was asked what ought
to be done to clear the quarry of the water. He said, “he would set up for
them an engine little bigger than a kail-pot, that would clear them out in a
week.” And he did so. A little engine was speedily erected, by means of
which the quarry was pumped dry in the course of a few days. Thus his
skill as a pump-doctor soon became the marvel of the district.
In elastic muscular vigour, Stephenson was now in his prime, and he still
continued to be zealous in measuring his strength and agility with his fellow
workmen. The competitive element in his nature was always strong; and
his success in these feats of rivalry was certainly remarkable. Few, if any,
could lift such weights, throw the hammer and putt the stone so far, or cover
so great a space at a standing or running leap. One day, between the engine
hour and the rope-rolling hour, Kit Heppel challenged him to leap from one
high wall to another, with a deep gap between. To Heppel’s surprise and
dismay, George took the standing leap, and cleared the eleven feet at a
bound. Had his eye been less accurate, or his limbs less agile and sure, the
feat must have cost him his life.
But so full of redundant muscular vigour was he, that leaping, putting, or
throwing the hammer were not enough for him. He was also ambitious of
riding on horseback, and, as he had not yet been promoted to an office
enabling him to keep a horse of his own, he sometimes borrowed one of the
gin-horses for a ride. On one of these occasions, he brought the animal
back reeking; when Tommy Mitcheson, the bank horse-keeper, a rough-
spoken fellow, exclaimed to him: “Set such fellows as you on horseback,
and you’ll soon ride to the De’il.” But Tommy Mitcheson lived to tell the
joke, and to confess that, after all, there had been a better issue to George’s
horsemanship than that which he predicted.

Old Cree, the engine-wright at Killingworth High Pit, having been killed by
an accident, George Stephenson was, in 1812, appointed engine-wright of
the colliery at the salary of £100 a year. He was also allowed the use of a
galloway to ride upon in his visits of inspection to the collieries leased by
the “Grand Allies” in that neighbourhood. The “Grand Allies” were a
company of gentlemen, consisting of Sir Thomas Liddell (afterwards Lord
Ravensworth), the Earl of Strathmore, and Mr. Stuart Wortley (afterwards
Lord Wharncliffe), the lessees of the Killingworth collieries. Having been
informed of the merits of Stephenson, of his indefatigable industry, and the
skill which he had displayed in the repairs of the pumping-engines, they
readily acceded to Mr. Dodds’ recommendation that he should be appointed
the colliery engine-wright; and, as we shall afterwards find, they continued
to honour him by distinguished marks of their approval.

CHAPTER IV.
The Stephensons at Killingworth—Education
and Self-Education of Father and Son.

George Stephenson had now been diligently employed for several years in
the work of self-improvement, and he experienced the usual results in
increasing mental strength, capability, and skill. Perhaps the secret of every
man’s best success is to be found in the alacrity and industry with which he
takes advantage of the opportunities which present themselves for well-
doing. Our engineman was an eminent illustration of the importance of
cultivating this habit of life. Every spare moment was laid under
contribution by him, either for the purpose of adding to his earnings, or to
his knowledge. He missed no opportunity of extending his observations,
especially in his own department of work, ever aiming at improvement, and
trying to turn all that he did know to useful practical account.
He continued his attempts to solve the mystery of Perpetual Motion, and
contrived several model machines with the object of embodying his ideas in
a practical working shape. He afterwards used to lament the time he had
lost in these futile efforts, and said that if he had enjoyed the opportunity
which most young men now have, of learning from books what previous
experimenters had accomplished, he would have been spared much labour
and mortification. Not being acquainted with what other mechanics had
done, he groped his way in pursuit of some idea originated by his own
independent thinking and observation; and, when he had brought it into
some definite form, lo! he found that his supposed invention had long been
known and recorded in scientific books. Often he thought he had hit upon
discoveries, which he subsequently found were but old and exploded
fallacies. Yet his very struggle to overcome the difficulties which lay in his
way, was of itself an education of the best sort. By wrestling with them, he
strengthened his judgment and sharpened his skill, stimulating and

cultivating his inventiveness and mechanical ingenuity. Being very much in
earnest, he was compelled to consider the subject of his special inquiry in
all its relations; and thus he gradually acquired practical ability even
through his very efforts after the impracticable.
Many of his evenings were now spent in the society of John Wigham,
whose father occupied the Glebe Farm at Benton, close at hand. John was a
fair penman and a sound arithmetician, and Stephenson sought his society
chiefly for the purpose of improving himself in writing and “figures.”
Under Andrew Robertson, he had never quite mastered the Rule of Three,
and it was only when Wigham took him in hand that he made much
progress in the higher branches of arithmetic. He generally took his slate
with him to the Wighams’ cottage, when he had his sums set, that he might
work them out while tending his engine on the following day. When too
busy to be able to call upon Wigham, he sent the slate to have the former
sums corrected and new ones set. Sometimes also, at leisure moments, he
was enabled to do a little “figuring” with chalk upon the sides of the coal-
waggons. So much patient perseverance could not but eventually succeed;
and by dint of practice and study, Stephenson was enabled to master
successively the various rules of arithmetic.
John Wigham was of great use to his pupil in many ways. He was a good
talker, fond of argument, an extensive reader as country reading went in
those days, and a very suggestive thinker. Though his store of information
might be comparatively small when measured with that of more highly-
cultivated minds, much of it was entirely new to Stephenson, who regarded
him as a very clever and ingenious person. Wigham taught him to draw
plans and sections; though in this branch Stephenson proved so apt that he
soon surpassed his master. A volume of ‘Ferguson’s Lectures on
Mechanics,’ which fell into their hands, was a great treasure to both the
students. One who remembers their evening occupations says he used to
wonder what they meant by weighing the air and water in so odd a way.
They were trying the specific gravities of objects; and the devices which
they employed, the mechanical shifts to which they were put, were often of
the rudest kind. In these evening entertainments, the mechanical
contrivances were supplied by Stephenson, whilst Wigham found the
scientific rationale. The opportunity thus afforded to the former of
cultivating his mind by contact with one wiser than himself proved of great

value, and in after-life Stephenson gratefully remembered the assistance
which, when a humble workman, he had derived from John Wigham, the
farmer’s son.
His leisure moments thus carefully improved, it will be inferred that
Stephenson continued a sober man. Though his notions were never extreme
on this point, he was systematically temperate. It appears that on the
invitation of his master, he had, on one or two occasions, been induced to
join him in a forenoon glass of ale in the public-house of the village. But
one day, about noon, when Dodds had got him as far as the public-house
door, on his invitation to “come in and take a glass o’ yel,” Stephenson
made a dead stop, and said, firmly, “No, sir, you must excuse me; I have
made a resolution to drink no more at this time of day.” And he went back.
He desired to retain the character of a steady workman; and the instances of
men about him who had made shipwreck of their character through
intemperance, were then, as now, unhappily but too frequent.
But another consideration besides his own self-improvement had already
begun to exercise an important influence on his life. This was the training
and education of his son Robert, now growing up an active, intelligent boy,
as full of fun and tricks as his father had been. When a little fellow,
scarcely able to reach so high as to put a clock-head on when placed upon
the table, his father would make him mount a chair for the purpose; and to
“help father” was the proudest work which the boy then, and ever after,
could take part in. When the little engine was set up at the Ochre Quarry to
pump it dry, Robert was scarcely absent for an hour. He watched the
machine very eagerly when it was set to work; and he was very much
annoyed at the fire burning away the grates. The man who fired the engine
was a sort of wag, and thinking to get a laugh at the boy, he said, “Those
bars are getting varra bad, Robert; I think we main cut up some of that hard
wood, and put it in instead.” “What would be the use of that, you fool?”
said the boy quickly. “You would no sooner have put them in than they
would be burnt out again!”
So soon as Robert was of proper age, his father sent him over to the road-
side school at Long Benton, kept by Rutter, the parish clerk. But the
education which Rutter could give was of a very limited kind, scarcely
extending beyond the primer and pothooks. While working as a brakesman

on the pit-head at Killingworth, the father had often bethought him of the
obstructions he had himself encountered in life through his want of
schooling; and he formed the noble determination that no labour, nor pains,
nor self-denial on his part should be spared to furnish his son with the best
education that it was in his power to bestow.

It is true his earnings were comparatively small at that time. He was still
maintaining his infirm parents; and the cost of living continued excessive.
But he fell back upon his old expedient of working up his spare time in the
evenings at home, or during the night shifts when it was his turn to tend the
engine, in mending and making shoes, cleaning clocks and watches, making
shoe-lasts for the shoe-makers of the neighbourhood, and cutting out the
pitmen’s clothes for their wives; and we have been told that to this day there
are clothes worn at Killingworth made after “Geordy Steevie’s cut.” To
give his own words:—“In the earlier period of my career,” said he, “when
Robert was a little boy, I saw how deficient I was in education, and I made
up my mind that he should not labour under the same defect, but that I
would put him to a good school, and give him a liberal training. I was,
however, a poor man; and how do you think I managed? I betook myself to

mending my neighbours’ clocks and watches at nights, after my daily labour
was done, and thus I procured the means of educating my son.” [52]
Carrying out the resolution as to his boy’s education, Robert was sent to Mr.
Bruce’s school in Percy Street, Newcastle, at Midsummer, 1815, when he
was about twelve years old. His father bought for him a donkey, on which
he rode into Newcastle and back daily; and there are many still living who
remember the little boy, dressed in his suit of homely grey stuff, cut out by
his father, cantering along to school upon the “cuddy,” with his wallet of
provisions for the day and his bag of books slung over his shoulder.
When Robert went to Mr. Bruce’s school, he was a shy, unpolished country
lad, speaking the broad dialect of the pitmen; and the other boys would
occasionally tease him, for the purpose of provoking an outburst of his
Killingworth Doric. As the shyness got rubbed off, his love of fun began to
show itself, and he was found able enough to hold his own amongst the
other boys. As a scholar he was steady and diligent, and his master was
accustomed to hold him up to the laggards of the school as an example of
good conduct and industry. But his progress, though satisfactory, was by no
means extraordinary. He used in after-life to pride himself on his
achievements in mensuration, though another boy, John Taylor, beat him at
arithmetic. He also made considerable progress in mathematics; and in a
letter written to the son of his teacher, many years after, he said, “It was to
Mr. Bruce’s tuition and methods of modelling the mind that I attribute much
of my success as an engineer; for it was from him that I derived my taste for
mathematical pursuits and the facility I possess of applying this kind of
knowledge to practical purposes and modifying it according to
circumstances.”

During the time Robert attended school at Newcastle, his father made the
boy’s education instrumental to his own. Robert was accustomed to spend
some of his spare time at the rooms of the Literary and Philosophical
Institute; and when he went home in the evening, he would recount to his
father the results of his reading. Sometimes he was allowed to take with
him to Killingworth a volume of the ‘Repertory of Arts and Sciences,’
which father and son studied together. But many of the most valuable
works belonging to the Newcastle Library were not lent out; these Robert
was instructed to read and study, and bring away with him descriptions and
sketches for his father’s information. His father also practised him in
reading plans and drawings without reference to the written descriptions.
He used to observe that “A good plan should always explain itself;” and,
placing a drawing of an engine or machine before the youth, would say,
“There, now, describe that to me—the arrangement and the action.” Thus
he taught him to read a drawing as easily as he would read a page of a
book. Both father and son profited by this excellent practice, which
enabled them to apprehend with the greatest facility the details of even the
most difficult and complicated mechanical drawing.

While Robert went on with his lessons in the evenings, his father was
usually occupied with his watch and clock cleaning; or in contriving models
of pumping-engines; or endeavouring to embody in a tangible shape the
mechanical inventions which he found described in the odd volumes on
Mechanics which fell in his way. This daily and unceasing example of
industry and application, in the person of a loving and beloved father,
imprinted itself deeply upon the boy’s heart in characters never to be
effaced. A spirit of self-improvement was thus early and carefully planted
and fostered in Robert’s mind, which continued to influence him through
life; and to the close of his career, he was proud to confess that if his
professional success had been great, it was mainly to the example and
training of his father that he owed it.
Robert was not, however, exclusively devoted to study, but, like most boys
full of animal spirits, he was very fond of fun and play, and sometimes of
mischief. Dr. Bruce relates that an old Killingworth labourer, when asked
by Robert, on one of his last visits to Newcastle, if he remembered him,
replied with emotion, “Ay, indeed! Haven’t I paid your head many a time
when you came with your father’s bait, for you were always a sad hempy?”
The author had the pleasure, in the year 1854, of accompanying Robert
Stephenson on a visit to his old home and haunts at Killingworth. He had
so often travelled the road upon his donkey to and from school, that every
foot of it was familiar to him; and each turn in it served to recall to mind
some incident of his boyish days. His eyes glistened when he came in sight
of Killingworth pit-head. Pointing to a humble red-tiled house by the road-
side at Benton, he said, “You see that house—that was Rutter’s, where I
learnt my A B C, and made a beginning of my school learning. And there,”
pointing to a colliery chimney on the left, “there is Long Benton, where my
father put up his first pumping-engine; and a great success it was. And this
humble clay-floored cottage you see here, is where my grandfather lived till
the close of his life. Many a time have I ridden straight into the house,
mounted on my cuddy, and called upon grandfather to admire his points. I
remember the old man feeling the animal all over—he was then quite blind
—after which he would dilate upon the shape of his ears, fetlocks, and
quarters, and usually end by pronouncing him to be a ‘real blood.’ I was a
great favourite with the old man, who continued very fond of animals, and

cheerful to the last; and I believe nothing gave him greater pleasure than a
visit from me and my cuddy.”
On the way from Benton to High Killingworth, Mr. Stephenson pointed to a
corner of the road where he had once played a boyish trick upon a
Killingworth collier. “Straker,” said he, “was a great bully, a coarse,
swearing fellow, and a perfect tyrant amongst the women and children. He
would go tearing into old Nanny the huxter’s shop in the village, and
demand in a savage voice, ‘What’s ye’r best ham the pund?’ ‘What’s floor
the hunder?’ ‘What d’ye ax for prime bacon?’—his questions often ending
with the miserable order, accompanied with a tremendous oath, of ‘Gie’s a
penny rrow (roll) an’ a baubee herrin!’ The poor woman was usually set
‘all of a shake’ by a visit from this fellow. He was also a great boaster, and
used to crow over the robbers whom he had put to flight; mere men in
buckram, as everybody knew. We boys,” he continued, “believed him to be
a great coward, and determined to play him a trick. Two other boys joined
me in waylaying Straker one night at that corner,” pointing to it. “We
sprang out and called upon him, in as gruff voices as we could assume, to
‘stand and deliver!’ He dropped down upon his knees in the dirt, declaring
he was a poor man, with a sma’ family, asking for ‘mercy,’ and imploring
us, as ‘gentlemen, for God’s sake, t’ let him a-be!’ We couldn’t stand this
any longer, and set up a shout of laughter. Recognizing our boys’ voices, he
sprang to his feet and rattled out a volley of oaths; on which we cut through
the hedge, and heard him shortly after swearing his way along the road to
the yel-house.”
On another occasion, Robert played a series of tricks of a somewhat
different character. Like his father, he was very fond of reducing his
scientific reading to practice; and after studying Franklin’s description of
the lightning experiment, he proceeded to expend his store of Saturday
pennies in purchasing about half a mile of copper wire at a brazier’s shop in
Newcastle. Having prepared his kite, he sent it up in the field opposite his
father’s door, and bringing the wire, insulated by means of a few feet of silk
cord, over the backs of some of Farmer Wigham’s cows, he soon had them
skipping about the field in all directions with their tails up. One day he had
his kite flying at the cottage-door as his father’s galloway was hanging by
the bridle to the paling, waiting for the master to mount. Bringing the end
of the wire just over the pony’s crupper, so smart an electric shock was

given it, that the brute was almost knocked down. At this juncture the
father issued from the door, riding-whip in hand, and was witness to the
scientific trick just played off upon his galloway. “Ah! you mischievous
scoondrel!” cried he to the boy, who ran off. He inwardly chuckled with
pride, nevertheless, at Robert’s successful experiment. [57]

At this time, and for many years after, Stephenson dwelt in a cottage
standing by the side of the road leading from the West Moor colliery to
Killingworth. The railway from the West Moor Pit crosses this road close
by the east end of the cottage. The dwelling originally consisted of but one
apartment on the ground-floor, with the garret over-head, to which access
was obtained by means of a step-ladder. But with his own hands
Stephenson built an oven, and in the course of time he added rooms to the
cottage, until it became a comfortable four-roomed dwelling, in which he
lived as long as he remained at Killingworth.
He continued as fond of birds and animals as ever, and seemed to have the
power of attaching them to him in a remarkable degree. He had a blackbird
at Killingworth so fond of him that it would fly about the cottage, and on
holding out his finger, would come and perch upon it. A cage was built for
“blackie” in the partition between the passage and the room, a square of

glass forming its outer wall; and Robert used afterwards to take pleasure in
describing the oddity of the bird, imitating the manner in which it would
cock its head on his father’s entering the house, and follow him with its eye
into the inner apartment.
Neighbours were accustomed to call at the cottage and have their clocks
and watches set to rights when they went wrong. One day, after looking at
the works of a watch left by a pitman’s wife, George handed it to his son;
“Put her in the oven, Robert,” said he, “for a quarter of an hour or so.” It
seemed an odd way of repairing a watch; nevertheless, the watch was put
into the oven, and at the end of the appointed time it was taken out, going
all right. The wheels had merely got clogged by the oil congealed by the
cold; which at once explains the rationale of the remedy adopted.
There was a little garden attached to the cottage, in which, while a
workman, Stephenson took a pride in growing gigantic leeks and
astounding cabbages. There was great competition amongst the villagers in
the growth of vegetables, all of whom he excelled, excepting one of his
neighbours, whose cabbages sometimes outshone his. In the protection of
his garden-crops from the ravages of the birds, he invented a strange sort of
“fley-craw,” which moved its arms with the wind; and he fastened his
garden-door by means of a piece of ingenious mechanism, so that no one
but himself could enter it. His cottage was quite a curiosity-shop of models
of engines, self-acting planes, and perpetual-motion machines. The last-
named contrivances, however, were only unsuccessful attempts to solve a
problem which had effectually baffled hundreds of preceding inventors.
His odd and eccentric contrivances often excited great wonder amongst the
Killingworth villagers. He won the women’s admiration by connecting
their cradles with the smoke-jack, and making them self-acting. Then he
astonished the pitmen by attaching an alarum to the clock of the watchman
whose duty it was to call them betimes in the morning. He also contrived a
wonderful lamp which burned under water, with which he was afterwards
wont to amuse the Brandling family at Gosforth,—going into the fish-pond
at night, lamp in hand, attracting and catching the fish, which rushed wildly
towards the flame.
Dr. Bruce tells of a competition which Stephenson had with the joiner at
Killingworth, as to which of them could make the best shoe-last; and when

the former had done his work, either for the humour of the thing, or to
secure fair play from the appointed judge, he took it to the Morrisons in
Newcastle, and got them to put their stamp upon it. So that it is possible the
Killingworth brakesman, afterwards the inventor of the safety lamp and the
originator of the railway system, and John Morrison, the last-maker,
afterwards the translator of the Scriptures into the Chinese language, may
have confronted each other in solemn contemplation over the successful
last, which won the verdict coveted by its maker.
Sometimes he would endeavour to impart to his fellow-workmen the results
of his scientific reading. Everything that he learnt from books was so new
and so wonderful to him, that he regarded the facts he drew from them in
the light of discoveries, as if they had been made but yesterday. Once he
tried to explain to some of the pitmen how the earth was round, and kept
turning round. But his auditors flatly declared the thing to be impossible, as
it was clear that “at the bottom side they must fall off!” “Ah!” said George,
“you don’t quite understand it yet.” His son Robert also early endeavoured
to communicate to others the information which he had gathered at school;
and Dr. Bruce has related that, when visiting Killingworth on one occasion,
he found him engaged in teaching algebra to such of the pitmen’s boys as
would become his pupils.

While Robert was still at school, his father proposed to him during the
holidays that he should construct a sun-dial, to be placed over their cottage-
door at West Moor. “I expostulated with him at first,” said Robert, “that I
had not learnt sufficient astronomy and mathematics to enable me to make
the necessary calculations. But he would have no denial. ‘The thing is to
be done,’ said he; ‘so just set about it at once.’ Well; we got a ‘Ferguson’s
Astronomy,’ and studied the subject together. Many a sore head I had while
making the necessary calculations to adapt the dial to the latitude of
Killingworth. But at length it was fairly drawn out on paper, and then my
father got a stone, and we hewed, and carved, and polished it, until we
made a very respectable dial of it; and there it is, you see,” pointing to it
over the cottage-door, “still quietly numbering the hours when the sun is
shining. I assure you, not a little was thought of that piece of work by the
pitmen when it was put up, and began to tell its tale of time.” The date
carved upon the dial is “August 11th, MDCCCXVI.” Both father and son

were in after-life very proud of the joint production. Many years after,
George took a party of savans, when attending the meeting of the British
Association at Newcastle, over to Killingworth to see the pits, and he did
not fail to direct their attention to the sun-dial; and Robert, on the last visit
which he made to the place, a short time before his death, took a friend into
the cottage, and pointed out to him the very desk, still there, at which he
had sat while making his calculations of the latitude of Killingworth.
From the time of his appointment as engineer at the Killingworth Pit,
George Stephenson was in a measure relieved from the daily routine of
manual labour, having, as we have seen, advanced himself to the grade of a
higher class workman. But he had not ceased to be a worker, though he
employed his industry in a different way. It might, indeed, be inferred that
he had now the command of greater leisure; but his spare hours were as
much as ever given to work, either necessary or self-imposed. So far as
regarded his social position, he had already reached the summit of his
ambition; and when he had got his hundred a year, and his dun galloway to
ride on, he said he never wanted to be any higher. When Robert Whetherly
offered to give him an old gig, his travelling having so much increased of
late, he accepted it with great reluctance, observing, that he should be
ashamed to get into it, “people would think him so proud.”
When the High Pit had been sunk, and the coal was ready for working,
Stephenson erected his first winding-engine to draw the coals out of the pit,
and also a pumping-engine for Long Benton Colliery, both of which proved
quite successful. Amongst other works of this time, he projected and laid
down a self-acting incline along the declivity which fell towards the coal-
loading place near Willington, where he had officiated as brakesman; and
he so arranged it, that the full waggons descending drew the empty
waggons up the railroad. This was one of the first self-acting inclines laid
down in the district.
Stephenson had now much better opportunities than hitherto for improving
himself in mechanics. His familiar acquaintance with the steam-engine
proved of great value to him. His shrewd insight, and his intimate practical
acquaintance with its mechanism, enabled him to apprehend, as if by
intuition, its most abstruse and difficult combinations. The practical study
which he had given to it when a workman, and the patient manner in which

he had groped his way through all the details of the machine, gave him the
power of a master in dealing with it as applied to colliery purposes.
Sir Thomas Liddell was frequently about the works, and took pleasure in
giving every encouragement to the engine-wright in his efforts after
improvement. The subject of the locomotive engine was already closely
occupying Stephenson’s attention; although it was still regarded as a
curious and costly toy, of comparatively little real use. But he had at an
early period detected its practical value, and formed an adequate conception
of the might which as yet slumbered within it; and he now bent his entire
faculties to the development of its extraordinary powers.

CHAPTER V.
Early History of the Locomotive—George
Stephenson begins its Improvement.

The rapid increase in the coal-trade of the Tyne about the beginning of the
present century had the effect of stimulating the ingenuity of mechanics,
and encouraging them to devise improved methods of transporting the coal
from the pits to the shipping places. From our introductory chapter, it will
have been observed that the improvements which had thus far been effected
were confined almost entirely to the road. The railway waggons still
continued to be drawn by horses. By improving and flattening the tramway,
considerable economy in horse-power had indeed been secured; but unless
some more effective method of mechanical traction could be devised, it was
clear that railway improvement had almost reached its limits.
Many expedients had been tried with this object. One of the earliest was
that of hoisting sails upon the waggons, and driving them along the
waggon-way, as a ship is driven through the water by the wind. This
method seems to have been employed by Sir Humphrey Mackworth, an
ingenious coal-miner at Neath in Glamorganshire, about the end of the
seventeenth century.
After having been lost sight of for more than a century, the same plan of
impelling carriages was revived by Richard Lovell Edgworth, with the
addition of a portable railway, since revived also, in Boydell’s patent. But
although Mr. Edgworth devoted himself to the subject for many years, he
failed in securing the adoption of his sailing carriage. It is indeed quite
clear that a power so uncertain as wind could never be relied on for
ordinary traffic, and Mr. Edgworth’s project was consequently left to repose
in the limbo of the Patent Office, with thousands of other equally useless
though ingenious contrivances.

A much more favourite scheme was the application of steam power for the
purpose of carriage traction. Savery, the inventor of the working steam-
engine, was the first to propose its employment to propel vehicles along the
common roads; and in 1759 Dr. Robison, then a young man studying at
Glasgow College, threw out the same idea to his friend James Watt; but the
scheme was not matured.

The first locomotive steam-carriage was built at Paris by the French
engineer Cugnot, a native of Lorraine. It is said to have been invented for
the purpose of dragging cannon into the field independent of horses. The
original model of this machine was made in 1763. Count Saxe was so
much pleased with it, that on his recommendation a full-sized engine was
constructed at the cost of the French monarch; and in 1769 it was tried in
the presence of the Duc de Choiseul, Minister of War, General Gribeauval,
and other officers. At one of the experiments it ran with such force as to
knock down a wall in its way. But the new vehicle, loaded with four
persons, could not travel faster than two and a half miles an hour. The
boiler was insufficient in size, and it could only work for about fifteen
minutes; after which it was necessary to wait until the steam had again risen
to a sufficient pressure. To remedy this defect, Cugnot constructed a new
machine in 1770, the working of which was more satisfactory. It was
composed of two parts—the fore part consisting of a small steam-engine,
formed of a round copper boiler, with a furnace inside, provided with two
small chimneys and two single-acting brass steam cylinders, whose pistons
acted alternately upon the single driving-wheel. The hinder part consisted
merely of a rude carriage on two wheels to carry the load, furnished with a
seat in front for the conductor. This engine was tried in the streets of Paris;

but when passing near where the Madeleine now stands, it overbalanced
itself on turning a corner, and fell over with a crash; after which, its
employment being thought dangerous, it was locked up in the arsenal to
prevent further mischief. The machine is, however, still to be seen in the
collection of the Conservatoire des Arts et Métiers at Paris. It has very
much the look of a long brewer’s cart, with the addition of the circular
boiler hung on at one end. Rough though it looks, it was a highly creditable
piece of work, considering the period at which it was executed; and as the
first actual machine constructed for the purpose of travelling on ordinary
roads by the power of steam, it is certainly a most curious and interesting
mechanical relic, well worthy of preservation.
But though Cugnot’s road locomotive remained locked up from public
sight, the subject was not dead; for we find inventors employing themselves
from time to time in attempting to solve the problem of steam locomotion in
places far remote from Paris. The idea had taken root in the minds of
inventors, and was striving to grow into a reality. Thus Oliver Evans, the
American, invented a steam carriage in 1772 to travel on common roads; in
1787 he obtained from the State of Maryland an exclusive right to make and
use steam-carriages, but his invention never came into use. Then, in 1784,
William Symington, one of the early inventors of the steamboat, was
similarly occupied in Scotland in endeavouring to develop the latent powers
of the steam-carriage. He had a working model of one constructed, which
he exhibited in 1786 to the professors of Edinburgh College; but the state of
the Scotch roads was then so bad that he found it impracticable to proceed
further with his scheme, which he shortly after abandoned in favour of
steam navigation.

The same year in which Symington was occupied upon his steam-carriage,
William Murdock, the friend and assistant of Watt, constructed his model of
a locomotive at the opposite end of the island—at Redruth in Cornwall. His
model was of small dimensions, standing little more than a foot high; and it
was until recently in the possession of the son of the inventor, at whose
house we saw it a few years ago. The annexed section will give an idea of
the arrangements of this machine.
It acted on the high-pressure principle, and, like Cugnot’s engine, ran upon
three wheels, the boiler being heated by a spirit-lamp. Small though the
machine was, it went so fast on one occasion that it fairly outran its
inventor. It seems that one night after returning from his duties at the
Redruth mine, Murdock determined to try the working of his model
locomotive. For this purpose he had recourse to the walk leading to the
church, about a mile from the town. It was rather narrow, and was bounded
on each side by high hedges. The night was dark, and Murdock set out
alone to try his experiment. Having lit his lamp, the water boiled speedily,
and off started the engine with the inventor after it. He soon heard distant
shouts of terror. It was too dark to perceive objects; but he found, on
following up the machine, that the cries proceeded from the worthy pastor
of the parish, who, going towards the town, was met on this lonely road by

the hissing and fiery little monster, which he subsequently declared he had
taken to be the Evil One in propriá personâ. No further steps were,
however, taken by Murdock to embody his idea of a locomotive carriage in
a more practical form.
The idea was next taken up by Murdock’s pupil, Richard Trevithick, who
resolved on building a steam-carriage adapted for common roads as well as
railways. He took out a patent to secure the right of his invention in 1802.
Andrew Vivian, his cousin, joined with him in the patent—Vivian finding
the money, and Trevithick the brains. The steam-carriage built on this
patent presented the appearance of an ordinary stage-coach on four wheels.
The engine had one horizontal cylinder, which, together with the boiler and
the furnace-box, was placed in the rear of the hind axle. The motion of the
piston was transmitted to a separate crank-axle, from which, through the
medium of spur-gear, the axle of the driving-wheel (which was mounted
with a fly-wheel) derived its motion. The steam-cocks and the force-pump,
as also the bellows used for the purpose of quickening combustion in the
furnace, were worked off the same crank-axle.
John Petherick, of Camborne, has related that he remembers this first
English steam-coach passing along the principal street of his native town.
Considerable difficulty was experienced in keeping up the pressure of
steam; but when there was pressure enough, Trevithick would call upon the
people to “jump up,” so as to create a load upon the engine. It was soon
covered with men attracted by the novelty, nor did their number seem to
make any difference in the speed of the engine so long as there was steam
enough; but it was constantly running short, and the horizontal bellows
failed to keep it up.
This road-locomotive of Trevithick’s was one of the first high-pressure
working engines constructed on the principle of moving a piston by the
elasticity of steam against the pressure only of the atmosphere. Such an
engine had been described by Leopold, though in his apparatus it was
proposed that the pressure should act only on one side of the piston. In
Trevithick’s engine the piston was not only raised, but was also depressed
by the action of the steam, being in this respect an entirely original
invention, and of great merit. The steam was admitted from the boiler
under the piston moving in a cylinder, impelling it upward. When the

motion had reached its limit, the communication between the piston and the
under side was shut off, and the steam allowed to escape into the
atmosphere. A passage being then opened between the boiler and the upper
side of the piston, which was pressed downwards, the steam was again
allowed to escape as before. Thus the power of the engine was equal to the
difference between the pressure of the atmosphere and the elasticity of the
steam in the boiler.
This steam-carriage excited considerable interest in the remote district near
the Land’s End where it had been erected. Being so far removed from the
great movements and enterprise of the commercial world, Trevithick and
Vivian determined upon exhibiting their machine in the metropolis. They
accordingly set out with it to Plymouth, whence it was conveyed by sea to
London.
The carriage safely reached the metropolis, and excited much public
interest. It also attracted the notice of scientific men, amongst others of Mr.
Davies Gilbert, President of the Royal Society, and Sir Humphry Davy, both
Cornishmen like Trevithick, who went to see the private performances of
the engine, and were greatly pleased with it. Writing to a Cornish friend
shortly after its arrival in town, Sir Humphry said: “I shall soon hope to
hear that the roads of England are the haunts of Captain Trevithick’s
dragons—a characteristic name.” The machine was afterwards publicly
exhibited in an enclosed piece of ground near Euston Square, where the
London and North-Western Station now stands, and it dragged behind it a
wheel-carriage full of passengers. On the second day of the performance,
crowds flocked to see it; but Trevithick, in one of his odd freaks, shut up the
place, and shortly after removed the engine. It is, however, probable that
the inventor came to the conclusion that the state of the roads at that time
was such as to preclude its coming into general use for purposes of ordinary
traffic.
While the steam-carriage was being exhibited, a gentleman was laying
heavy wagers as to the weight which could be hauled by a single horse on
the Wandsworth and Croydon iron tramway; and the number and weight of
waggons drawn by the horse were something surprising. Trevithick very
probably put the two things together—the steam-horse and the iron-way—
and kept the performance in mind when he proceeded to construct his

second or railway locomotive. The idea was not, however, entirely new to
him; for, although his first engine had been constructed with a view to its
employment upon common roads, the specification of his patent distinctly
alludes to the application of his engine to travelling on railroads. Having
been employed at the iron-works of Pen-y-darran, in South Wales, to erect a
forge engine for the Company, a convenient opportunity presented itself, on
the completion of this work, for carrying out his design of a locomotive to
haul the minerals along the Pen-y-darran tramway. Such an engine was
erected by him in 1803, in the blacksmiths’ shop at the Company’s works,
and it was finished and ready for trial before the end of the year.
The boiler of this second engine was cylindrical in form, flat at the ends,
and made of wrought iron. The furnace and flue were inside the boiler,
within which the single cylinder, eight inches in diameter and four feet six
inches stroke, was placed horizontally. As in the first engine, the motion of
the wheels was produced by spur gear, to which was also added a fly-wheel
on one side, to secure a rotatory motion in the crank at the end of each
stroke of the piston in the single cylinder. The waste steam was thrown into
the chimney through a tube inserted into it at right angles; but it will be
obvious that this arrangement was not calculated to produce any result in
the way of a steam-blast in the chimney. In fact, the waste steam seems to
have been turned into the chimney in order to get rid of the nuisance caused
by throwing the jet directly into the air. Trevithick was here hovering on
the verge of a great discovery; but that he was not aware of the action of the
blast in contributing to increase the draught and thus quicken combustion, is
clear from the fact that he employed bellows for this special purpose; and at
a much later date (1815) he took out a patent which included a method of
urging the fire by means of fanners. [70]

At the first trial of this engine it succeeded in dragging after it several
waggons, containing ten tons of bar-iron, at the rate of about five miles an
hour. Rees Jones, who worked at the fitting of the engine, and remembers
its performances, says, “She was used for bringing down metal from the
furnaces to the Old Forge. She worked very well; but frequently, from her
weight, broke the tram-plates and the hooks between the trams. After
working for some time in this way, she took a load of iron from Pen-y-
darran down the Basin-road, upon which road she was intended to work.
On the journey she broke a great many of the tram-plates, and before
reaching the basin ran off the road, and had to be brought back to Pen-y-
darran by horses. The engine was never after used as a locomotive.” [71]
It seems to have been felt that unless the road were entirely reconstructed so
as to bear the heavy weight of the locomotive—so much greater than that of
the tram-waggons, to carry which the original rails had been laid down—
the regular employment of Trevithick’s high-pressure tram-engine was
altogether impracticable; and as the owners of the works were not prepared
to incur so serious a cost, it was determined to take the locomotive off the
road, and employ it as an engine for other purposes. It was accordingly
dismounted, and used for some time after as a pumping-engine, for which
purpose it was found well adapted. Trevithick himself seems from this time
to have taken no further steps to bring the locomotive into general use. We

find him, shortly after, engaged upon schemes of a more promising
character, abandoning the engine to other mechanical inventors, though
little improvement was made in it for several years. An imaginary difficulty
seems to have tended, amongst other obstacles, to prevent its adoption; viz.,
the idea that, if a heavy weight were placed behind the engine, the “grip” or
“bite” of its smooth wheels upon the equally smooth iron rail, must
necessarily be so slight that they would whirl round upon it, and,
consequently, that the machine would not make progress. Hence
Trevithick, in his patent, provided that the periphery of the driving-wheels
should be made rough by the projection of bolts or cross-grooves, so that
the adhesion of the wheels to the road might be secured.
Following up the presumed necessity for a more effectual adhesion between
the wheels and the rails, Mr. Blenkinsop of Leeds, in 1811, took out a patent
for a racked or tooth-rail laid along one side of the road, into which the
toothed-wheel of his locomotive worked as pinions work into a rack. The
boiler of his engine was supported by a carriage with four wheels without
teeth, and rested immediately upon the axles. These wheels were entirely
independent of the working parts of the engine, and therefore merely
supported its weight upon the rails, the progress being effected by means of
the cogged-wheel working into the cogged-rail. The engine had two
cylinders, instead of one as in Trevithick’s engine. The invention of the
double cylinder was due to Matthew Murray, of Leeds, one of the best
mechanical engineers of his time; Mr. Blenkinsop, who was not a mechanic,
having consulted him as to all the practical arrangements. The connecting-
rods gave the motion to two pinions by cranks at right angles to each other;
these pinions communicating the motion to the wheel which worked into
the cogged-rail.
Mr. Blenkinsop’s engines began running on the railway from the Middleton
Collieries to Leeds, about 3½ miles, on the 12th of August, 1812. They
continued for many years to be one of the principal curiosities of the place,
and were visited by strangers from all parts. In 1816, the Grand Duke
Nicholas (afterwards Emperor) of Russia observed the working of
Blenkinsop’s locomotive with curious interest and admiration. An engine
dragged as many as thirty coal-waggons at a speed of about 3¼ miles per
hour. These engines continued for many years to be thus employed in the

haulage of coal, and furnished the first instance of the regular employment
of locomotive power for commercial purposes.
The Messrs. Chapman, of Newcastle, in 1812, endeavoured to overcome
the same fictitious difficulty of the want of adhesion between the wheel and
the rail, by patenting a locomotive to work along the road by means of a
chain stretched from one end of it to the other. This chain was passed once
round a grooved barrel-wheel under the centre of the engine: so that, when
the wheel turned, the locomotive, as it were, dragged itself along the
railway. An engine, constructed after this plan, was tried on the Heaton
Railway, near Newcastle; but it was so clumsy in its action, there was so
great a loss of power by friction, and it was found to be so expensive and
difficult to keep in repair, that it was soon abandoned. Another remarkable
expedient was adopted by Mr. Brunton, of the Butterley Works, Derbyshire,
who, in 1813, patented his Mechanical Traveller, to go upon legs working
alternately like those of a horse. [73] But this engine never got beyond the
experimental state, for, at its very first trial, the driver, to make sure of a
good start, overloaded the safety-valve, when the boiler burst and killed a
number of the bystanders, wounding many more. These, and other
contrivances with the same object, projected about the same time, show that
invention was actively at work, and that many minds were anxiously
labouring to solve the important problem of locomotive traction upon
railways.
But the difficulties contended with by these early inventors, and the step-
by-step progress which they made, will probably be best illustrated by the
experiments conducted by Mr. Blackett, of Wylam, which are all the more
worthy of notice, as the persevering efforts of this gentleman in a great
measure paved the way for the labours of George Stephenson, who, shortly
after, took up the question of steam locomotion, and brought it to a
successful issue.
The Wylam waggon-way is one of the oldest in the north of England.
Down to the year 1807 it was formed of wooden spars or rails, laid down
between the colliery at Wylam—where old Robert Stephenson had worked
—and the village of Lemington, some four miles down the Tyne, where the
coals were loaded into keels or barges, and floated down past Newcastle, to
be shipped for London. Each chaldron-waggon had a man in charge of it,

and was originally drawn by one horse. The rate at which the waggons
were hauled was so slow that only two journeys were performed by each
man and horse in one day, and three on the day following. This primitive
waggon-way passed, as before stated, close in front of the cottage in which
George Stephenson was born; and one of the earliest sights which met his
infant eyes was this wooden tramroad worked by horses.
Mr. Blackett was the first colliery owner in the North who took an active
interest in the locomotive. Having formed the acquaintance of Trevithick in
London, and inspected the performances of his engine, he determined to
repeat the Pen-y-darran experiment upon the Wylam waggon-way. He
accordingly obtained from Trevithick, in October, 1804, a plan of his
engine, provided with “friction-wheels,” and employed Mr. John Whinfield,
of Pipewellgate, Gateshead, to construct it at his foundry there. The engine
was constructed under the superintendence of one John Steele, an ingenious
mechanic who had been in Wales, and worked under Trevithick in fitting
the engine at Pen-y-darran. When the Gateshead locomotive was finished,
a temporary way was laid down in the works, on which it was run
backwards and forwards many times. For some reason, however—it is said
because the engine was deemed too light for drawing the coal-trains—it
never left the works, but was dismounted from the wheels, and set to blow
the cupola of the foundry, in which service it long continued to be
employed.
Several years elapsed before Mr. Blackett took any further steps to carry out
his idea. The final abandonment of Trevithick’s locomotive at Pen-y-darran
perhaps contributed to deter him from proceeding further; but he had the
wooden tramway taken up in 1808, and a plate-way of cast-iron laid down
instead—a single line furnished with sidings to enable the laden waggons to
pass the empty ones. The new iron road proved so much smoother than the
old wooden one, that a single horse, instead of drawing one, was now
enabled to draw two, or even three, laden waggons.
Encouraged by the success of Mr. Blenkinsop’s experiment at Leeds, Mr.
Blackett determined to follow his example; and in 1812 he ordered a second
engine, to work with a toothed driving-wheel upon a rack-rail. This
locomotive was constructed by Thomas Waters, of Gateshead, under the
superintendence of Jonathan Foster, Mr. Blackett’s principal engine-wright.

It was a combination of Trevithick’s and Blenkinsop’s engines; but it was of
a more awkward construction than either. The boiler was of cast-iron. The
engine was provided with a single cylinder six inches in diameter, with a
fly-wheel working at one side to carry the crank over the dead points.
Jonathan Foster described it to the author in 1854, as “a strange machine,
with lots of pumps, cog-wheels, and plugs, requiring constant attention
while at work.” The weight of the whole was about six tons.
When finished, it was conveyed to Wylam on a waggon, and there mounted
upon a wooden frame supported by four pairs of wheels, which had been
constructed for its reception. A barrel of water, placed on another frame
upon wheels, was attached to it as a tender. After a great deal of labour, the
cumbrous machine was got upon the road. At first it would not move an
inch. Its maker, Tommy Waters, became impatient, and at length enraged,
and taking hold of the lever of the safety valve, declared in his desperation,
that “either she or he should go.” At length the machinery was set in
motion, on which, as Jonathan Foster described to the author “she flew all
to pieces, and it was the biggest wonder i’ the world that we were not all
blewn up.” The incompetent and useless engine was declared to be a
failure; it was shortly after dismounted and sold; and Mr. Blackett’s
praiseworthy efforts thus far proved in vain.
He was still, however, desirous of testing the practicability of employing
locomotive power in working the coal down to Lemington, and he
determined on another trial. He accordingly directed his engine-wright to
proceed with the building of a third engine in the Wylam workshops. This
new locomotive had a single 8-inch cylinder, was provided with a fly-wheel
like its predecessor, and the driving-wheel was cogged on one side to enable
it to travel in the rack-rail laid along the road. This engine proved more
successful than the former one; and it was found capable of dragging eight
or nine loaded waggons, though at the rate of little more than a mile an
hour, from the colliery to the shipping-place. It sometimes took six hours to
perform the journey of five miles. Its weight was found too great for the
road, and the cast-iron plates were constantly breaking. It was also very apt
to get off the rack-rail, and then it stood still. The driver was one day asked
how he got on? “Get on?” said he, “we don’t get on; we only get off!” On
such occasions, horses had to be sent to drag the waggons as before, and
others to haul the engine back to the work-shops. It was constantly getting

out of order; its plugs, pumps, or cranks, got wrong; it was under repair as
often as at work; at length it became so cranky that the horses were usually
sent out after it to drag it when it gave up; and the workmen generally
declared it to be a “perfect plague.” Mr. Blackett did not obtain credit
amongst his neighbours for these experiments. Many laughed at his
machines, regarding them only in the light of crotchets,—frequently
quoting the proverb that “a fool and his money are soon parted.” Others
regarded them as absurd innovations on the established method of hauling
coal; and pronounced that they would “never answer.”
Notwithstanding, however, the comparative failure of this second
locomotive, Mr. Blackett persevered with his experiments. He was
zealously assisted by Jonathan Foster the engine-wright, and William
Hedley, the viewer of the colliery, a highly ingenious person, who proved of
great use in carrying out the experiments to a successful issue. One of the
chief causes of failure being the rack-rail, the idea occurred to Mr. Hedley
that it might be possible to secure adhesion enough between the wheel and
the rail by the mere weight of the engine, and he proceeded to make a series
of experiments for the purpose of determining this problem. He had a
frame placed on four wheels, and fitted up with windlasses attached by
gearing to the several wheels. The frame having been properly weighted,
six men were set to work the windlasses; when it was found that the
adhesion of the smooth wheels on the smooth rails was quite sufficient to
enable them to propel the machine without slipping. Having found the
proportion which the power bore to the weight, he demonstrated by
successive experiments that the weight of the engine would of itself
produce sufficient adhesion to enable it to draw upon a smooth railroad the
requisite number of waggons in all kinds of weather. And thus was the
fallacy which had heretofore prevailed on this subject completely exploded,
and it was satisfactorily proved that rack-rails, toothed wheels, endless
chains, and legs, were alike unnecessary for the efficient traction of loaded
waggons upon a moderately level road.
From this time forward considerably less difficulty was experienced in
working the coal trains upon the Wylam tramroad. At length the rack-rail
was dispensed with. The road was laid with heavier rails; the working of
the old engine was improved; and a new engine was shortly after built and
placed upon the road, still on eight wheels, driven by seven rack-wheels

working inside them—with a wrought-iron boiler through which the flue
was returned so as largely to increase the heating surface, and thus give
increased power to the engine.

As may readily be imagined, the jets of steam from the piston, blowing off
into the air at high pressure while the engine was in motion, caused
considerable annoyance to horses passing along the Wylam road, at that
time a public highway. The nuisance was felt to be almost intolerable, and
a neighbouring gentleman threatened to have it put down. To diminish the
noise as much as possible, Mr. Blackett gave orders that so soon as any
horse, or horses, came in sight, the locomotive was to be stopped, and the
frightful blast of the engine thus suspended until the passing animals had
got out of hearing. Much interruption was thus caused to the working of the
railway, and it excited considerable dissatisfaction amongst the workmen.
The following plan was adopted to abate the nuisance: a reservoir was
provided immediately behind the chimney (as shown in the preceding cut)
into which the waste steam was thrown after it had performed its office in
the cylinder; and from this reservoir, the steam gradually escaped into the
atmosphere without noise.

While Mr. Blackett was thus experimenting and building locomotives at
Wylam, George Stephenson was anxiously studying the same subject at
Killingworth. He was no sooner appointed engine-wright of the collieries
than his attention was directed to the means of more economically hauling
the coal from the pits to the river-side. We have seen that one of the first
important improvements which he made, after being placed in charge of the
colliery machinery, was to apply the surplus power of a pumping steam-
engine, fixed underground, to drawing the coals out of the deeper workings
of the Killingworth mines,—by which he succeeded in effecting a large
reduction in the expenditure on manual and horse labour.
The coals, when brought above ground, had next to be laboriously dragged
by horses to the shipping staiths on the Tyne, several miles distant. The
adoption of a tramroad, it is true, had tended to facilitate their transit.
Nevertheless the haulage was both tedious and costly. With the view of
economising labour, Stephenson laid down inclined planes where the nature
of the ground would admit of this expedient. Thus, a train of full waggons
let down the incline by means of a rope running over wheels laid along the
tramroad, the other end of which was attached to a train of empty waggons
placed at the bottom of the parallel road on the same incline, dragged them
up by the simple power of gravity. But this applied only to a comparatively
small part of the road. An economical method of working the coal trains,
instead of by horses,—the keep of which was at that time very costly, from
the high price of corn,—was still a great desideratum; and the best practical
minds in the collieries were actively engaged in the attempt to solve the
problem.
In the first place Stephenson resolved to make himself thoroughly
acquainted with what had already been done. Mr. Blackett’s engines were
working daily at Wylam, past the cottage where he had been born; and
thither he frequently went to inspect the improvements made by Mr.
Blackett from time to time both in the locomotive and in the plateway along
which it worked. Jonathan Foster informed us that, after one of these visits,
Stephenson declared to him his conviction that a much more effective
engine might be made, that should work more steadily and draw the load
more effectively.

He had also the advantage, about the same time, of seeing one of
Blenkinsop’s Leeds engines, which was placed on the tramway leading
from the collieries of Kenton and Coxlodge, on the 2nd September, 1813.
This locomotive drew sixteen chaldron waggons containing an aggregate
weight of seventy tons, at the rate of about three miles an hour. George
Stephenson and several of the Killingworth men were amongst the crowd of
spectators that day; and after examining the engine and observing its
performances, he observed to his companions, that “he thought he could
make a better engine than that, to go upon legs.” Probably he had heard of
the invention of Brunton, whose patent had by this time been published, and
proved the subject of much curious speculation in the colliery districts.
Certain it is, that, shortly after the inspection of the Coxlodge engine, he
contemplated the construction of a new locomotive, which was to surpass
all that had preceded it. He observed that those engines which had been
constructed up to this time, however ingenious in their arrangements, had
proved practical failures. Mr. Blackett’s was as yet both clumsy and
expensive. Chapman’s had been removed from the Heaton tramway in
1812, and was regarded as a total failure. And the Blenkinsop engine at
Coxlodge was found very unsteady and costly in its working; besides, it
pulled the rails to pieces, the entire strain being upon the rack-rail on one
side of the road. The boiler, however, having soon after blown up, there
was an end of that engine; and the colliery owners did not feel encouraged
to try any further experiment.
An efficient and economical working locomotive, therefore, still remained
to be invented; and to accomplish this object Mr. Stephenson now applied
himself. Profiting by what his predecessors had done, warned by their
failures and encouraged by their partial successes, he commenced his
labours. There was still wanting the man who should accomplish for the
locomotive what James Watt had done for the steam-engine, and combine in
a complete form the best points in the separate plans of others, embodying
with them such original inventions and adaptations of his own as to entitle
him to the merit of inventing the working locomotive, in the same manner
as James Watt is to be regarded as the inventor of the working condensing-
engine. This was the great work upon which George Stephenson now
entered, though probably without any adequate idea of the ultimate
importance of his labours to society and civilization.

He proceeded to bring the subject of constructing a “Travelling Engine,” as
he then denominated the locomotive, under the notice of the lessees of the
Killingworth Colliery, in the year 1813. Lord Ravensworth, the principal
partner, had already formed a very favourable opinion of the new engine-
wright, from the improvements which he had effected in the colliery
engines, both above and below ground; and, after considering the matter,
and hearing Stephenson’s explanations, he authorised him to proceed with
the construction of a locomotive,—though his lordship was, by some, called
a fool for advancing money for such a purpose. “The first locomotive that I
made,” said Stephenson, many years after, [82] when speaking of his early
career at a public meeting in Newcastle, “was at Killingworth Colliery, and
with Lord Ravensworth’s money. Yes; Lord Ravensworth and partners
were the first to entrust me, thirty-two years since, with money to make a
locomotive engine. I said to my friends, there was no limit to the speed of
such an engine, if the works could be made to stand.”
Our engine-wright had, however, many obstacles to encounter before he
could get fairly to work with the erection of his locomotive. His chief
difficulty was in finding workmen sufficiently skilled in mechanics, and in
the use of tools, to follow his instructions and embody his designs in a
practical shape. The tools then in use about the collieries were rude and
clumsy; and there were no such facilities as now exist for turning out
machinery of an entirely new character. Stephenson was under the
necessity of working with such men and tools as were at his command; and
he had in a great measure to train and instruct the workmen himself. The
engine was built in the workshops at the West Moor, the leading mechanic
employed being the colliery blacksmith, an excellent workman in his way,
though quite new to the work now entrusted to him.
In this first locomotive constructed at Killingworth, Stephenson to some
extent followed the plan of Blenkinsop’s engine. The boiler was
cylindrical, of wrought iron, 8 feet in length and 34 inches in diameter, with
an internal flue-tube 20 inches wide passing through it. The engine had two
vertical cylinders of 8 inches diameter, and 2 feet stroke, let into the boiler,
working the propelling gear with cross heads and connecting rods. The
power of the two cylinders was combined by means of spurwheels, which
communicated the motive power to the wheels supporting the engine on the
rail, instead of, as in Blenkinsop’s engine, to cogwheels which acted on the

cogged rail independent of the four supporting wheels. The engine thus
worked upon what is termed the second motion. The chimney was of
wrought iron, round which was a chamber extending back to the feed-
pumps, for the purpose of heating the water previous to its injection into the
boiler. The engine had no springs, and was mounted on a wooden frame
supported on four wheels. In order to neutralise as much as possible the
jolts and shocks which such an engine would necessarily encounter from
the obstacles and inequalities of the then very imperfect plateway, the
water-barrel which served for a tender was fixed to the end of a lever and
weighted, the other end of the lever being connected with the frame of the
locomotive carriage. By this means the weight of the two was more equally
distributed, though the contrivance did not by any means compensate for
the absence of springs.

The wheels of the locomotive were all smooth, Mr. Stephenson having
satisfied himself by experiment that the adhesion between the wheels of a
loaded engine and the rail would be sufficient for the purpose of traction.
Robert Stephenson informed us that his father caused a number of workmen
to mount upon the wheels of a waggon moderately loaded, and throw their
entire weight upon the spokes on one side, when he found that the waggon
could thus be easily propelled forward without the wheels slipping. This,
together with other experiments, satisfied him of the expediency of
adopting smooth wheels on his engine, and it was so finished accordingly.
The engine was, after much labour and anxiety, and frequent alterations of
parts, at length brought to completion, having been about ten months in
hand. It was placed upon the Killingworth Railway on the 25th July, 1814;

and its powers were tried on the same day. On an ascending gradient of 1 in
450, the engine succeeded in drawing after it eight loaded carriages of thirty
tons’ weight at about four miles an hour; and for some time after it
continued regularly at work.
Although a considerable advance upon previous locomotives, “Blutcher”
(as the engine was popularly called) was nevertheless a somewhat
cumbrous and clumsy machine. The parts were huddled together. The
boiler constituted the principal feature; and being the foundation of the
other parts, it was made to do duty not only as a generator of steam, but also
as a basis for the fixings of the machinery and for the bearings of the wheels
and axles. The want of springs was seriously felt; and the progress of the
engine was a succession of jolts, causing considerable derangement to the
machinery. The mode of communicating the motive power to the wheels by
means of the spur-gear also caused frequent jerks, each cylinder alternately
propelling or becoming propelled by the other, as the pressure of the one
upon the wheels became greater or less than the pressure of the other; and
when the teeth of the cogwheels became at all worn, a rattling noise was
produced during the travelling of the engine.
As the principal test of the success of the locomotive was its economy as
compared with horse power, careful calculations were made with the view
of ascertaining this important point. The result was, that it was found the
working of the engine was at first barely economical; and at the end of the
year the steam power and the horse power were ascertained to be as nearly
as possible upon a par in point of cost. The fate of the locomotive in a great
measure depended on this very engine. Its speed was not beyond that of a
horse’s walk, and the heating surface presented to the fire being
comparatively small, sufficient steam could not be raised to enable it to
accomplish more on an average than about four miles an hour. The result
was anything but decisive; and the locomotive might have been condemned
as useless, had not our engineer at this juncture applied the steam-blast, and
by its means carried his experiment to a triumphant issue.
The steam, after performing its duty in the cylinders, was at first allowed to
escape into the open atmosphere with a hissing blast, to the terror of horses
and cattle. It was complained of as a nuisance; and an action at law against
the colliery lessees was threatened unless it was stopped. Stephenson’s

attention had been drawn to the much greater velocity with which the steam
issued from the exit pipe compared with that at which the smoke escaped
from the chimney. He conceived that, by conveying the eduction steam into
the chimney, by means of a small pipe, after it had performed its office in
the cylinders, allowing it to escape in a vertical direction, its velocity would
be imparted to the smoke from the fire, or to the ascending current of air in
the chimney, thereby increasing the draft, and consequently the intensity of
combustion in the furnace.
The experiment was no sooner made than the power of the engine was at
once more than doubled; combustion was stimulated by the blast;
consequently the capability of the boiler to generate steam was greatly
increased, and the effective power of the engine augmented in precisely the
same proportion, without in any way adding to its weight. This simple but
beautiful expedient was really fraught with the most important
consequences to railway communication; and it is not too much to say that
the success of the locomotive has in a great measure been the result of its
adoption. Without the steam-blast, by means of which the intensity of
combustion is maintained at its highest point, producing a correspondingly
rapid evolution of steam, high rates of speed could not have been kept up;
the advantages of the multi-tubular boiler (afterwards invented) could never
have been fairly tested; and locomotives might still have been dragging
themselves unwieldily along at little more than five or six miles an hour.
The steam-blast had scarcely been adopted, with so decided a success, when
Stephenson, observing the numerous defects in his engine, and profiting by
the experience which he had already acquired, determined to construct a
second engine, in which to embody his improvements in their best form.
Careful and cautious observation of the working of his locomotive had
convinced him that the complication arising out of the action of the two
cylinders being combined by spur-wheels would prevent its coming into
practical use. He accordingly directed his attention to an entire change in
the construction and mechanical arrangements of the machine; and in the
following year, conjointly with Mr. Dodds, who provided the necessary
funds, he took out a patent, dated the 28th of February, 1815, for an engine
which combined in a remarkable degree the essential requisites of an
economical locomotive; that is to say, few parts, simplicity in their action,

and directness in the mode by which the power was communicated to the
wheels supporting the engine.
This locomotive, like the first, had two vertical cylinders, which
communicated directly with each pair of the four wheels that supported the
engine, by means of a cross head and a pair of connecting rods. But in
attempting to establish a direct communication between the cylinders and
the wheels that rolled upon the rails, considerable difficulties presented
themselves. The ordinary joints could not be employed to unite the parts of
the engine, which was a rigid mass, with the wheels lolling upon the
irregular surface of the rails; for it was evident that the two rails of the line
of way—more especially in those early days of imperfect construction of
the permanent road—could not always be maintained at the same level,—
that the wheel at one end of the axle might be depressed into one part of the
line which had subsided, whilst the other wheel would be comparatively
elevated; and in such a position of the axle and wheels, it was obvious that a
rigid communication between the cross head and the wheels was
impracticable. Hence it became necessary to form a joint at the top of the
piston-rod where it united with the cross head, so as to permit the cross
head to preserve complete parallelism with the axle of the wheels with
which it was in communication.
In order to obtain that degree of flexibility combined with direct action,
which was essential for ensuring power and avoiding needless friction and
jars from irregularities in the road, Stephenson made use of the “ball and
socket” joint for effecting a union between the ends of the cross heads
where they united with the connecting rods, and between the ends of the
connecting rods where they were united with the crank-pins attached to
each driving-wheel. By this arrangement the parallelism between the cross
head and the axle was at all times maintained and preserved, without
producing any serious jar or friction on any part of the machine. Another
important point was, to combine each pair of wheels by means of some
simple mechanism instead of by the cogwheels which had formerly been
used. And, with this object, Stephenson made cranks in each axle at right
angles to each other, with rods communicating horizontally between them.
A locomotive was constructed upon this plan in 1815, and was found to
answer extremely well. But at that period the mechanical skill of the

country was not equal to forging cranked axles of the soundness and
strength necessary to stand the jars incident to locomotive work.
Stephenson was accordingly compelled to fall back upon a substitute,
which, although less simple and efficient, was within the mechanical
capabilities of the workmen of that day, in respect of construction as well as
repair. He adopted a chain which rolled over indented wheels placed on the
centre of each axle, and was so arranged that the two pairs of wheels were
effectually coupled and made to keep pace with each other. The chain,
however, after a few years’ use, became stretched; and then the engines
were liable to irregularity in their working, especially in changing from
working back to working forward again. Eventually the chain was laid
aside, and the front and hind wheels were united by rods on the outside,
instead of by rods and crank axles inside, as specified in the original patent.
This expedient completely answered the purpose required, without
involving any expensive or difficult workmanship.
Thus, in 1815, by dint of patient and persevering labour,—by careful
observation of the works of others, and never neglecting to avail himself of
their suggestions,—Stephenson succeeded in manufacturing an engine
which included the following important improvements on all previous
attempts in the same direction:—viz., simple and direct communication
between the cylinders and the wheels rolling upon the rails; joint adhesion
of all the wheels, attained by the use of horizontal connecting-rods; and
finally, a beautiful method of exciting the combustion of the fuel by
employing the waste steam, which had formerly been allowed to escape
uselessly into the air. Although many improvements in detail were
afterwards introduced in the locomotive by George Stephenson himself, as
well as by his equally distinguished son, it is perhaps not too much to say
that this engine, as a mechanical contrivance, contained the germ of all that
has since been effected. It may in fact be regarded as the type of the present
locomotive engine.

CHAPTER VI.
Invention of the “Geordy” Safety-Lamp.

Explosions of fire-damp were unusually frequent in the coal mines of
Northumberland and Durham about the time when George Stephenson was
engaged in the construction of his first locomotives. These explosions were
often attended with fearful loss of life and dreadful suffering to the
workpeople. Killingworth Colliery was not free from such deplorable
calamities; and during the time that Stephenson was employed as a
brakesman at the West Moor, several “blasts” took place in the pit, by
which many workmen were scorched and killed, and the owners of the
colliery sustained heavy losses. One of the most serious of these accidents
occurred in 1806, not long after he had been appointed brakesman, by
which 10 persons were killed. Stephenson was working at the mouth of the
pit at the time, and the circumstances connected with the accident made a
deep impression on his mind.
Another explosion took place in the same pit in 1809, by which 12 persons
lost their lives. The blast did not reach the shaft as in the former case; the
unfortunate persons in the pit having been suffocated by the after-damp.
More calamitous still were the explosions which took place in the
neighbouring collieries; one of the worst being that of 1812, in the Felling
Pit, near Gateshead, by which no fewer than 90 men and boys were
suffocated or burnt to death. And a similar accident occurred in the same
pit in the year following, by which 22 persons perished.
It was natural that George Stephenson should devote his attention to the
causes of these deplorable accidents, and to the means by which they might
if possible be prevented. His daily occupation led him to think much and
deeply on the subject. As engine-wright of a colliery so extensive as that of
Killingworth, where there were nearly 160 miles of gallery excavation, in
which he personally superintended the working of the inclined planes along

which the coals were sent to the pit entrance, he was necessarily very often
underground, and brought face to face with the dangers of fire-damp. From
fissures in the roofs of the galleries, carburetted hydrogen gas was
constantly flowing; in some of the more dangerous places it might be heard
escaping from the crevices of the coal with a hissing noise. Ventilation,
firing, and all conceivable modes of drawing out the foul air had been
adopted, and the more dangerous parts of the galleries were built up. Still
the danger could not be wholly prevented. The miners must necessarily
guide their steps through the extensive underground ways with lighted
lamps or candles, the naked flame of which, coming in contact with the
inflammable air, daily exposed them and their fellow-workers in the pit to
the risk of death in one of its most dreadful forms.
One day, in 1814, a workman hurried into Stephenson’s cottage with the
startling information that the deepest main of the colliery was on fire! He
immediately hastened to the pit-head, about a hundred yards off, whither
the women and children of the colliery were running, with wildness and
terror depicted in every face. In a commanding voice Stephenson ordered
the engineman to lower him down the shaft in the corve. There was peril, it
might be death, before him, but he must go.
He was soon at the bottom, and in the midst of the men, who were
paralysed by the danger which threatened the lives of all in the pit. Leaping
from the corve on its touching the ground, he called out; “Are there six men
among you who have courage to follow me? If so, come, and we will put
the fire out.” The Killingworth pitmen had the most perfect confidence in
their engine-wright, and they readily volunteered to follow him.

Silence succeeded the frantic tumult of the previous minute, and the men set
to work with a will. In every mine, bricks, mortar, and tools enough are at
hand, and by Stephenson’s direction the materials were forthwith carried to
the required spot, where, in a very short time a wall was raised at the
entrance to the main, he himself taking the most active part in the work.
The atmospheric air was by this means excluded, the fire was extinguished,
the people were saved from death, and the mine was preserved.
This anecdote of Stephenson was related to the writer, near the pit-mouth,
by one of the men who had been present and helped to build up the brick
wall by which the fire was stayed, though several workmen were
suffocated. He related that, when down the pit some days after, seeking out
the dead bodies, the cause of the accident was the subject of conversation,
and Stephenson was asked, “Can nothing be done to prevent such awful
occurrences?” His reply was that he thought something might be done.
“Then,” said the other, “the sooner you start the better; for the price of coal-
mining now is pitmen’s lives.”
Fifty years since, many of the best pits were so full of the inflammable gas
given forth by the coal, that they could not be worked without the greatest
danger; and for this reason some were altogether abandoned, The rudest
possible methods were adopted of producing light sufficient to enable the
pitmen to work by. The phosphorescence of decayed fish-skins was tried;

but this, though safe, was very inefficient. The most common method
employed was what was called a steel mill, the notched wheel of which,
being made to revolve against a flint, struck a succession of sparks, which
scarcely served to do more than make the darkness visible. A boy carried
the apparatus after the miner, working the wheel, and by the imperfect light
thus given forth he plied his dangerous trade. Candles were only used in
those parts of the pit where gas was not abundant. Under this rude system
not more than one-third of the coal could be worked; and two-thirds were
left.
What the workmen, not less than the coal-owners, eagerly desired was, a
lamp that should give forth sufficient light, without communicating flame to
the inflammable gas which accumulated in certain parts of the pit.
Something had already been attempted towards the invention of such a
lamp by Dr. Clanny, of Sunderland, who, in 1813, contrived an apparatus to
which he gave air from the mine through water, by means of bellows. This
lamp went out of itself in inflammable gas. It was found, however, too
unwieldy to be used by the miners for the purposes of their work, and did
not come into general use. A committee of gentlemen was formed to
investigate the causes of the explosions, and to devise, if possible, some
means of preventing them. At the invitation of that Committee, Sir
Humphry Davy, then in the full zenith of his reputation, was requested to
turn his attention to the subject. He accordingly visited the collieries near
Newcastle on the 24th of August, 1815; and on the 9th of November
following, he read before the Royal Society of London his celebrated paper
“On the Fire-Damp of Coal Mines, and on Methods of lighting the Mine so
as to prevent its explosion.”
But a humbler though not less diligent and original thinker had been at
work before him, and had already practically solved the problem of the
Safety-Lamp. Stephenson was of course well aware of the anxiety which
prevailed in the colliery districts as to the invention of a lamp which should
give light enough for the miners to work by without exploding the fire-
damp. The painful incidents above described only served to quicken his
eagerness to master the difficulty.
For several years he had been engaged, in his own rude way, in making
experiments with the fire-damp in the Killingworth mine. The pitmen used

to expostulate with him on these occasions, believing his experiments to be
fraught with danger. One of the sinkers, observing him holding up lighted
candles to the windward of the “blower” or fissure from which the
inflammable gas escaped, entreated him to desist; but Stephenson’s answer
was, that “he was busy with a plan by which he hoped to make his
experiments useful for preserving men’s lives.” On these occasions the
miners usually got out of the way before he lit the gas.
In 1815, although he was very much occupied with the business of the
collieries and the improvement of his locomotive engine, he was also busily
engaged in making experiments upon inflammable gas in the Killingworth
pit. According to the explanation afterwards given by him, he imagined
that if he could construct a lamp with a chimney so arranged as to cause a
strong current, it would not fire at the top of the chimney; as the burnt air
would ascend with such a velocity as to prevent the inflammable air of the
pit from descending towards the flame; and such a lamp, he thought, might
be taken into a dangerous atmosphere without risk of exploding.
Such was Stephenson’s theory when he proceeded to embody his idea of a
miner’s safety-lamp in a practical form. In the month of August, 1815, he
requested his friend Nicholas Wood, the head viewer, to prepare a drawing
of a lamp according to the description which he gave him. After several
evenings’ careful deliberations, the drawing was made, and shown to
several of the head men about the works.
Stephenson proceeded to order a lamp to be made by a Newcastle tinman,
according to his plan; and at the same time he directed a glass to be made
for the lamp at the Northumberland Glass House. Both were received by
him from the makers on the 21st October, and the lamp was taken to
Killingworth for the purpose of immediate experiment.
“I remember that evening as distinctly as if it had been but yesterday,” said
Robert Stephenson, describing the circumstances to the author in 1857:
“Moodie came to our cottage about dusk, and asked, ‘if father had got back
yet with the lamp?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then I’ll wait till he comes,’ said Moodie, ‘he
can’t be long now.’ In about half-an-hour, in came my father, his face all
radiant. He had the lamp with him! It was at once uncovered, and shown
to Moodie. Then it was filled with oil, trimmed, and lighted. All was ready,

only the head viewer hadn’t arrived. ‘Run over to Benton for Nichol,
Robert,’ said my father to me, ‘and ask him to come directly; say we’re
going down the pit to try the lamp.’ By this time it was quite dark; and off I
ran to bring Nicholas Wood. His house was at Benton, about a mile off.
There was a short cut through the Churchyard, but just as I was about to
pass the wicket, I saw what I thought was a white figure moving about
amongst the grave-stones. I took it for a ghost! My heart fluttered, and I
was in a great fright, but to Wood’s house I must get, so I made the circuit
of the Churchyard; and when I got round to the other side I looked, and lo!
the figure was still there. But what do you think it was? Only the grave-
digger, plying his work at that late hour by the light of his lanthorn set upon
one of the gravestones! I found Wood at home, and in a few minutes he
was mounted and off to my father’s. When I got back, I was told they had
just left—it was then about eleven—and gone down the shaft to try the
lamp in one of the most dangerous parts of the mine.”
Arrived at the bottom of the shaft with the lamp, the party directed their
steps towards one of the foulest galleries in the pit, where the explosive gas
was issuing through a blower in the roof of the mine with a loud hissing
noise. By erecting some deal boarding round that part of the gallery into
which the gas was escaping, the air was made more foul for the purpose of
the experiment. After waiting about an hour, Moodie, whose practical
experience of fire-damp in pits was greater than that of either Stephenson or
Wood, was requested to go into the place which had thus been made foul;
and, having done so, he returned, and told them that the smell of the air was
such, that if a lighted candle were now introduced, an explosion must
inevitably take place. He cautioned Stephenson as to the danger both to
themselves and to the pit, if the gas took fire. But Stephenson declared his
confidence in the safety of his lamp, and, having lit the wick, he boldly
proceeded with it towards the explosive air. The others, more timid and
doubtful, hung back when they came within hearing of the blower; and
apprehensive of the danger, they retired into a safe place, out of sight of the
lamp, which gradually disappeared with its bearer in the recesses of the
mine. [95]
Advancing to the place of danger, and entering within the fouled air, his
lighted lamp in hand, Stephenson held it finally out, in the full current of
the blower, and within a few inches of its mouth. Thus exposed, the flame

of the lamp at first increased, then flickered, and then went out; but there
was no explosion of the gas. Returning to his companions, who were still at
a distance, he told them what had occurred. Having now acquired
somewhat more confidence, they advanced with him to a point from which
they could observe him repeat his experiment, but still at a safe distance.
They saw that when the lighted lamp was held within the explosive mixture,
there was a great flame; the lamp became almost full of fire; and then it
smothered out. Again returning to his companions, he relighted the lamp,
and repeated the experiment several times with the same result. At length
Wood and Moodie ventured to advance close to the fouled part of the pit;
and, in making some of the later trials, Mr. Wood himself held up the
lighted lamp to the blower.
Before leaving the pit, Stephenson expressed his opinion that by an
alteration of the lamp which he then contemplated, he could make it burn
better; this was by a change in the slide through which the air was admitted
into the lower part, under the flame. After making some experiments on the
air collected at the blower, by bladders which were mounted with tubes of
various diameters, he satisfied himself that, when the tube was reduced to a
certain diameter, the foul air would not pass through; and he fashioned his
slide accordingly, reducing the diameter of the tube until he conceived it
was quite safe. In about a fortnight the experiments were repeated, in a
place purposely made foul as before; on this occasion a larger number of
persons ventured to witness them, and they again proved successful. The
lamp was not yet, however, so efficient as the inventor desired. It required,
he observed, to be kept very steady when burning in the inflammable gas,
otherwise it was liable to go out, in consequence, as he imagined, of the
contact of the burnt air (as he then called it), or azotic gas, which lodged
round the exterior of the flame. If the lamp was moved horizontally, the
azote came in contact with the flame and extinguished it. “It struck me,”
said he, “that if I put more tubes in, I should discharge the poisonous matter
that hung round the flame, by admitting the air to its exterior part.”
Although he had then no access to scientific books, nor intercourse with
scientific men, nor anything that could assist him in his investigation,
besides his own indefatigable spirit of inquiry, he contrived a rude
apparatus by which he tested the explosive properties of the gas and the
velocity of current (for this was the direction of his inquiries) necessary to

enable the explosive gas to pass through tubes of different diameters. In
making these experiments in his humble cottage at the West Moor, Nicholas
Wood and George’s son Robert usually acted as his assistants, and
sometimes the gentlemen of the neighbourhood interested in coal-mining
attended as spectators.
These experiments were not performed without risk, for on one occasion
the experimenting party had nearly blown off the roof of the cottage. One
of these “blows up” was described by Stephenson himself before the
Committee on Accidents in Coal Mines, in 1835: “I made several
experiments,” said he, “as to the velocity required in tubes of different
diameters, to prevent explosion from fire-damp. We made the mixtures in
all proportions of light carburetted hydrogen with atmospheric air in the
receiver, and we found by the experiments that when a current of the most
explosive mixture that we could make was forced up a tube 4/10 of an inch
in diameter, the necessary current was 9 inches in a second to prevent its
coming down that tube. These experiments were repeated several times.
We had two or three blows up in making the experiments, by the flame
getting down into the receiver, though we had a piece of very fine wire-
gauze put at the bottom of the pipe, between the receiver and the pipe
through which we were forcing the current. In one of these experiments I
was watching the flame in the tube, my son was taking the vibrations of the
pendulum of the clock, and Mr. Wood was attending to give me the column
of water as I called for it, to keep the current up to a certain point. As I saw
the flame descending in the tube I called for more water, and Wood
unfortunately turned the cock the wrong way, the current ceased, the flame
went down the tube, and all our implements were blown to pieces, which at
the time we were not very able to replace.”
Stephenson followed up those experiments by others of a similar kind, with
the view of ascertaining whether ordinary flame would pass through tubes
of a small diameter and with this object he filed off the barrels of several
small keys. Placing these together, he held them perpendicularly over a
strong flame, and ascertained that it did not pass upward. This was a further
proof to him of the soundness of the course he was pursuing.
In order to correct the defect of his first lamp he resolved to alter it so as to
admit the air to the flame by several tubes of reduced diameter, instead of

by a single tube. He inferred that a sufficient quantity of air would thus be
introduced into the lamp for the purposes of combustion, while the
smallness of the apertures would still prevent the explosive gas passing
downwards, at the same time that the “burnt air” (the cause, in his opinion,
of the lamp going out) would be more effectually dislodged. He
accordingly took the lamp to a tinman in Newcastle, and had it altered so
that the air was admitted by three small tubes inserted in the bottom of the
lamp, the openings of which were placed on the outside of the burner,
instead of having (as in the original lamp) the one tube opening directly
under the flame.
This second or altered lamp was tried in the Killingworth pit on the 4th
November, and was found to burn better than the first, and to be perfectly
safe. But as it did not yet come quite up to the inventor’s expectations, he
proceeded to contrive a third lamp, in which he proposed to surround the oil
vessel with a number of capillary tubes. Then it struck him, that if he cut
off the middle of the tubes, or made holes in metal plates, placed at a
distance from each other, equal to the length of the tubes, the air would get
in better, and the effect in preventing explosion would be the same.
He was encouraged to persevere in the completion of his safety-lamp by the
occurrence of several fatal accidents about this time in the Killingworth pit.
On the 9th November a boy was killed by a blast in the A pit, at the very
place where Stephenson had made the experiments with his first lamp; and,
when told of the accident, he observed that if the boy had been provided
with his lamp, his life would have been saved. On the 20th November he
went over to Newcastle to order his third lamp from a plumber in that
town. The plumber referred him to his clerk, whom Stephenson invited to
join him at a neighbouring public-house, where they might quietly talk over
the matter, and finally settle the plan of the new lamp. They adjourned to
the “Newcastle Arms,” near the present High Level Bridge, where they had
some ale, and a design of the lamp was drawn in pencil upon a half-sheet of
foolscap, with a rough specification subjoined. The sketch, when shown to
us by Robert Stephenson some years since, still bore the marks of the ale. It
was a very rude design, but sufficient to work from. It was immediately
placed in the hands of the workmen, finished in the course of a few days,
and experimentally tested in the Killingworth pit like the previous lamps,
on the 30th November. At that time neither Stephenson nor Wood had

heard of Sir Humphry Davy’s experiments nor of the lamp which that
gentleman proposed to construct.
An angry controversy afterwards took place as to the respective merits of
George Stephenson and Sir Humphry Davy in respect of the invention of
the safety-lamp. A committee was formed on both sides, and the facts were
stated in various ways. It is perfectly clear, however, that Stephenson had
ascertained the fact that flame will not pass through tubes of a certain
diameter—the principle on which the safety-lamp is constructed—before
Sir Humphry Davy had formed any definite idea on the subject, or invented
the model lamp afterwards exhibited by him before the Royal Society.
Stephenson had actually constructed a lamp on such a principle, and proved
its safety, before Sir Humphry had communicated his views on the subject
to any person; and by the time that the first public intimation had been
given of his discovery, Stephenson’s second lamp had been constructed and
tested in like manner in the Killingworth pit. The first was tried on the 21st
October, 1815; the second was tried on the 4th November; but it was not
until the 9th November that Sir Humphry Davy presented his first lamp to
the public. And by the 30th of the same month, as we have seen,
Stephenson had constructed and tested his third safety-lamp.

Stephenson’s theory of the “burnt air” and the “draught” was no doubt
wrong; but his lamp was right, and that was the great fact which mainly
concerned him. Torricelli did not know the rationale of his tube, nor Otto
Gürike that of his air-pump; yet no one thinks of denying them the merit of
their inventions on that account. The discoveries of Volta and Galvani were
in like manner independent of theory; the greatest discoveries consisting in
bringing to light certain grand facts, on which theories are afterwards
framed. Our inventor had been pursuing the Baconian method, though he
did not think of that, but of inventing a safe lamp, which he knew could
only be done through the process of repeated experiment. He experimented
upon the fire-damp at the blowers in the mine, and also by means of the
apparatus which was blown up in his cottage, as above described by
himself. By experiment he distinctly ascertained that the explosion of fire-
damp could not pass through small tubes; and he also did what had not
before been done by any inventor—he constructed a lamp on this principle,

and repeatedly proved its safety at the risk of his life. At the same time,
there is no doubt that it was to Sir Humphry Davy that the merit belonged
of having pointed out the true law on which the safety-lamp is constructed.
The subject of this important invention excited so much interest in the
northern mining districts, and Stephenson’s numerous friends considered
his lamp so completely successful—having stood the test of repeated
experiments—that they urged him to bring his invention before the
Philosophical and Literary Society of Newcastle, of whose apparatus he had
availed himself in the course of his experiments on fire-damp. After much
persuasion he consented, and a meeting was appointed for the purpose of
receiving his explanations, on the evening of the 5th December, 1815.
Stephenson was at that time so diffident in manner and unpractised in
speech, that he took with him his friend Nicholas Wood, to act as his
interpreter and expositor on the occasion. From eighty to a hundred of the
most intelligent members of the society were present at the meeting, when
Mr. Wood stood forward to expound the principles on which the lamp had
been formed, and to describe the details of its construction. Several
questions were put, to which Mr. Wood proceeded to give replies to the best
of his knowledge. But Stephenson, who up to that time had stood behind
Wood, screened from notice, observing that the explanations given were not
quite correct, could no longer control his reserve, and, standing forward, he
proceeded in his strong Northumbrian dialect, to describe the lamp, down to
its minutest details. He then produced several bladders full of carburetted
hydrogen, which he had collected from the blowers in the Killingworth
mine, and proved the safety of his lamp by numerous experiments with the
gas, repeated in various ways; his earnest and impressive manner exciting
in the minds of his auditors the liveliest interest both in the inventor and his
invention.
Shortly after, Sir H. Davy’s model lamp was received and exhibited to the
coal-miners at Newcastle, on which occasion the observation was made by
several gentlemen, “Why, it is the same as Stephenson’s!”
Notwithstanding Stephenson’s claim to be regarded as the first inventor of
the Tube Safety-lamp, his merits do not seem to have been generally
recognised; and Sir Humphry Davy carried off the larger share of the éclat
which attached to the discovery. What chance had the unknown workman

of Killingworth with so distinguished a competitor? The one was as yet but
a colliery engine-wright, scarce raised above the manual-labour class,
pursuing his experiments in obscurity, with a view only to usefulness; the
other was the scientific prodigy of his day, the most brilliant of lecturers,
and the most popular of philosophers.
No small indignation was expressed by the friends of Sir Humphry Davy at
Stephenson’s “presumption” in laying claim to the invention of the safety-
lamp. In 1831 Dr. Paris, in his ‘Life of Sir Humphry Davy,’ thus wrote:
—“It will hereafter be scarcely believed that an invention so eminently
scientific, and which could never have been derived but from the sterling
treasury of science, should have been claimed on behalf of an engine-wright
of Killingworth, of the name of Stephenson—a person not even possessing
a knowledge of the elements of chemistry.”
But Stephenson was far above claiming for himself any invention not his
own. He had already accomplished a far greater feat than the making of a
safety-lamp—he had constructed a successful locomotive, which was to be
seen in daily work on the Killingworth railway. By the improvements he
had made in the engine, he might almost be said to have invented it; but no
one—not even the philosophers—detected the significance of that
wonderful machine. What railways were to become, rested in a great
measure with that “engine-wright of Killingworth, of the name of
Stephenson,” though he was scarcely known as yet beyond the bounds of
his own district.
As to the value of the invention of the safety-lamp there could be no doubt;
and the colliery owners of Durham and Northumberland, to testify their
sense of its importance, determined to present a testimonial to its inventor.
The friends of Sir H. Davy met in August, 1816, to take steps for raising a
subscription for the purpose. The advertised object of the meeting was to
present him with a reward for “the invention of his safety-lamp.” To this no
objection could be taken; for though the principle on which the safety-
lamps of Stephenson and Davy were constructed was the same; and
although Stephenson’s lamp was, unquestionably, the first successful lamp
that had been constructed on such principle, and proved to be efficient,—
yet Sir H. Davy did invent a safety-lamp, no doubt quite independent of all
that Stephenson had done; and having directed his careful attention to the

subject, and elucidated the true theory of explosion of carburetted
hydrogen, he was entitled to all praise and reward for his labours. But
when the meeting of coal-owners proposed to raise a subscription for the
purpose of presenting Sir H. Davy with a reward for “his invention of the
safety-lamp,” the case was entirely altered; and Stephenson’s friends then
proceeded to assert his claims to be regarded as its first inventor.
Many meetings took place on the subject, and much discussion ensued, the
result of which was that a sum of £2000 was presented to Sir Humphry
Davy as “the inventor of the safety-lamp;” but, at the same time, a purse of
100 guineas was voted to George Stephenson, in consideration of what he
had done in the same direction. This result was, however very
unsatisfactory to Stephenson, as well as to his friends, and Mr. Brandling,
of Gosforth, suggested to him that, the subject being now fairly before the
public, he should publish a statement of the facts on which his claim was
founded.
This was not at all in George’s line. He had never appeared in print; and it
seemed to him a more formidable thing to write a letter for “the papers”
than to invent a safety-lamp or design a locomotive. However, he called to
his aid his son Robert, set him down before a sheet of foolscap, and told
him to “put down there just what I tell you.” The composition of this letter,
as we were informed by the writer of it, occupied more evenings than one;
and when it was at length finished, after many corrections, and fairly copied
out, the father and son set out—the latter dressed in his Sunday’s round
jacket—to lay the joint production before Mr. Brandling, at Gosforth
House. Glancing over the letter, Mr. Brandling said, “George, this will
never do.” “It is all true, sir,” was the reply. “That may be; but it is badly
written.” Robert blushed, for he thought the penmanship was called in
question, and he had written his best. Mr. Brandling, however, revised the
letter, which was shortly after published in the local journals.
Stephenson’s friends, fully satisfied of his claims to priority as the inventor
of the safety-lamp used in the Killingworth and other collieries, held a
public meeting for the purpose of presenting him with a reward “for the
valuable service he had thus rendered to mankind.” A subscription was
immediately commenced with this object, and a committee was formed,
consisting of the Earl of Strathmore, C. J. Brandling, and others. The

subscriptions, when collected, amounted to £1000. Part of the money was
devoted to the purchase of a silver tankard, which was presented to the
inventor, together with the balance of the subscription, at a public dinner
given in the Assembly Rooms at Newcastle. [105] But what gave
Stephenson even greater pleasure than the silver tankard and purse of
sovereigns was the gift of a silver watch, purchased by small subscriptions
amongst the colliers themselves, and presented by them as a token of their
personal esteem and regard for him, as well as of their gratitude for the
perseverance and skill with which he had prosecuted his valuable and
lifesaving invention to a successful issue.
However great the merits of Stephenson in connexion with the invention of
the tube safety-lamp, they cannot be regarded as detracting from the
reputation of Sir Humphry Davy. His inquiries into the explosive properties
of carburetted hydrogen gas were quite original; and his discovery of the
fact that explosion will not pass through tubes of a certain diameter was
made independently of all that Stephenson had done in verification of the
same fact. It even appears that Mr. Smithson Tennant and Dr. Wollaston
had observed the same fact several years before, though neither Stephenson
nor Davy knew it while they were prosecuting their experiments. Sir
Humphry Davy’s subsequent modification of the tube-lamp, by which,
while diminishing the diameter, he in the same ratio shortened the tubes
without danger, and in the form of wire-gauze enveloped the safety-lamp by
a multiplicity of tubes, was a beautiful application of the true theory which
he had formed upon the subject.
The increased number of accidents which have occurred from explosions in
coal-mines since the general introduction of the Davy lamp, have led to
considerable doubts as to its safety, and to inquiries as to the means by
which it may be further improved; for experience has shown that, under
certain circumstances, the Davy lamp is not safe. Stephenson was himself
of opinion that the modification of his own and Sir Humphry Davy’s lamp,
combining the glass cylinder with the wire-gauze, was the most secure; at
the same time it must be admitted that the Davy and the Geordy lamps alike
failed to stand the severe tests to which they were submitted by Dr. Pereira,
before the Committee on Accidents in Mines. Indeed, Dr. Pereira did not
hesitate to say, that when exposed to a current of explosive gas the Davy
lamp is “decidedly unsafe,” and that the experiments by which its safety

had been “demonstrated” in the lecture-room had proved entirely
“fallacious.”
It is worthy of remark, that under circumstances in which the wire-gauze of
the Davy lamp becomes red-hot from the high explosiveness of the gas, the
Geordy lamp is extinguished; and we cannot but think that this fact testifies
to the decidedly superior safety of the Geordy. An accident occurred in the
Oaks colliery Pit at Barnsley, on the 20th August, 1857, which strikingly
exemplified the respective qualities of the lamps. A sudden outburst of gas
took place from the floor of the mine, along a distance of fifty yards.
Fortunately the men working in the pit at the time were all supplied with
safety-lamps—the hewers with Stephenson’s, and the hurriers with Davy’s.
Upon this occasion, the whole of the Stephenson’s lamps, over a space of
five hundred yards, were extinguished almost instantaneously; whereas the
Davy lamps were filled with fire, and became red-hot—so much so, that
several of the men using them had their hands burnt by the gauze. Had a
strong current of air been blowing through the gallery at the time, an
explosion would most probably have taken place—an accident which, it
will be observed, could not, under such circumstances, occur from the use
of the Geordy, which is immediately extinguished as soon as the air
becomes explosive. [107]
Nicholas Wood, a good judge, has said of the two inventions, “Priority has
been claimed for each of them—I believe the inventions to be parallel. By
different roads they both arrived at the same result. Stephenson’s is the
superior lamp. Davy’s is safe—Stephenson’s is safer.”
When the question of priority was under discussion at the studio of Mr.
Lough, the sculptor, in 1857, Sir Matthew White Ridley asked Robert
Stephenson, who was present, for his opinion on the subject. His answer
was, “I am not exactly the person to give an unbiassed opinion; but, as you
ask me frankly, I will as frankly say, that if George Stephenson had never
lived, Sir Humphry Davy could and most probably would have invented the
safety-lamp; but again, if Sir Humphry Davy had never lived, George
Stephenson certainly would have invented the safety-lamp, as I believe he
did, independent of all that Sir Humphry Davy had ever done in the matter.”

CHAPTER VII.
George Stephenson’s further Improvements in
the Locomotive—The Hetton Railway—Robert
Stephenson as Viewer’s Apprentice and Student.

Stephenson’s experiments on fire-damp, and his labours in connexion with
the invention of the safety-lamp, occupied but a small portion of his time,
which was necessarily devoted for the most part to the ordinary business of
the colliery. From the day of his appointment as engine-wright, one of the
subjects which particularly occupied his attention was the best practical
method of winning and raising the coal. He was one of the first to
introduce steam machinery underground with the latter object. Indeed, the
Killingworth mines came to be regarded as the models of the district; the
working arrangements generally being conducted in a skilful and efficient
manner, reflecting the highest credit on the colliery engineer.
Besides attending to the underground arrangements, the improved transit of
the coals above-ground from the pithead to the shipping-place, demanded
an increasing share of his attention. Every day’s experience convinced him
that the locomotive constructed by him after his patent of the year 1815,
was far from perfect; though he continued to entertain confident hopes of its
eventual success. He even went so far as to say that the locomotive would
yet supersede every other traction-power for drawing heavy loads. Many
still regarded his travelling engine as little better than a curious toy; and
some, shaking their heads, predicted for it “a terrible blow-up some day.”
Nevertheless, it was daily performing its work with regularity, dragging the
coal-waggons between the colliery and the staiths, and saving the labour of
many men and horses. There was not, however, so marked a saving in
haulage as to induce the colliery masters to adopt locomotive power
generally as a substitute for horses. How it could be improved and rendered

more efficient as well as economical, was constantly present to
Stephenson’s mind.
At an early period of his labours, or about the time when he had completed
his second locomotive, he began to direct his particular attention to the state
of the Road; as he perceived that the extended use of the locomotive must
necessarily depend in a great measure upon the perfection, solidity,
continuity, and smoothness of the way along which the engine travelled.
Even at that early period, he was in the habit of regarding the road and the
locomotive as one machine, speaking of the rail and the wheel as “man and
wife.”
All railways were at that time laid in a careless and loose manner, and great
inequalities of level were allowed to occur without much attention being
paid to repairs. The consequence was a great loss of power, as well as
much tear and wear of the machinery, by the frequent jolts and blows of the
wheels against the rails. His first object therefore was, to remove the
inequalities produced by the imperfect junction between rail and rail. At
that time, (in 1816) the rails were made of cast iron, each rail being about
three feet long; and sufficient care was not taken to maintain the points of
junction on the same level. The chairs, or cast-iron pedestals into which the
rails were inserted, were flat at the bottom; so that, whenever any
disturbance took place in the stone blocks or sleepers supporting them, the
flat base of the chair upon which the rails rested being tilted by unequal
subsidence, the end of one rail became depressed, whilst that of the other
was elevated. Hence constant jolts and shocks, the reaction of which very
often caused the fracture of the rails, and occasionally threw the engine off
the road.
To remedy this imperfection Mr. Stephenson devised a new chair, with an
entirely new mode of fixing the rails therein. Instead of adopting the butt-
joint which had hitherto been used in all cast-iron rails, he adopted the half-
lap joint, by which means the rails extended a certain distance over each
other at the ends, like a scarf-joint. These ends, instead of resting upon the
flat chair, were made to rest upon the apex of a curve forming the bottom of
the chair. The supports were also extended from three feet to three feet nine
inches or four feet apart. These rails were accordingly substituted for the
old cast-iron plates on the Killingworth Colliery Railway, and they were

found to be a very great improvement upon the previous system, adding
both to the efficiency of the horse-power, still employed in working the
railway, and to the smooth action of the locomotive engine, but more
particularly increasing the efficiency of the latter.

This improved form of rail and chair was embodied in a patent taken out in
the joint names of Mr. Losh, of Newcastle, iron-founder, and of Mr.
Stephenson, bearing date 30th September, 1816. Mr. Losh being a wealthy,
enterprising iron-manufacturer, and having confidence in George
Stephenson and his improvements, found the money for the purpose of
taking out the patent, which, in those days, was a very costly as well as
troublesome affair.
The specification of the same patent also described various important
improvements in the locomotive itself. The wheels of the engine were
improved, being altered from cast to malleable iron, in whole or in part, by
which they were made lighter as well as more durable and safe. But the
most ingenious and original contrivance embodied in this patent was the
substitute for springs which Mr. Stephenson invented. He contrived that the
steam generated in the boiler should perform this important office. The
method by which this was effected displayed such genuine mechanical
genius, that we would particularly call attention to the device, which was
the more remarkable, as it was contrived long before the possibility of
steam locomotion had become an object of general inquiry or of public
interest.
It has already been observed that up to, and indeed after, the period of
which we speak, there was no such class of skilled mechanics, nor were

there any such machines and tools in use, as are now available to inventors
and manufacturers. Although skilled workmen were in course of gradual
training in a few of the larger manufacturing towns, they did not, at the date
of Stephenson’s patent, exist in any considerable numbers, nor was there
then any class of mechanics capable of constructing springs of sufficient
strength and elasticity to support locomotive engines of ten tons weight.
In order to avoid the dangers arising from the inequalities of the road,
Stephenson so arranged the boiler of his new patent locomotive that it was
supported upon the frame of the engine by four cylinders, which opened
into the interior of the boiler. These cylinders were occupied by pistons
with rods, which passed downwards and pressed upon the upper side of the
axles. The cylinders opening into the interior of the boiler, allowed the
pressure of steam to be applied to the upper side of the piston; and the
pressure being nearly equivalent to one-fourth of the weight of the engine,
each axle, whatever might be its position, had at all times nearly the same
amount of weight to bear, and consequently the entire weight was pretty
equally distributed amongst the four wheels of the locomotive. Thus the
four floating pistons were ingeniously made to serve the purpose of springs
in equalising the weight, and in softening the jerks of the machine; the
weight of which, it must also be observed, had been increased, on a road
originally calculated to bear a considerably lighter description of carriage.
This mode of supporting the engine remained in use until the progress of
spring-making had so far advanced that steel springs could be manufactured
of sufficient strength to bear the weight of locomotive engines.

The result of the actual working of the new locomotive on the improved
road amply justified the promises held forth in the specification. The traffic
was conducted with greater regularity and economy, and the superiority of
the engine, as compared with horse traction, became still more marked. It
is a fact worthy of notice, that the identical engines constructed in 1816
after the plan above described are to this day to be seen in regular useful
work upon the Killingworth Railway, conveying heavy coal-trains at the
speed of between five and six miles an hour, probably as economically as
any of the more perfect locomotives now in use.
Mr. Stephenson’s endeavours having been attended with such marked
success in the adaptation of locomotive power to railways, his attention was
called by many of his friends, about the year 1818, to the application of
steam to travelling on common roads. It was from this point that the
locomotive started, Trevithick’s first engine having been constructed with
this special object. Stephenson’s friends having observed how far behind
he had left the original projector of the locomotive in its application to

railroads, perhaps naturally inferred that he would be equally successful in
applying it to the purpose for which Trevithick and Vivian had intended
their first engine. But the accuracy with which he estimated the resistance
to which loads were exposed on railways, arising from friction and gravity,
led him at a very early stage to reject the idea of ever applying steam power
economically to common-road travelling. In October, 1818, he made a
series of careful experiments in conjunction with Nicholas Wood, on the
resistance to which carriages were exposed on railways, testing the results
by means of a dynamometer of his own construction. The series of
practical observations made by means of this instrument were interesting, as
the first systematic attempt to determine the precise amount of resistance to
carriages moving along railways. It was then for the first time ascertained
by experiment that the friction was a constant quantity at all velocities.
Although this theory had long before been developed by Vince and
Coulomb, and was well known to scientific men as an established truth, yet,
at the time when Stephenson made his experiments, the deductions of
philosophers on the subject were neither believed in nor acted upon by
practical engineers.
He ascertained that the resistances to traction were mainly three; the first
being upon the axles of the carriages, the second, or rolling resistance,
being between the circumference of the wheel and the surface of the rail,
and the third being the resistance of gravity. The amount of friction and
gravity he could accurately ascertain; but the rolling resistance was a matter
of greater difficulty, being subject to much variation. He satisfied himself,
however, that it was so great when the surface presented to the wheel was of
a rough character, that the idea of working steam carriages economically on
common roads was dismissed by him as entirely impracticable. Taking it as
10 lbs to a ton weight on a level railway, it became obvious to him that so
small a rise as 1 in 100 would diminish the useful effort of a locomotive by
upwards of 50 per cent. This was demonstrated by repeated experiments,
and the important fact, thus rooted in his mind, was never lost sight of in the
course of his future railway career.
It was owing in a great measure to these painstaking experiments that he
early became convinced of the vital importance, in an economical point of
view, of reducing the country through which a railway was intended to pass
as nearly as possible to a level. Where, as in the first coal railways of

Northumberland and Durham, the load was nearly all one way,—that is,
from the colliery to the shipping-place,—it was an advantage to have an
inclination in that direction. The strain on the powers of the locomotive
was thus diminished, and it was easy for it to haul the empty waggons back
to the colliery up even a pretty steep incline. But when the loads were both
ways, he deemed it of great importance that the railroad should be
constructed as nearly as possible on a level.
These views, thus early entertained, originated in Stephenson’s mind the
peculiar character of railroad works as distinguished from other roads; for,
in railways, he early contended that large sums would be wisely expended
in perforating barriers of hills with long tunnels, and in raising the lower
levels with the excess cut down from the adjacent high ground. In
proportion as these views forced themselves upon his mind and were
corroborated by his daily experience, he became more and more convinced
of the hopelessness of applying steam locomotion to common roads; for
every argument in favour of a level railway was, in his view, an argument
against the rough and hilly course of a common road.
Although Stephenson’s locomotive engines were in daily use for many
years on the Killingworth Railway, they excited comparatively little
interest. They were no longer experimental, but had become an established
tractive power. The experience of years had proved that they worked more
steadily, drew heavier loads, and were, on the whole, considerably more
economical than horses. Nevertheless eight years passed before another
locomotive railway was constructed and opened for the purposes of coal or
other traffic.
Stephenson had no means of bringing his important invention prominently
under the notice of the public. He himself knew well its importance, and he
already anticipated its eventual general adoption; but being an unlettered
man, he could not give utterance to the thoughts which brooded within him
on the subject. Killingworth Colliery lay far from London, the centre of
scientific life in England. It was visited by no savans nor literary men, who
might have succeeded in introducing to notice the wonderful machine of
Stephenson. Even the local chroniclers seem to have taken no notice of the
Killingworth Railway.

There seemed, indeed, to be so small a prospect of introducing the
locomotive into general use, that Stephenson,—perhaps feeling the
capabilities within him,—again recurred to his old idea of emigrating to the
United States. Before joining Mr. Burrel as partner in a small foundry at
Forth Banks, Newcastle, he had thrown out to him the suggestion that it
would be a good speculation for them to emigrate to North America, and
introduce steamboats upon the great inland lakes there. The first steamers
were then plying upon the Tyne before his eyes; and he saw in them the
germ of a great revolution in navigation. It occurred to him that North
America presented the finest field for trying their wonderful powers. He
was an engineer, his partner was an iron-founder; and between them he
thought they might strike out a path to fortune in the mighty West.
Fortunately, this idea remained a mere speculation so far as Stephenson was
concerned: and it was left to others to do what he had dreamt of achieving.
After all his patient waiting, his skill, industry, and perseverance were at
length about to bear fruit.
In 1819 the owners of the Hetton Colliery, in the county of Durham,
determined to have their waggon-way altered to a locomotive railroad. The
result of the working of the Killingworth Railway had been so satisfactory,
that they resolved to adopt the same system. One reason why an
experiment so long continued and so successful as that at Killingworth
should have been so slow in producing results, perhaps was, that to lay
down a railway and furnish it with locomotives, or fixed engines where
necessary, required a very large capital, beyond the means of ordinary coal-
owners; whilst the small amount of interest felt in railways by the general
public, and the supposed impracticability of working them to a profit, as yet
prevented ordinary capitalists from venturing their money in the promotion
of such undertakings. The Hetton Coal Company were, however, possessed
of adequate means; and the local reputation of the Killingworth engine-
wright pointed him out as the man best calculated to lay out their line, and
superintend their works. They accordingly invited him to act as the
engineer of the proposed railway, which was to be the longest locomotive
line that had, up to that time, been constructed. It extended from the Hetton
Colliery, situated about two miles south of Houghton-le-Spring, in the
county of Durham, to the shipping-places on the banks of the Wear, near
Sunderland. Its length was about eight miles; and in its course it crossed

Warden Law, one of the highest hills in the district. The character of the
country forbade the construction of a flat line, or one of comparatively easy
gradients, except by the expenditure of a much larger capital than was
placed at the engineer’s disposal. Heavy works could not be executed; it
was therefore necessary to form the line with but little deviation from the
natural conformation of the district which it traversed, and also to adapt the
mechanical methods employed for its working to the character of the
gradients, which in some places were necessarily heavy.
Although Stephenson had, with every step made towards its increased
utility, become more and more identified with the success of the locomotive
engine, he did not allow his enthusiasm to carry him away into costly
mistakes. He carefully drew the line between the cases in which the
locomotive could be usefully employed, and those in which stationary
engines were calculated to be more economical. This led him, as in the
instance of the Hetton Railway, to execute lines through and over rough
countries, where gradients within the powers of the locomotive engine of
that day could not be secured, employing in their stead stationary engines
where locomotives were not practicable. In the present case, this course
was adopted by him most successfully. On the original Hetton line, there
were five self-acting inclines,—the full waggons drawing the empty ones
up,—and two inclines worked by fixed reciprocating engines of sixty horse
power each. The locomotive travelling engine, or “the iron horse,” as the
people of the neighbourhood then styled it, did the rest. On the day of the
opening of the Hetton Railway, the 18th November, 1822, crowds of
spectators assembled from all parts to witness the first operations of this
ingenious and powerful machinery, which was entirely successful. On that
day five of Stephenson’s locomotives were at work upon the railway, under
the direction of his brother Robert; and the first shipment of coal was then
made by the Hetton Company, at their new staiths on the Wear. The speed
at which the locomotives travelled was about 4 miles an hour, and each
engine dragged after it a train of 17 waggons, weighing about 64 tons.
While thus advancing step by step,—attending to the business of the
Killingworth Colliery, and laying out railways in the neighbourhood,—he
was carefully watching over the education of his son. We have already seen
that Robert was sent to Bruce’s school at Newcastle, where he remained
about four years. He left it in the summer of 1819, and was then put

apprentice to Mr. Nicholas Wood, the head viewer at Killingworth, to learn
the business of the colliery. He served in that capacity for about three years,
during which time he became familiar with most departments of
underground work. The occupation was not unattended with peril, as the
following incident will show. Though the use of the Geordy lamp had
become general in the Killingworth pits, and the workmen were bound,
under a penalty of half-a-crown, not to use a naked candle, it was difficult
to enforce the rule, and even the masters themselves occasionally broke it.
One day Nicholas Wood, the head viewer, Moodie the under viewer, and
Robert Stephenson, were proceeding along one of the galleries, Wood with
a naked candle in his hand, and Robert following him with a lamp. They
came to a place where a fall of stones from the roof had taken place, on
which Wood, who was first, proceeded to clamber over the stones, holding
high the naked candle. He had nearly reached the summit of the heap,
when the fire-damp, which had accumulated in the hollow of the roof,
exploded, and instantly the whole party were blown down, and the lights
extinguished. They were a mile from the shaft, and quite in the dark. There
was a rush of the workpeople from all quarters towards the shaft, for it was
feared that the fire might extend to more dangerous parts of the pit, where,
if the gas had exploded, every soul in the mine must inevitably have
perished. Robert Stephenson and Moodie, on the first impulse, ran back at
full speed along the dark gallery leading to the shaft, coming into collision,
on their way, with the hind quarters of a horse stunned by the explosion.
When they had gone halfway, Moodie halted, and bethought him of
Nicholas Wood. “Stop, laddie!” said he to Robert, “stop; we maun gang
back, and seek the maister.” So they retraced their steps. Happily, no
further explosion had taken place. They found the master lying on the heap
of stones, stunned and bruised, with his hands severely burnt. They led him
to the bottom of the shaft; and he took care afterwards not to venture into
the dangerous parts of the mine without the protection of a Geordy lamp.
The time that Robert spent at Killingworth as viewer’s apprentice was of
advantage both to his father and himself. The evenings were generally
devoted to reading and study, the two from this time working together as
friends and co-labourers. One who used to drop in at the cottage of an
evening, well remembers the animated and eager discussions which on
some occasions took place, more especially with reference to the growing

powers of the locomotive engine. The son was even more enthusiastic than
the father on this subject. Robert would suggest numerous alterations and
improvements in details. His father, on the contrary, would offer every
possible objection, defending the existing arrangements,—proud,
nevertheless of his son’s suggestions, and often warmed and excited by his
brilliant anticipations of the ultimate triumph of the locomotive.
These discussions probably had considerable influence in inducing
Stephenson to take the next important step in the education of his son.
Although Robert, who was only nineteen years of age, was doing well, and
was certain at the expiration of his apprenticeship to rise to a higher
position, his father was not satisfied with the amount of instruction which
he had as yet given him. Remembering the disadvantages under which he
had himself laboured through his ignorance of practical chemistry during
his investigations connected with the safety-lamp, more especially with
reference to the properties of gas, as well as in the course of his experiments
with the object of improving the locomotive engine, he determined to
furnish his son with as complete a scientific culture as his means would
afford. He also believed that a proper training in technical science was
indispensable to success in the higher walks of the engineer’s profession;
and he determined to give to his son that kind and degree of education
which he so much desired for himself. He would thus, he knew, secure a
hearty and generous co-worker in the elaboration of the great ideas now
looming before him, and with their united practical and scientific
knowledge he probably felt that they would be equal to any enterprise.
He accordingly took Robert from his labours as under-viewer in the West
Moor Pit, and in October, 1822, sent him to the Edinburgh University, there
being then no college in England accessible to persons of moderate means,
for purposes of scientific culture. Robert was furnished with letters of
introduction to several men of literary eminence in Edinburgh; his father’s
reputation in connexion with the safety-lamp being of service to him in this
respect. He lodged in Drummond Street, in the immediate vicinity of the
college, and attended the Chemical Lectures of Dr. Hope, the Natural
Philosophy Lectures of Sir John Leslie, and the Natural History Class of
Professor Jameson. He also devoted several evenings in each week to the
study of practical Chemistry under Dr. John Murray, himself one of the
numerous designers of a safety-lamp. He took careful notes of all the

lectures, which he copied out at night before he went to bed; so that, when
he returned to Killingworth, he might read them over to his father. He
afterwards had the notes bound up, and placed in his library. Long years
after, when conversing with Thomas Harrison, C.E., at his house in
Gloucester Square, he rose from his seat and took down a volume from the
shelves. Mr. Harrison observed that the book was in MS., neatly written
out. “What have we here?” he asked. The answer was—“When I went to
college, I knew the difficulty my father had in collecting the funds to send
me there. Before going I studied short-hand; while at Edinburgh, I took
down verbatim every lecture; and in the evenings, before I went to bed, I
transcribed those lectures word for word. You see the result in that range of
books.”
One of the practical sciences in the study of which Robert Stephenson took
special interest while at Edinburgh was that of geology. The situation of the
city, in the midst of a district of highly interesting geological formation,
easily accessible to pedestrians, is indeed most favourable to the pursuit of
such a study; and it was the practice of Professor Jameson frequently to
head a band of his pupils, armed with hammers, chisels, and clinometers,
and take them with him on a long ramble into the country, for the purpose
of teaching them habits of observation and reading to them from the open
book of Nature itself. At the close of this session, the professor took with
him a select body of his pupils on an excursion along the Great Glen of the
Highlands, in the line of the Caledonian Canal, and Robert formed one of
the party. They passed under the shadow of Ben Nevis, examined the
famous old sea-margins known as the “parallel roads of Glen Roy,” and
extended their journey as far as Inverness; the professor teaching the young
men as they travelled how to observe in a mountain country. Not long
before his death, Robert Stephenson spoke in glowing terms of the great
pleasure and benefit which he had derived from that interesting excursion.
“I have travelled far, and enjoyed much,” he said; “but that delightful
botanical and geological journey I shall never forget; and I am just about to
start in the Titania for a trip round the east coast of Scotland, returning
south through the Caledonian Canal, to refresh myself with the recollection
of that first and brightest tour of my life.”
Towards the end of the summer of 1822 the young student returned to
Killingworth to re-enter upon the active business of life. The six months’

study had cost his father £80; but he was amply repaid by the better
scientific culture which his son had acquired, and the evidence of ability
and industry which he was enabled to exhibit in a prize for mathematics
which he had won at the University.

CHAPTER VIII.
George Stephenson Engineer of the Stockton
and Darlington Railway.

The district west of Darlington, in Durham, is one of the richest mineral
fields of the North. Vast stores of coal underlie the Bishop Auckland
Valley; and from an early period new and good roads to market were felt to
be exceedingly desirable. As yet it remained almost a closed field, the cost
of transport of the coal in carts, or on horses’ or donkeys’ backs, greatly
limiting the sale. Long ago, in the days of canal formations, Brindley was
consulted about a canal; afterwards, in 1812, a tramroad was surveyed by
Rennie; and eventually, in 1817, a railway was projected from Darlington to
Stockton-on-Tees.

Of this railway Edward Pease was the projector. A thoughtful and
sagacious man, ready in resources, possessed of indomitable energy and
perseverance, he was eminently qualified to undertake what appeared to

many the hopeless enterprise of obtaining an Act for a railway through such
an unpromising district. One who knew him in 1818 said, “he was a man
who could see a hundred years ahead.”

When the writer last saw him, in the autumn of 1854, Mr. Pease was in his
eighty-eighth year; yet he still possessed the hopefulness and mental vigour
of a man in his prime. Hale and hearty, and full of reminiscences of the
past, he continued to take an active interest in all measures calculated to
render men happier and better. Still sound in health, his eye had not lost its
brilliancy, nor his cheek its colour; and there was an elasticity in his step
which younger men might have envied. [125]

In getting up a company for surveying and forming a railway, Mr. Pease had
great difficulties to encounter. The people of the neighbourhood spoke of it
as a ridiculous undertaking, and predicted that it would be ruinous to all
concerned. Even those most interested in the opening of new markets for
their coal, were indifferent, if not actually hostile. The Stockton merchants
and shipowners, whom it was calculated so greatly to benefit, gave the
project no support; and not twenty shares were subscribed for in the whole
town. Mr. Pease nevertheless persevered; and he induced many of his
friends and relations to subscribe the capital required.
The necessary preliminary steps were taken in 1818 to apply for an act to
authorise the construction of a tramroad from Witton to Stockton. The
measure was however, strongly opposed by the Duke of Cleveland, because
the proposed line passed close by one of his fox covers; and the bill was
rejected. A new survey was then made, avoiding the Duke’s cover; and in
1819 a renewed application was made to Parliament. The promoters were
this time successful, and the royal assent was given to the first Stockton and
Darlington Railway Act on the 19th April, 1821.
The projectors did not originally contemplate the employment of
locomotives. The Act provided for the making and maintaining of
tramroads for the passage “of waggons and other carriages” “with men and
horses or otherwise,” and a further clause made provision for damages done
in course of traffic by the “waggoners.” The public were to be free “to use
with horses, cattle and carriages,” the roads formed by the company, on
payment of the authorised rates, “between the hours of seven in the morning
and six in the evening,” during winter; “between six in the morning and
eight in the evening,” in two of the spring and autumn months; and
“between five in the morning and ten in the evening,” in the summer
months of May, June, July, and August. From this it will be obvious that
the projectors of the line had themselves at first no very large conceptions
as to the scope of their project.
One day, in the spring of 1821, two strangers knocked at the door of Mr.
Pease’s house in Darlington; and the message was brought to him that some
persons from Killingworth wanted to speak with him. They were invited in,
on which one of the visitors introduced himself as Nicholas Wood, viewer

at Killingworth, and then turning to his companion, he introduced him as
George Stephenson, engine-wright, of the same place.
Mr. Pease entered into conversation with his visitors, and was soon told
their object. Stephenson had heard of the passing of the Stockton and
Darlington Act, and desiring to increase his railway experience, and also to
employ in some larger field the practical knowledge he had already gained,
he determined to visit the known projector of the undertaking, with the view
of being employed to carry it out. He had brought with him his friend
Wood, for the purpose at the same time of relieving his diffidence, and
supporting his application.
Mr. Pease liked the appearance of his visitor: “there was,” as he afterwards
remarked when speaking of Stephenson, “such an honest, sensible look
about him, and he seemed so modest and unpretending. He spoke in the
strong Northumbrian dialect of his district, and described himself as ‘only
the engine-wright at Killingworth; that’s what he was.’“
Mr. Pease soon saw that our engineer was the very man for his purpose.
The whole plans of the railway were still in an undetermined state, and Mr.
Pease was therefore glad to have the opportunity of profiting by
Stephenson’s experience. In the course of their conversation, the latter
strongly recommended a railway in preference to a tramroad. They also
discussed the kind of tractive power to be employed: Mr. Pease stating that
the company had based their whole calculations on the employment of
horse power. “I was so satisfied,” said he afterwards, “that a horse upon an
iron road would draw ten tons for one ton on a common road, that I felt sure
that before long the railway would become the King’s highway.” But Mr.
Pease was scarcely prepared for the bold assertion made by his visitor, that
the locomotive engine with which he had been working the Killingworth
Railway for many years past was worth fifty horses, and that engines made
after a similar plan would yet entirely supersede all horse power upon
railroads. Stephenson was daily becoming more positive as to the
superiority of his locomotive; and hence he strongly urged Mr. Pease to
adopt it. “Come over to Killingworth,” said he, “and see what my engines
can do; seeing is believing, sir.” Mr. Pease accordingly promised that on
some early day he would go over to Killingworth, and take a look at the
wonderful machine that was to supersede horses. The result of the

interview was, that Mr. Pease promised to bring Stephenson’s application
for the appointment of engineer before the Directors, and to support it with
his influence; whereon the two visitors prepared to take their leave,
informing Mr. Pease that they intended to return to Newcastle “by nip;” that
is, they expected to get a smuggled lift on the stage-coach, by tipping Jehu,
—for in those days the stage coachmen regarded all casual roadside
passengers as their proper perquisites. They had, however, been so much
engrossed by their conversation, that the lapse of time was forgotten, and
when Stephenson and his friend made enquiries about the return coach, they
found the last had left; and they had to walk the 18 miles to Durham on
their way back to Newcastle.
Mr. Pease having made further inquiries respecting Stephenson’s character
and qualifications, and having received a very strong recommendation of
him as the right man for the intended work, he brought the subject of his
application before the directors of the Stockton and Darlington Company.
They resolved to adopt his recommendation that a railway be formed
instead of a tramroad; and they further requested Mr. Pease to write to
Stephenson, desiring him to undertake a re-survey of the line at the earliest
practicable period.
A man was despatched on a horse with the letter, and when he reached
Killingworth he made diligent enquiry after the person named upon the
address, “George Stephenson, Esquire, Engineer.” No such person was
known in the village. It is said that the man was on the point of giving up
all further search, when the happy thought struck some of the colliers’
wives who had gathered about him, that it must be “Geordie the engine-
wright” the man was in search of; and to Geordie’s cottage he accordingly
went, found him at home, and delivered the letter.
About the end of September, Stephenson went carefully over the line of the
proposed railway, for the purpose of suggesting such improvements and
deviations as he might consider desirable. He was accompanied by an
assistant and a chainman,—his son Robert entering the figures while his
father took the sights. After being engaged in the work at intervals for
about six weeks, Stephenson reported the result of his survey to the Board
of Directors, and showed that by certain deviations, a line shorter by about
three miles might be constructed at a considerable saving in expense, while

at the same time more favourable gradients—an important consideration—
would be secured.
It was, however, determined in the first place to proceed with the works at
those parts of the line where no deviation was proposed; and the first rail of
the Stockton and Darlington Railway was laid with considerable ceremony,
near Stockton, on the 23rd May, 1822.
It is worthy of note that Stephenson, in making his first estimate of the cost
of forming the railway according to the Instructions of the directors, set
down, as part of the cost, £6200 for stationary engines, not mentioning
locomotives at all. The directors as yet confined their views to the
employment only of horses for the haulage of the coals, and of fixed
engines and ropes where horse-power was not applicable. The whole
question of steam locomotive power was, in the estimation of the public, as
well as of practical and scientific men, as yet in doubt. The confident
anticipations of George Stephenson, as to the eventual success of
locomotive engines, were regarded as mere speculations; and when he gave
utterance to his views, as he frequently took the opportunity of doing, it
even had the effect of shaking the confidence of some of his friends in the
solidity of his judgment and his practical qualities as an engineer.
When Mr. Pease discussed the question with Stephenson, his remark was,
“Come over and see my engines at Killingworth, and satisfy yourself as to
the efficiency of the locomotive. I will show you the colliery books, that
you may ascertain for yourself the actual cost of working. And I must tell
you that the economy of the locomotive engine is no longer a matter of
theory, but a matter of fact.” So confident was the tone in which
Stephenson spoke of the success of his engines, and so important were the
consequences involved in arriving at a correct conclusion on the subject,
that Mr. Pease at length resolved upon paying a visit to Killingworth in the
summer of 1822, to see with his own eyes the wonderful new power so
much vaunted by the engineer.
When Mr. Pease arrived at Killingworth village, he inquired for George
Stephenson, and was told that he must go over to the West Moor, and seek
for a cottage by the roadside, with a dial over the door—“that was where
George Stephenson lived.” They soon found the house with the dial; and on

knocking, the door was opened by Mrs. Stephenson—his second wife
(Elizabeth Hindmarsh), the daughter of a farmer at Black Callerton, whom
he had married in 1820. [129] Her husband, she said, was not in the house at
present, but she would send for him to the colliery. And in a short time
Stephenson appeared before them in his working dress, just as he had come
out of the pit.
He very soon had his locomotive brought up to the crossing close by the
end of the cottage,—made the gentlemen mount it, and showed them its
paces. Harnessing it to a train of loaded waggons, he ran it along the
railroad, and so thoroughly satisfied his visitors of its power and
capabilities, that from that day Edward Pease was a declared supporter of
the locomotive engine. In preparing the Amended Stockton and Darlington
Act, at Stephenson’s urgent request Mr. Pease had a clause inserted, taking
power to work the railway by means of locomotive engines, and to employ
them for the haulage of passengers as well as of merchandise. [130] The Act
was obtained in 1823, on which Stephenson was appointed the company’s
engineer at a salary of £300 per annum; and it was determined that the line
should be constructed and opened for traffic as soon as practicable.
He at once proceeded, accompanied by his assistants, with the working
survey of the line, laying out every foot of the ground himself. Railway
surveying was as yet in its infancy, and was slow and difficult work. It
afterwards became a separate branch of railway business, and was entrusted
to a special staff. Indeed on no subsequent line did George Stephenson take
the sights through the spirit level with his own hands and eyes as he did on
this railway. He started very early—dressed in a blue tailed coat, breeches,
and top-boots—and surveyed until dusk. He was not at any time particular
as to his living; and during the survey, he took his chance of getting a little
milk and bread at some cottager’s house along the line, or occasionally
joined in a homely dinner at some neighbouring farmhouse. The country
people were accustomed to give him a hearty welcome when he appeared at
their door; for he was always full of cheery and homely talk, and, when
there were children about the house, he had plenty of humorous chat for
them as well as for their seniors.
After the day’s work was over, George would drop in at Mr. Pease’s, to talk
over the progress of the survey, and discuss various matters connected with

the railway. Mr. Pease’s daughters were usually present; and on one
occasion, finding the young ladies learning the art of embroidery, he
volunteered to instruct them. [131] “I know all about it,” said he; “and you
will wonder how I learnt it. I will tell you. When I was a brakesman at
Killingworth, I learnt the art of embroidery while working the pitmen’s
buttonholes by the engine fire at nights.” He was never ashamed, but on the
contrary rather proud, of reminding his friends of these humble pursuits of
his early life. Mr. Pease’s family were greatly pleased with his
conversation, which was always amusing and instructive; full of all sorts of
experience, gathered in the oddest and most out-of-the-way places. Even at
that early period, before he mixed in the society of educated persons, there
was a dash of speculativeness in his remarks, which gave a high degree of
originality to his conversation; and he would sometimes, in a casual remark,
throw a flash of light upon a subject, which called up a train of pregnant
suggestions.
One of the most important subjects of discussion at these meetings with Mr.
Pease, was the establishment of a manufactory at Newcastle for the building
of locomotive engines. Up to this time all the locomotives constructed after
Stephenson’s designs, had been made by ordinary mechanics working
among the collieries in the North of England. But he had long felt that the
accuracy and style of their workmanship admitted of great improvement,
and that upon this the more perfect action of the locomotive engine, and its
general adoption, in a great measure depended. One great object that he
had in view in establishing the proposed factory was, to concentrate a
number of good workmen, for the purpose of carrying out the
improvements in detail which he was constantly making in his engine. He
felt hampered by the want of efficient help from skilled mechanics, who
could work out in a practical form the ideas of which his busy mind was
always so prolific. Doubtless, too, he believed that the manufactory would
prove a remunerative investment, and that, on the general adoption of the
railway system which he anticipated, he would derive solid advantages
from the fact of his establishment being the only one of the kind for the
special construction of locomotive engines.
Mr. Pease approved of his design, and strongly recommended him to carry
it into effect. But there was the question of means; and Stephenson did not
think he had capital enough for the purpose. He told Mr. Pease that he

could advance £1000—the amount of the testimonial presented by the coal-
owners for his safety-lamp invention, which he had still left untouched; but
he did not think this sufficient for the purpose, and he thought that he
should require at least another £1000. Mr. Pease had been very much struck
with the successful performances of the Killingworth engine; and being an
accurate judge of character, he believed that he could not go far wrong in
linking a portion of his fortune with the energy and industry of George
Stephenson. He consulted his friend Thomas Richardson in the matter; and
the two consented to advance £500 each for the purpose of establishing the
engine factory at Newcastle. A piece of land was accordingly purchased in
Forth Street, in August, 1823, on which a small building was erected—the
nucleus of the gigantic establishment which was afterwards formed around
it; and active operations were begun early in 1824.
While the Stockton and Darlington Railway works were in progress, our
engineer had many interesting discussions with Mr. Pease, on points
connected with its construction and working, the determination of which in
a great measure affected the formation and working of all future railways.
The most important points were these:
1. The comparative merits of cast and wrought iron rails.
2. The gauge of the railway.
3. The employment of horse or engine power in working it, when ready for
traffic.
The kind of rails to be laid down to form the permanent road was a matter
of considerable importance. A wooden tramroad had been contemplated
when the first Act was applied for; but Stephenson having advised that an
iron road should be laid down, he was instructed to draw up a specification
of the rails. He went before the directors to discuss with them the kind of
material to be specified. He was himself interested in the patent for cast-
iron rails, which he had taken out in conjunction with Mr. Losh in 1816;
and, of course, it was to his interest that his articles should be used. But
when requested to give his opinion on the subject, he frankly said to the
directors, “Well, gentlemen, to tell you the truth, although it would put £500
in my pocket to specify my own patent rails, I cannot do so after the
experience I have had. If you take my advice, you will not lay down a

single cast-iron rail.” “Why?” asked the directors. “Because they will not
stand the weight, and you will be at no end of expense for repairs and
relays.” “What kind of road, then,” he was asked, “would you
recommend?” “Malleable rails, certainly,” said he; “and I can recommend
them with the more confidence from the fact that at Killingworth we have
had some Swedish bars laid down—nailed to wooden sleepers—for a
period of fourteen years, the waggons passing over them daily; and there
they are, in use yet, whereas the cast rails are constantly giving way.”
The price of malleable rails was, however, so high—being then worth about
£12 per ton as compared with cast-iron rails at about £5 10s.—and the
saving of expense was so important a consideration with the subscribers,
that Stephenson was directed to provide, in the specification, that only one-
half of the rails required—or about 800 tons—should be of malleable iron,
and the remainder of cast-iron. The malleable rails were of the kind called
“fish-bellied,” and weighed 28 lbs. to the yard, being 2¼ inches broad at the
top, with the upper flange ¾ inch thick. They were only 2 inches in depth
at the points at which they rested on the chairs, and 3¼ inches in the middle
or bellied part.
When forming the road, the proper gauge had also to be determined. What
width was this to be? The gauge of the first tramroad laid down had
virtually settled the point. The gauge of wheels of the common vehicles of
the country—of the carts and waggons employed on common roads, which
were first used on the tramroads—was about 4 feet 8½ inches. And so the
first tramroads were laid down of this gauge. The tools and machinery for
constructing coal-waggons and locomotives were formed with this gauge in
view. The Wylam waggon-way, afterwards the Wylam plate-way, the
Killingworth railroad, and the Hetton rail road, were as nearly as possible
on the same gauge. Some of the earth-waggons used to form the Stockton
and Darlington road were brought from the Hetton railway; and others
which were specially constructed were formed of the same dimensions,
these being intended to be afterwards employed in the working of the
traffic.
As the period drew near for the opening of the line, the question of the
tractive power to be employed was anxiously discussed. At the Brusselton
incline, fixed engines must necessarily be made use of; but with respect to

the mode of working the railway generally, it was decided that horses were
to be largely employed, and arrangements were made for their purchase.
The influence of Mr. Pease also secured that a fair trial should be given to
the experiment of working the traffic by locomotive power; and three
engines were ordered from the firm of Stephenson and Co., Newcastle,
which were put in hand forthwith, in anticipation of the opening of the
railway. These were constructed after Mr. Stephenson’s most matured
designs, and embodied all the improvements which he had contrived up to
that time. No. I. engine, the “Locomotion,” which was first delivered,
weighed about eight tons. It had one large flue or tube through the boiler,
by which the heated air passed direct from the furnace at one end, lined
with fire-bricks, to the chimney at the other. The combustion in the furnace
was quickened by the adoption of the steam-blast in the chimney. The heat
raised was sometimes so great, and it was so imperfectly abstracted by the
surrounding water, that the chimney became almost red-hot. Such engines,
when put to their speed, were found capable of running at the rate of from
twelve to sixteen miles an hour; but they were better adapted for the heavy
work of hauling coal-trains at low speeds—for which, indeed, they were
specially constructed—than for running at the higher speeds afterwards
adopted. Nor was it contemplated by the directors as possible, at the time
when they were ordered, that locomotives could be made available for the
purposes of passenger travelling. Besides, the Stockton and Darlington
Railway did not run through a district in which passengers were supposed
to be likely to constitute any considerable portion of the traffic.
We may easily imagine the anxiety felt by Mr. Stephenson during the
progress of the works towards completion, and his mingled hopes and
doubts (though his doubts were but few) as to the issue of this great
experiment. When the formation of the line near Stockton was well
advanced, Mr. Stephenson one day, accompanied by his son Robert and
John Dixon, made a journey of inspection of the works. The party reached
Stockton, and proceeded to dine at one of the inns there. After dinner,
Stephenson ventured on the very unusual measure of ordering in a bottle of
wine, to drink success to the railway. John Dixon relates with pride the
utterance of the master on the occasion. “Now, lads,” said he to the two
young men, “I venture to tell you that I think you will live to see the day
when railways will supersede almost all other methods of conveyance in

this country—when mail-coaches will go by railway, and railroads will
become 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 upon a railway
than to walk on foot. I know there are great and almost insurmountable
difficulties to be encountered; but what I have said will come to pass as sure
as you live. I only wish I may live to see the day, though that I can scarcely
hope for, as I know how slow all human progress is, and with what
difficulty I have been able to get the locomotive thus far adopted,
notwithstanding my more than ten years’ successful experiment at
Killingworth.” The result, however, outstripped even the most sanguine
anticipations of Stephenson; and his son Robert, shortly after his return
from America in 1827, saw his father’s locomotive generally employed as
the tractive power on railways.
The Stockton and Darlington line was opened for traffic on the 27th
September, 1825. An immense concourse of people assembled from all
parts to witness the ceremony of opening this first public railway. The
powerful opposition which the project had encountered, the threats which
were still uttered against the company by the road-trustees and others, who
declared that they would yet prevent the line being worked, and perhaps the
general unbelief as to its success which still prevailed, tended to excite the
curiosity of the public as to the result. Some went to rejoice at the opening,
some to see the “bubble burst;” and there were many prophets of evil who
would not miss the blowing up of the boasted travelling engine. The
opening was, however, auspicious. The proceedings commenced at
Brusselton Incline, about nine miles above Darlington, where the fixed
engine drew a train of loaded waggons up the incline from the west, and
lowered them on the east side. At the foot of the incline a locomotive was
in readiness to receive them, Stephenson himself driving the engine. The
train consisted of six waggons loaded with coals and flour; after these was
the passenger-coach, filled with the directors and their friends, and then
twenty-one waggons fitted up with temporary seats for passengers; and
lastly came six waggon-loads of coals, making in all a train of thirty-eight
vehicles. The local chronicler of the day almost went beside himself in
describing the extraordinary event:—“The signal being given,” he says,
“the engine started off with this immense train of carriages; and such was
its velocity, that in some parts the speed was frequently 12 miles an hour!”

By the time it reached Stockton there were about 600 persons in the train or
hanging on to the waggons, which must have gone at a safe and steady pace
of from four to six miles an hour from Darlington. “The arrival at
Stockton,” it is added, “excited a deep interest and admiration.”
The working of the line then commenced, and the results were such as to
surprise even the most sanguine of its projectors. The traffic upon which
they had formed their estimates of profit proved to be small in comparison
with that which flowed in upon them which they had never dreamt of.
Thus, what the company had principally relied upon for their receipts was
the carriage of coals for land sale at the stations along the line, whereas the
haulage of coals to the seaports for exportation to the London market was
not contemplated as possible. When the bill was before Parliament, Mr.
Lambton (afterwards Earl of Durham) succeeded in getting a clause
inserted, limiting the charge for the haulage of all coal to Stockton-on-Tees
for the purpose of shipment to ½d. per ton per mile; whereas a rate of 4d.
per ton was allowed to be taken for all coals led upon the railway for land
sale. Mr. Lambton’s object in enforcing the low rate of ½d. was to protect
his own trade in coal exported from Sunderland and the northern ports. He
believed, in common with everybody else, that the ½d. rate would
effectually secure him against competition on the part of the Company; for
it was not considered possible to lead coals at that price, and the proprietors
of the railway themselves considered that such a rate would be utterly
ruinous. The projectors never contemplated sending more than 10,000 tons
a year to Stockton, and those only for shipment as ballast; they looked for
their profits almost exclusively to the land sale. The result, however, was as
surprising to them as it must have been to Mr. Lambton. The ½d. rate
which was forced upon them, instead of being ruinous, proved the vital
element in the success of the railway. In the course of a few years, the
annual shipment of coal, led by the Stockton and Darlington Railway to
Stockton and Middlesborough, was more than 500,000 tons; and it has since
far exceeded this amount. Instead of being, as anticipated, a subordinate
branch of traffic, it proved, in fact, the main traffic, while the land sale was
merely subsidiary.
The anticipations of the company as to passenger traffic were in like
manner more than realised. At first, passengers were not thought of; and it
was only while the works were in progress that the starting of a passenger

coach was seriously contemplated. The number of persons travelling
between the two towns was very small; and it was not known whether these
would risk their persons upon the iron road. It was determined, however, to
make trial of a railway coach; and Mr. Stephenson was authorised to have
one built at Newcastle, at the cost of the company. This was done
accordingly; and the first railway passenger carriage was built after our
engineer’s design. It was, however, a very modest, and indeed a somewhat
uncouth machine, more resembling the caravans still to be seen at country
fairs containing the “Giant and the Dwarf” and other wonders of the world,
than a passenger-coach of any extant form. A row of seats ran along each
side of the interior, and a long deal table was fixed in the centre; the access
being by means of a door at the back end, in the manner of an omnibus.

This coach arrived from Newcastle the day before the opening, and formed
part of the railway procession above described. Mr. Stephenson was
consulted as to the name of the coach, and he at once suggested “The
Experiment;” and by this name it was called. The Company’s arms were
afterwards painted on her side, with the motto “Periculum privatum utilitas
publica.” Such was the sole passenger-carrying stock of the Stockton and

Darlington Company in the year 1825. But the “Experiment” proved the
forerunner of a mighty traffic: and long time did not elapse before it was
displaced, not only by improved coaches (still drawn by horses), but
afterwards by long trains of passenger-carriages drawn by locomotive
engines.
“The Experiment” was fairly started as a passenger-coach on the 10th
October, 1825, a fortnight after the opening of the line. It was drawn by
one horse, and performed a journey daily each way between the two towns,
accomplishing the distance of twelve miles in about two hours. The fare
charged was a shilling without distinction of class; and each passenger was
allowed fourteen pounds of luggage free. “The Experiment” was not,
however, worked by the company, but was let to contractors who worked it
under an arrangement whereby toll was paid for the use of the line, rent of
booking-cabins, etc.
The speculation answered so well, that several private coaching companies
were shortly after got up by innkeepers at Darlington and Stockton, for the
purpose of running other coaches upon the railroad; and an active
competition for passenger traffic sprang up. “The Experiment” being found
too heavy for one horse to draw, besides being found an uncomfortable
machine, was banished to the coal district. Its place was then supplied by
other and better vehicles,—though they were no other than old stage-coach
bodies purchased by the company, and each mounted upon an underframe
with flange-wheels. These were let on hire to the coaching companies, who
horsed and managed them under an arrangement as to tolls, in like manner
as the “Experiment” had been worked. Now began the distinction of inside
and outside passengers, equivalent to first and second class, paying different
fares. The competition with each other upon the railway, and with the
ordinary stagecoaches upon the road, soon brought up the speed, which was
increased to ten miles an hour—the mail-coach rate of travelling in those
days, and considered very fast.
Mr. Clephan, a native of the district, has described some of the curious
features of the competition between the rival coach companies:—“There
were two separate coach companies in Stockton, and amusing collisions
sometimes occurred between the drivers—who found on the rail a novel
element for contention. Coaches cannot pass each other on the rail as on

the road; and, as the line was single, with four sidings in the mile, when two
coaches met, or two trains, or coach and train, the question arose which of
the drivers must go back? This was not always settled in silence. As to
trains, it came to be a sort of understanding that empty should give way to
loaded waggons; and as to trains and coaches, that the passengers should
have preference over coals; while coaches, when they met, must quarrel it
out. At length, midway between sidings, a post was erected, and a rule was
laid down that he who had passed the pillar must go on, and the ‘coming
man’ go back. At the Goose Pool and Early Nook, it was common for these
coaches to stop; and there, as Jonathan would say, passengers and
coachmen ‘liquored.’ One coach, introduced by an innkeeper, was a
compound of two mourning-coaches,—an approximation to the real
railway-coach, which still adheres, with multiplying exceptions, to the
stage-coach type. One Dixon, who drove the ‘Experiment’ between
Darlington and Shildon, is the inventor of carriage-lighting on the rail. On
a dark winter night, having compassion on his passengers, he would buy a
penny candle, and place it lighted amongst them on the table of the
‘Experiment’—the first railway-coach (which, by the way, ended its days at
Shildon as a railway cabin), being also the first coach on the rail (first,
second, and third class jammed all into one) that indulged its customers
with light in darkness.”
The traffic of all sorts increased so steadily and so rapidly that considerable
difficulty was experienced in working it satisfactorily. It had been provided
by the first Stockton and Darlington Act that the line should be free to all
parties who chose to use it at certain prescribed rates, and that any person
might put horses and waggons on the railway, and carry for himself. But
this arrangement led to increasing confusion and difficulty, and could not
continue in the face of a large and rapidly-increasing traffic. The goods
trains got so long that the carriers found it necessary to call in the aid of the
locomotive engine to help them on their way. Then mixed trains of
passengers and merchandise began to run; and the result was that the
railway company found it necessary to take the entire charge and working
of the traffic. In course of time new coaches were specially built for the
better accommodation of the public, until at length regular passenger-trains
were run, drawn by the locomotive engine,—though this was not until after

the Liverpool and Manchester Company had established this as a distinct
branch of their traffic.

The three Stephenson locomotives were from the first regularly employed
to work the coal trains; and their proved efficiency for this purpose led to
the gradual increase of the locomotive power. The speed of the engines—
slow though it seems now—was in those days regarded as something
marvellous. A race actually came off between No. I. engine, the
“Locomotion,” and one of the stage-coaches travelling from Darlington to
Stockton by the ordinary road; and it was regarded as a great triumph of
mechanical skill that the locomotive reached Stockton first, beating the
stage-coach by about a hundred yards! The same engine continued in good
working order in the year 1846, when it headed the railway procession on
the opening of the Middlesborough and Redcar Railway, travelling at the
rate of about fourteen miles an hour. This engine, the first that travelled
upon the first public railway, has recently been placed upon a pedestal in
front of the railway station at Darlington.
For some years, however, the principal haulage of the line was performed
by horses. The inclination of the gradients being towards the sea, this was
perhaps the cheapest mode of traction, so long as the traffic was not very

large. The horse drew the train along the level road, until, on reaching a
descending gradient, down which the train ran by its own gravity, the
animal was unharnessed, and, when loose, he wheeled round to the other
end of the waggons, to which a “dandy-cart” was attached, its bottom being
only a few inches from the rail. Bringing his step into unison with the
speed of the train, the horse learnt to leap nimbly into his place in this
waggon, which was usually fitted with a well-filled hay-rack.
The details of the working were gradually perfected by experience, the
projectors of the line being scarcely conscious at first of the importance and
significance of the work which they had taken in hand, and little thinking
that they were laying the foundations of a system which was yet to
revolutionise the internal communications of the world, and confer the
greatest blessings on mankind. It is important to note that the commercial
results of the enterprise were considered satisfactory from the opening of
the railway. Besides conferring a great public benefit upon the inhabitants
of the district and throwing open entirely new markets for coal, the profits
derived from the traffic created by the railway yielded increasing dividends
to those who had risked their capital in the undertaking, and thus held forth
an encouragement to the projectors of railways generally, which was not
without an important effect in stimulating the projection of similar
enterprises in other districts. These results, as displayed in the annual
dividends, must have been eminently encouraging to the astute commercial
men of Liverpool and Manchester, who were then engaged in the
prosecution of their railway. Indeed, the commercial success of the
Stockton and Darlington Company may be justly characterised as the
turning-point of the railway system.
Before leaving this subject, we cannot avoid alluding to one of its most
remarkable and direct results—the creation of the town of Middlesborough-
on-Tees. When the railway was opened in 1825, the site of this future
metropolis of Cleveland was occupied by one solitary farmhouse and its
outbuildings. All round was pasture-land or mud-banks; scarcely another
house was within sight. In 1829 some of the principal proprietors of the
railway joined in the purchase of about 500 or 600 acres of land five miles
below Stockton—the site of the modern Middlesborough—for the purpose
of there forming a new seaport for the shipment of coals brought to the Tees
by the railway. The line was accordingly extended thither; docks were

excavated; a town sprang up; churches, chapels, and schools were built,
with a custom-house, mechanics’ institute, banks, shipbuilding yards, and
iron-factories. In ten years a busy population of some 6000 persons (since
increased to about 23,000) occupied the site of the original farmhouse. [144]
More recently, the discovery of vast stores of ironstone in the Cleveland
Hills, closely adjoining Middlesborough, has tended still more rapidly to
augment the population and increase the commercial importance of the
place.
It is pleasing to relate, in connexion with this great work—the Stockton and
Darlington Railway, projected by Edward Pease and executed by George
Stephenson—that when Mr. Stephenson became a prosperous and a
celebrated man, he did not forget the friend who had taken him by the hand,
and helped him on in his early days. He continued to remember Mr. Pease
with gratitude and affection, and that gentleman, to the close of his life, was
proud to exhibit a handsome gold watch, received as a gift from his
celebrated protégé, bearing these words;—“Esteem and gratitude: from
George Stephenson to Edward Pease.”

CHAPTER IX.
The Liverpool and Manchester Railway
projected.

The rapid growth of the trade and manufactures of South Lancashire gave
rise, about the year 1821, to the project of a tramroad for the conveyance of
goods between Liverpool and Manchester. Since the construction of the
Bridgewater Canal by Brindley, some fifty years before, the increase in the
business transacted between the two towns had become quite marvellous.
The steam-engine, the spinning-jenny, and the canal, working together, had
accumulated in one focus a vast aggregate of population, manufactures, and
trade.
Such was the expansion of business caused by the inventions to which we
have referred, that the navigation was found altogether inadequate to
accommodate the traffic, which completely outgrew all the Canal
Companies’ appliances of wharves, boats, and horses. Cotton lay at
Liverpool for weeks together, waiting to be removed; and it occupied a
longer time to transport the cargoes from Liverpool to Manchester than it
had done to bring them across the Atlantic from the United States to
England. Carts and waggons were tried, but proved altogether insufficient.
Sometimes manufacturing operations had to be suspended altogether, and
during a frost, when the canals were frozen up, the communication was
entirely stopped. The consequences were often disastrous, alike to
operatives, merchants, and manufacturers.
Expostulation with the Canal Companies was of no use. They were
overcrowded with business at their own prices, and disposed to be very
dictatorial. When the Duke first constructed his canal, he had to encounter
the fierce opposition of the Irwell and Mersey Navigation, whose monopoly
his new line of water conveyance threatened to interfere with. [147] But the

innovation of one generation often becomes the obstruction of the next.
The Duke’s agents would scarcely listen to the remonstrances of the
Liverpool merchants and Manchester manufacturers, and the Bridgewater
Canal was accordingly, in its turn, denounced as a monopoly.
Under these circumstances, any new mode of transit between the two towns
which offered a reasonable prospect of relief was certain to receive a cordial
welcome. The scheme of a tramroad was, however, so new and
comparatively untried, that it is not surprising that the parties interested
should have hesitated before committing themselves to it. Mr. Sandars, a
Liverpool merchant, was amongst the first to broach the subject. He had
suffered in his business, in common with many others, from the
insufficiency of the existing modes of communication, and was ready to
give consideration to any plan presenting elements of practical efficiency
which proposed a remedy for the generally admitted grievance. Having
caused inquiry to be made as to the success which had attended the haulage
of heavy coal-trains by locomotive power on the northern railways, he was
led to the opinion that the same means might be equally efficient in
conducting the increasing traffic in merchandise between Liverpool and
Manchester. He ventilated the subject amongst his friends, and about the
beginning of 1821 a committee was formed for the purpose of bringing the
scheme of a railroad before the public.
The novel project having become noised abroad, attracted the attention of
the friends of railways in other quarters. Tramroads were by no means new
expedients for the transit of heavy articles. The Croydon and Wandsworth
Railway, laid down by William Jessop as early as the year 1801, had been
regularly used for the conveyance of lime and stone in waggons hauled by
mules or donkeys from Merstham to London. The sight of this humble
railroad in 1813 led Sir Richard Phillips in his ‘Morning Walk to Kew’ to
anticipate the great advantages which would be derived by the nation from
the general adoption of Blenkinsop’s engine for the conveyance of mails
and passengers at ten or even fifteen miles an hour. In the same year we
find Mr. Lovell Edgworth, who had for fifty years been advocating the
superiority of tram or rail roads over common roads, writing to James Watt
(7th August, 1813): “I have always thought that steam would become the
universal lord, and that we should in time scorn post-horses; an iron railroad
would be a cheaper thing than a road upon the common construction.”

Thomas Gray, of Nottingham, was another speculator on the same subject.
Though he was no mechanic nor inventor, he had an enthusiastic belief in
the powers of the railroad system. Being a native of Leeds, he had, when a
boy, seen Blenkinsop’s locomotive at work on the Middleton cogged
railroad, and from an early period he seems to have entertained almost as
sanguine views on the subject as Sir Richard Phillips. It would appear that
Gray was residing in Brussels in 1816, when the project of a canal from
Charleroi, for the purpose of connecting Holland with the mining districts
of Belgium, was the subject of discussion; and, in conversation with Mr.
John Cockerill and others, he took the opportunity of advocating the
superior advantages of a railway. He was absorbed for some time with the
preparation of a pamphlet on the subject. He shut himself up, secluded
from his wife and relations, declining to give them any information as to his
mysterious studies, beyond the assurance that his scheme “would
revolutionise the whole face of the material world and of society.” In 1820
Mr. Gray published the result of his studies in his ‘Observations on a
General Iron Railway,’ in which, with great cogency, he urged the
superiority of a locomotive railway over common roads and canals,
pointing out, at the same time, the advantages to all classes of the
community of this mode of conveyance for merchandise and persons. In
this book Mr. Gray suggested a railway between Manchester and Liverpool,
“which,” he observed, “would employ many thousands of the distressed
population of Lancashire.” The treatise must have met with a ready sale, as
we find that two years later it had passed into a fourth edition. In 1822 Mr.
Gray added diagrams to the book, showing, in one, suggested lines of
railway connecting the principal towns of England, and in another, the
principal towns of Ireland.
These speculations show that the subject of railways was gradually
becoming familiar to the public mind, and that thoughtful men were
anticipating with confidence the adoption of steam-power for the purposes
of railway traction. At the same time, a still more profitable class of
labourers was at work—first, men like Stephenson, who were engaged in
improving the locomotive and making it a practicable and economical
working power; and next, those like Edward Pease of Darlington, and
Joseph Sandars of Liverpool, who were organising the means of laying
down the railways. Mr. William James, of West Bromwich, belonged to the

active class of projectors. He was a man of considerable social influence,
of an active temperament, and had from an early period taken a warm
interest in the formation of tramroads. Acting as land-agent for gentlemen
of property in the mining districts, he had laid down several tramroads in
the neighbourhood of Birmingham, Gloucester, and Bristol; and he
published many pamphlets urging their formation in other places. At one
period of his life he was a large iron-manufacturer. The times, however,
went against him. It was thought he was too bold, some considered him
even reckless, in his speculations; and he lost almost his entire fortune. He
continued to follow the business of a land-agent, and it was while engaged
in making a survey for one of his clients in the neighbourhood of Liverpool
early in 1821, that he first heard of the project of a railway between that
town and Manchester. He at once called upon Mr. Sandars, and offered his
services as surveyor of the proposed line, and his offer was accepted.

A trial survey was then begun, but it was conducted with great difficulty,
the inhabitants of the district entertaining the most violent prejudices
against the scheme. In some places Mr. James and his surveying party even
encountered personal violence. The farmers stationed men at the field-gates
with pitchforks, and sometimes with guns, to drive them back. At St.
Helen’s, one of the chainmen was laid hold of by a mob of colliers, and
threatened to be hurled down a coal-pit. A number of men, women, and
children, collected and ran after the surveyors wherever they made their
appearance, bawling nicknames and throwing stones at them. As one of the
chainmen was climbing over a gate one day, a labourer made at him with a
pitchfork, and ran it through his clothes into his back; other watchers
running up, the chainman, who was more stunned than hurt, took to his
heels and fled. But that mysterious-looking instrument—-the theodolite-—
most excited the fury of the natives, who concentrated on the man who
carried it their fiercest execrations and most offensive nicknames.
A powerful fellow, a noted bruiser, was hired by the surveyors to carry the
instrument, with a view to its protection against all assailants; but one day
an equally powerful fellow, a St. Helen’s collier, cock of the walk in his
neighbourhood, made up to the theodolite bearer to wrest it from him by
sheer force. A battle took place, the collier was soundly pummelled, but the
natives poured in volleys of stones upon the surveyors and their
instruments, and the theodolite was smashed to pieces.

An outline-survey having at length been made, notices were published of an
intended application to Parliament. In the mean time Mr. James proceeded
to Killingworth to see Stephenson’s locomotives at work. Stephenson was
not at home at the time, but James saw his engines, and was very much
struck by their power and efficiency. He saw at a glance the magnificent
uses to which the locomotive might be applied. “Here,” said he, “is an
engine that will, before long, effect a complete revolution in society.”
Returning to Moreton-in-the-Marsh, he wrote to Mr. Losh (Stephenson’s
partner in the patent) expressing his admiration of the Killingworth engine.
“It is,” said he, “the greatest wonder of the age, and the forerunner, as I
firmly believe, of the most important changes in the internal
communications of the kingdom.” Shortly after, Mr. James, accompanied
by his two sons, made a second journey to Killingworth, where he met both
Losh and Stephenson. The visitors were at once taken to where the
locomotive was working, and invited to mount it. The uncouth and
extraordinary appearance of the machine, as it came snorting along, was
somewhat alarming to the youths, who expressed their fears lest it should
burst; and they were with some difficulty induced to mount.
The engine went through its usual performances, dragging a heavy load of
coal-waggons at about six miles an hour, with apparent ease, at which Mr.
James expressed his extreme satisfaction, and declared to Mr. Losh his
opinion that Stephenson “was the greatest practical genius of the age,” and
that, “if he developed the full powers of that engine (the locomotive), his
fame in the world would rank equal with that of Watt.” Mr. James informed
Stephenson and Losh of his survey of the proposed tramroad between
Liverpool and Manchester, and did not hesitate to state that he would
thenceforward advocate the construction of a locomotive railroad instead of
the tramroad which had originally been proposed.
Stephenson and Losh were naturally desirous of enlisting James’s good
services on behalf of their patent locomotive, for as yet it had proved
comparatively unproductive. They believed that he might be able so to
advocate it in influential quarters as to ensure its more extensive adoption,
and with this object they proposed to give him an interest in the patent.
Accordingly they assigned him one-fourth of any profits which might be
derived from the use of the patent locomotive on any railways constructed
south of a line drawn across England from Liverpool to Hull. The

arrangement, however, led to no beneficial results. Mr. James endeavoured
to introduce the engine on the Moreton-on-Marsh Railway; but it was
opposed by the engineer of the line, and the attempt failed. He next urged
that a locomotive should be sent for trial upon the Merstham tramroad; but,
anxious though Stephenson was respecting its extended employment, he
was too cautious to risk an experiment which might only bring discredit
upon the engine; and the Merstham road being only laid with cast-iron
plates, which would not bear its weight, the invitation was declined.
It turned out that the first survey of the Liverpool and Manchester line was
very imperfect, and it was determined to have a second and more complete
one made in the following year. Robert Stephenson was sent over by his
father to Liverpool to assist in this survey. He was present with Mr. James
on the occasion on which he tried to lay out the line across Chat Moss,—a
proceeding which was not only difficult but dangerous. The Moss was very
wet at the time, and only its edges could be ventured on. Mr. James was a
heavy, thick-set man; and one day, when endeavouring to obtain a stand for
his theodolite, he felt himself suddenly sinking. He immediately threw
himself down, and rolled over and over until he reached firm ground again,
in a sad mess. Other attempts which he subsequently made to enter upon
the Moss for the same purpose, were abandoned for the same reason—the
want of a solid stand for the theodolite.
On the 4th October, 1822, we find Mr. James writing to Mr. Sandars, “I
came last night to send my aid, Robert Stephenson, to his father, and to-
morrow I shall pay off Evans and Hamilton, two other assistants. I have
now only Messrs. Padley and Clarke to finish the copy of plans for
Parliament, which will be done in about a week or nine days’ time.” It
would appear however, that, notwithstanding all his exertions, Mr. James
was unable to complete his plans and estimates in time for the ensuing
Session; and another year was thus lost. The Railroad Committee became
impatient at the delay. Mr. James’s financial embarrassments reached their
climax; and, what with illness and debt, he was no longer in a position to
fulfil his promises to the Committee. They were, therefore, under the
necessity of calling to their aid some other engineer.
Mr. Sandars had by this time visited George Stephenson at Killingworth,
and, like all who came within reach of his personal influence, was charmed

with him at first sight. The energy which he had displayed in carrying on
the works of the Stockton and Darlington Railway, now approaching
completion; his readiness to face difficulties, and his practical ability in
overcoming them; the enthusiasm which he displayed on the subject of
railways and railway locomotion,—concurred in satisfying Mr. Sandars that
he was, of all men, the best calculated to help forward the Liverpool
undertaking at this juncture. On his return he stated this opinion to the
Committee, who approved his recommendation, and George Stephenson
was unanimously appointed engineer of the projected railway.
It will be observed that Mr. Sandars had held to his original purpose with
great determination and perseverance, and he gradually succeeded in
enlisting on his side an increasing number of influential merchants and
manufacturers both at Liverpool and Manchester. Early in 1824 he
published a pamphlet, in which he strongly urged the great losses and
interruptions to the trade of the district by the delays in the forwarding of
merchandise; and in the same year he had a Public Declaration drawn up,
and signed by upwards of 150 of the principal merchants of Liverpool,
setting forth that they considered “the present establishments for the
transport of goods quite inadequate, and that a new line of conveyance has
become absolutely necessary to conduct the increasing trade of the country
with speed, certainty, and economy.”
A public meeting was then held to consider the best plan to be adopted, and
resolutions were passed in favour of a railroad. A committee was appointed
to take the necessary measures; but, as if reluctant to enter upon their
arduous struggle with the “vested interests,” they first waited on Mr.
Bradshaw, the Duke of Bridgewater’s canal agent, in the hope of persuading
him to increase the means of conveyance, as well as to reduce the charges;
but they were met by an unqualified refusal. They suggested the
expediency of a railway, and invited Mr. Bradshaw to become a proprietor
of shares in it. But his reply was—“All or none!” The canal proprietors,
confident in their imagined security, ridiculed the proposed railway as a
chimera. It had been spoken about years before, and nothing had come of it
then: it would be the same now.
In order to form a better opinion as to the practicability of the railroad, a
deputation of gentlemen interested in the project proceeded to Killingworth,

to inspect the engines which had been so long in use there. They first went
to Darlington, where they found the works of the Stockton line in progress,
though still unfinished. Proceeding next to Killingworth with Mr.
Stephenson, they there witnessed the performances of his locomotive
engines. The result of their visit was, on the whole, so satisfactory, that on
their report being delivered to the committee at Liverpool, it was finally
determined to form a company of proprietors for the construction of a
double line of railway between Liverpool and Manchester.
The first prospectus of the scheme was dated the 29th October, 1824, and
had attached to it the names of the leading merchants of Liverpool and
Manchester. It was a modest document, very unlike the inflated balloons
which were sent up by railway speculators in succeeding years. It set forth
as its main object the establishment of a safe and cheap mode of transit for
merchandise, by which the conveyance of goods between the two towns
would be effected in 5 or 6 hours (instead of 36 hours by the canal), whilst
the charges would be reduced one-third. On looking at the prospectus now,
it is curious to note that, while the advantages anticipated from the carriage
of merchandise were strongly insisted upon, the conveyance of passengers
—which proved to be the chief source of profit—was only very cautiously
referred to. “As a cheap and expeditious means of conveyance for
travellers,” says the prospectus in conclusion, “the railway holds out the fair
prospect of a public accommodation, the magnitude and importance of
which cannot be immediately ascertained.” The estimated expense of
forming the line was set down at £400,000,—a sum which was eventually
found quite inadequate. The subscription list when opened was filled up
without difficulty.
While the project was still under discussion, its promoters, desirous of
removing the doubts which existed as to the employment of steam power on
the proposed railway, sent a second deputation to Killingworth for the
purpose of again observing the action of Stephenson’s engines. The
cautious projectors of the railway were not yet quite satisfied; and a third
journey was made to Killingworth, in January, 1825, by several gentlemen
of the committee, accompanied by practical engineers, for the purpose of
being personal eye-witnesses of what steam-carriages were able to perform
upon a railway. There they saw a train, consisting of a locomotive and
loaded waggons, weighing in all 54 tons, travelling at the average rate of

about 7 miles an hour, the greatest speed being about 9½ miles an hour. But
when the engine was run with only one waggon attached containing twenty
gentlemen, five of whom were engineers, the speed attained was from 10 to
12 miles an hour.
In the mean time the survey was proceeded with, in the face of great
opposition from the proprietors of the lands through which the railway was
intended to pass. The prejudices of the farming and labouring classes were
strongly excited against the persons employed upon the ground, and it was
with the greatest difficulty that the levels could be taken. At one place,
Stephenson was driven off the ground by the keepers, and threatened to be
ducked in the pond if found there again. The farmers also turned out their
men to watch the surveying party, and prevent them entering upon any
lands where they had the power of driving them off.
One of the proprietors declared that he would order his game-keepers to
shoot or apprehend any persons attempting a survey over his property. But
one moonlight night a survey was obtained by the following ruse. Some
men, under the orders of the surveying party, were set to fire off guns in a
particular quarter; on which all the game-keepers on the watch made off in
that direction, and they were drawn away to such a distance in pursuit of the
supposed poachers, as to enable a rapid survey to be made during their
absence.
When the canal companies found that the Liverpool merchants were
determined to proceed with their scheme—that they had completed their
survey, and were ready to apply to Parliament for an Act to enable them to
form the railway—they at last reluctantly, and with a bad grace, made
overtures of conciliation. They promised to employ steam-vessels both on
the Mersey and on the Canal. One of the companies offered to reduce its
length by three miles, at a considerable outlay. At the same time they made
a show of lowering their rates. But it was too late; for the project of the
railway had now gone so far that the promoters (who might have been
conciliated by such overtures at an earlier period) felt they were fully
committed to it, and that now they could not well draw back. Besides, the
remedies offered by the canal companies could only have had the effect of
staving off the difficulty for a brief season,—the absolute necessity of
forming a new line of communication between Liverpool and Manchester

becoming more urgent from year to year. Arrangements were therefore
made for proceeding with the bill in the parliamentary session of 1825.
On this becoming known, the canal companies prepared to resist the
measure tooth and nail. The public were appealed to on the subject;
pamphlets were written and newspapers were hired to revile the railway. It
was declared that its formation would prevent cows grazing and hens
laying. The poisoned air from the locomotives would kill birds as they flew
over them, and render the preservation of pheasants and foxes no longer
possible. Householders adjoining the projected line were told that their
houses would be burnt up by the fire thrown from the engine-chimneys;
while the air around would be polluted by clouds of smoke. There would
no longer be any use for horses; and if railways extended, the species would
become extinguished, and oats and hay be rendered unsaleable
commodities. Travelling by rail would be highly dangerous, and country
inns would be ruined. Boilers would burst and blow passengers to atoms.
But there was always this consolation to wind up with—that the weight of
the locomotive would completely prevent its moving, and that railways,
even if made, could never be worked by steam-power.
Indeed, when Mr. Stephenson, at the interviews with counsel, held previous
to the Liverpool and Manchester bill going into Committee of the House of
Commons, confidently stated his expectation of being able to impel his
locomotive at the rate of 20 miles an hour, Mr. William Brougham, who
was retained by the promoters to conduct their case, frankly told him that if
he did not moderate his views, and bring his engine within a reasonable
speed, he would “inevitably damn the whole thing, and be himself regarded
as a maniac fit only for Bedlam.”
The idea thrown out by Stephenson, of travelling at a rate of speed double
that of the fastest mail-coach, appeared at the time so preposterous that he
was unable to find any engineer who would risk his reputation in supporting
such “absurd views.” Speaking of his isolation at the time, he subsequently
observed, at a public meeting of railway men in Manchester: “He
remembered the time when he had very few supporters in bringing out the
railway system—when he sought England over for an engineer to support
him in his evidence before Parliament, and could find only one man, James
Walker, but was afraid to call that gentleman, because he knew nothing

about railways. He had then no one to tell his tale to but Mr. Sandars, of
Liverpool, who did listen to him, and kept his spirits up; and his schemes
had at length been carried out only by dint of sheer perseverance.”
George Stephenson’s idea was at that time regarded as but the dream of a
chimerical projector. It stood before the public friendless, struggling hard
to gain a footing, scarcely daring to lift itself into notice for fear of ridicule.
The civil engineers generally rejected the notion of a Locomotive Railway;
and when no leading man of the day could be found to stand forward in
support of the Killingworth mechanic, its chances of success must indeed
have been pronounced but small.
When such was the hostility of the civil engineers, no wonder the reviewers
were puzzled. The ‘Quarterly,’ in an able article in support of the projected
Liverpool and Manchester Railway,—while admitting its absolute necessity,
and insisting that there was no choice left but a railroad, on which the
journey between Liverpool and Manchester, whether performed by horses
or engines, would always be accomplished “within the day,”—nevertheless
scouted the idea of travelling at a greater speed than eight or nine miles an
hour. Adverting to a project for forming a railway to Woolwich, by which
passengers were to be drawn by locomotive engines, moving with twice the
velocity of ordinary coaches, the reviewer observed:—“What can be more
palpably absurd and ridiculous than the prospect held out of locomotives
travelling twice as fast as stagecoaches! We would as soon expect the
people of Woolwich to suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of
Congreve’s ricochet rockets, as trust themselves to the mercy of such a
machine going at such a rate. We will back old Father Thames against the
Woolwich Railway for any sum. We trust that Parliament will, in all
railways it may sanction, limit the speed to eight or nine miles an hour,
which we entirely agree with Mr. Sylvester is as great as can be ventured on
with safety.”
At length the survey was completed, the plans were deposited, the requisite
preliminary arrangements were made, and the promoters of the scheme
applied to Parliament for the necessary powers to construct the railway.
The Bill went into Committee of the Commons on the 21st of March, 1825.
There was an extraordinary array of legal talent on the occasion, but
especially on the side of the opponents to the measure; their counsel

including Mr. (afterwards Baron) Alderson, Mr. (afterwards Baron) Parke,
Mr. Harrison, and Mr. Erle. The counsel for the bill were Mr. Adam, Mr.
Serjeant Spankie, Mr. William Brougham, and Mr. Joy.
Evidence was taken at great length as to the difficulties and delays in
forwarding raw material of all kinds from Liverpool to Manchester, as also
in the conveyance of manufactured goods from Manchester to Liverpool.
The evidence adduced in support of the bill on these grounds was
overwhelming. The utter inadequacy of the existing modes of conveyance
to carry on satisfactorily the large and rapidly-growing trade between the
two towns was fully proved. But then came the gist of the promoter’s case
—the evidence to prove the practicability of a railroad to be worked by
locomotive power. Mr. Adam, in his opening speech, referred to the cases
of the Hetton and the Killingworth railroads, where heavy goods were
safely and economically transported by means of locomotive engines.
“None of the tremendous consequences,” he observed, “have ensued from
the use of steam in land carriage that have been stated. The horses have not
started, nor the cows ceased to give their milk, nor have ladies miscarried at
the sight of these things going forward at the rate of four miles and a half an
hour.” Notwithstanding the petition of two ladies alleging the great danger
to be apprehended from the bursting of the locomotive boilers, he urged the
safety of the high-pressure engine when the boilers were constructed of
wrought-iron; and as to the rate at which they could travel, he expressed his
full conviction that such engines “could supply force to drive a carriage at
the rate of five or six miles an hour.”
The taking of the evidence as to the impediments thrown in the way of trade
and commerce by the existing system extended over a month, and it was the
21st of April before the Committee went into the engineering evidence,
which was the vital part of the question.
On the 25th George Stephenson was called into the witness-box. It was his
first appearance before a Committee of the House of Commons, and he well
knew what he had to expect. He was aware that the whole force of the
opposition was to be directed against him; and if they could break down his
evidence, the canal monopoly might yet be upheld for a time. Many years
afterwards, when looking back at his position on this trying occasion, he
said:—“When I went to Liverpool to plan a line from thence to Manchester,

I pledged myself to the directors to attain a speed of 10 miles an hour. I
said I had no doubt the locomotive might be made to go much faster, but
that we had better be moderate at the beginning. The directors said I was
quite right; for that if, when they went to Parliament, I talked of going at a
greater rate than 10 miles an hour, I should put a cross upon the concern. It
was not an easy task for me to keep the engine down to 10 miles an hour,
but it must be done, and I did my best. I had to place myself in that most
unpleasant of all positions—the witness-box of a Parliamentary
Committee. I was not long in it, before I began to wish for a hole to creep
out at! I could not find words to satisfy either the Committee or myself. I
was subjected to the cross-examination of eight or ten barristers, purposely,
as far as possible, to bewilder me. Some member of the Committee asked if
I was a foreigner, and another hinted that I was mad. But I put up with
every rebuff, and went on with my plans, determined not to be put down.”
Mr. Stephenson stood before the Committee to prove what the public
opinion of that day held to be impossible. The self-taught mechanic had to
demonstrate the practicability of accomplishing that which the most
distinguished engineers of the time regarded as impracticable. Clear though
the subject was to himself, and familiar as he was with the powers of the
locomotive, it was no easy task for him to bring home his convictions, or
even to convey his meaning, to the less informed minds of his hearers. In
his strong Northumbrian dialect, he struggled for utterance, in the face of
the sneers, interruptions, and ridicule of the opponents of the measure, and
even of the Committee, some of whom shook their heads and whispered
doubts as to his sanity, when he energetically avowed that he could make
the locomotive go at the rate of 12 miles an hour! It was so grossly in the
teeth of all the experience of honourable members, that the man “must
certainly be labouring under a delusion!”
And yet his large experience of railways and locomotives, as described by
himself to the Committee, entitled this “untaught, inarticulate genius,” as he
has so well been styled, to speak with confidence on such a subject.
Beginning with his experience as a brakesman at Killingworth in 1803, he
went on to state that he was appointed to take the entire charge of the
steam-engines in 1813, and had superintended the railroads connected with
the numerous collieries of the Grand Allies from that time downwards. He
had laid down or superintended the railways at Burradon, Mount Moor,

Springwell, Bedlington, Hetton, and Darlington, besides improving those at
Killingworth, South Moor, and Derwent Crook. He had constructed fifty-
five steam-engines, of which sixteen were locomotives. Some of these had
been sent to France. The engines constructed by him for the working of the
Killingworth Railroad, eleven years before, had continued steadily at work
ever since, and fulfilled his most sanguine expectations. He was prepared
to prove the safety of working high-pressure locomotives on a railroad, and
the superiority of this mode of transporting goods over all others. As to
speed, he said he had recommended 8 miles an hour with 20 tons, and 4
miles an hour with 40 tons; but he was quite confident that much more
might be done. Indeed, he had no doubt they might go at the rate of 12
miles. As to the charge that locomotives on a railroad would so terrify the
horses in the neighbourhood, that to travel on horseback or to plough the
adjoining fields would be rendered highly dangerous, the witness said that
horses learnt to take no notice of them, though there were horses that would
shy at a wheelbarrow. A mail-coach was likely to be more shied at by
horses than a locomotive. In the neighbourhood of Killingworth, the cattle
in the fields went on grazing while the engines passed them, and the
farmers made no complaints.
Mr. Alderson, who had carefully studied the subject, and was well skilled in
practical science, subjected the witness to a protracted and severe cross-
examination as to the speed and power of the locomotive, the stroke of the
piston, the slipping of the wheels upon the rails, and various other points of
detail. Mr. Stephenson insisted that no slipping took place, as attempted to
be extorted from him by the counsel. He said, “It is impossible for slipping
to take place so long as the adhesive weight of the wheel upon the rail is
greater than the weight to be dragged after it.” As to accidents, Stephenson
said he knew of none that had occurred with his engines. There had been
one, he was told, at the Middleton Colliery, near Leeds, with a Blenkinsop
engine. The driver had been in liquor, and put a considerable load on the
safety-valve, so that upon going forward the engine blew up and the man
was killed. But he added, if proper precautions had been used with that
boiler, the accident could not have happened. The following cross-
examination occurred in reference to the question of speed:—
“Of course,” he was asked, “when a body is moving upon a road, the
greater the velocity the greater the momentum that is generated?”

“Certainly.”—“What would be the momentum of 40 tons moving at the rate
of 12 miles an hour?” “It would be very great.”—“Have you seen a railroad
that would stand that?” “Yes.”—“Where?” “Any railroad that would bear
going 4 miles an hour: I mean to say, that if it would bear the weight at 4
miles an hour, it would bear it at 12.”—“Taking it at 4 miles an hour, do
you mean to say that it would not require a stronger railway to carry the
same weight 12 miles an hour?” “I will give an answer to that. I dare say
every person has been over ice when skating, or seen persons go over, and
they know that it would bear them better at a greater velocity than it would
if they went slower; when they go quick, the weight in a measure
ceases.”—“Is not that upon the hypothesis that the railroad is perfect?” “It
is; and I mean to make it perfect.”
It is not necessary to state that to have passed the ordeal of so severe a
cross-examination scatheless, needed no small amount of courage,
intelligence, and ready shrewdness on the part of the witness. Nicholas
Wood, who was present on the occasion, has since stated that the point on
which Stephenson was hardest pressed was that of speed. “I believe,” he
says, “that it would have lost the Company their bill if he had gone beyond
8 or 9 miles an hour. If he had stated his intention of going 12 or 15 miles
an hour, not a single person would have believed it to be practicable.”
The Committee also seem to have entertained considerable alarm as to the
high rate of speed which had been spoken of, and proceeded to examine the
witness further on the subject. They supposed the case of the engine being
upset when going at 9 miles an hour, and asked what, in such a case, would
become of the cargo astern. To which the witness replied that it would not
be upset. One of the members of the Committee pressed the witness a little
further. He put the following case:—“Suppose, now, one of these engines
to be going along a railroad at the rate of 9 or 10 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,” replied the
witness, with a twinkle in his eye, “very awkward—for the coo!” The
honourable member did not proceed further with his cross-examination; to
use a railway phrase, he was “shunted.” Another asked if animals would
not be very much frightened by the engine passing them, especially by the
glare of the red-hot chimney? “But how would they know that it wasn’t
painted?” said the witness.

On the following day, the engineer was subjected to a very severe
examination. On that part of the scheme with which he was most
practically conversant, his evidence was clear and conclusive. Now, he had
to give evidence on the plans made by his surveyors, and the estimates
which had been founded on such plans. So long as he was confined to
locomotive engines and iron railroads, with the minutest details of which he
was more familiar than any man living, he felt at home, and in his element.
But when the designs of bridges and the cost of constructing them had to be
gone into, the subject being in a great measure new to him, his evidence
was much less satisfactory.
Mr. Alderson cross-examined him at great length on the plans of the
bridges, the tunnels, the crossings of the roads and streets, and the details of
the survey, which, it soon clearly appeared, were in some respects seriously
at fault. It seems that, after the plans had been deposited, Stephenson found
that a much more favourable line might be made; and he made his estimates
accordingly, supposing that Parliament would not confine the Company to
the precise plan which had been deposited. This was felt to be a serious
blot in the parliamentary case, and one very difficult to be got over.
For three entire days was our engineer subjected to this cross-examination.
He held his ground bravely, and defended the plans and estimates with
remarkable ability and skill; but it was clear they were imperfect, and the
result was on the whole damaging to the measure.
The case of the opponents was next gone into, in the course of which the
counsel indulged in strong vituperation against the witnesses for the bill.
One of them spoke of the utter impossiblity of making a railway upon so
treacherous a material as Chat Moss, which was declared to be an immense
mass of pulp, and nothing else. “It actually,” said Mr. Harrison, “rises in
height, from the rain swelling it like a sponge, and sinks again in dry
weather; and if a boring instrument is put into it, it sinks immediately by its
own weight. The making of an embankment out of this pulpy, wet moss, is
no very easy task. Who but Mr. Stephenson would have thought of entering
into Chat Moss, carrying it out almost like wet dung? It is ignorance almost
inconceivable. It is perfect madness, in a person called upon to speak on a
scientific subject, to propose such a plan. Every part of this scheme shows
that this man has applied himself to a subject of which he has no

knowledge, and to which he has no science to apply.” Then adverting to the
proposal to work the intended line by means of locomotives, the learned
gentleman proceeded: “When we set out with the original prospectus, we
were to gallop, I know not at what rate; I believe it was at the rate of 12
miles an hour. My learned friend, Mr. Adam, contemplated—possibly
alluding to Ireland—that some of the Irish members would arrive in the
waggons to a division. My learned friend says that they would go at the
rate of 12 miles an hour with the aid of the devil in the form of a
locomotive, sitting as postilion on the fore horse, and an honourable
member sitting behind him to stir up the fire, and keep it at full speed. But
the speed at which these locomotive engines are to go has slackened: Mr.
Adam does not go faster now than 5 miles an hour. The learned serjeant
(Spankie) says he should like to have 7, but he would be content to go 6. I
will show he cannot go 6; and probably, for any practical purposes, I may
be able to show that I can keep up with him by the canal. . . . Locomotive
engines are liable to be operated upon by the weather. You are told they are
affected by rain, and an attempt has been made to cover them; but the wind
will affect them; and any gale of wind which would affect the traffic on the
Mersey would render it impossible to set off a locomotive engine, either by
poking of the fire, or keeping up the pressure of the steam till the boiler was
ready to burst.” How amusing it now is to read these extraordinary views
as to the formation of a railway over Chat Moss, and the impossibility of
starting a locomotive engine in the face of a gale of wind!
Evidence was called to show that the house property passed by the
proposed railway would be greatly deteriorated—in some places almost
destroyed; that the locomotive engines would be terrible nuisances, in
consequence of the fire and smoke vomited forth by them; and that the
value of land in the neighbourhood of Manchester alone would be
deteriorated by no less than £20,000! Evidence was also given at great
length showing the utter impossibility of forming a road of any kind upon
Chat Moss. A Manchester builder, who was examined, could not imagine
the feat possible, unless by arching it across in the manner of a viaduct from
one side to the other. It was the old story of “nothing like leather.” But the
opposition mainly relied upon the evidence of the leading engineers—not
like Stephenson, self-taught men, but regular professionals. One of these,
Mr. Francis Giles, C.E., had been twenty-two years an engineer, and could

speak with some authority. His testimony was mainly directed to the utter
impossibility of forming a railway over Chat Moss. “No engineer in his
senses,” said he, “would go through Chat Moss if he wanted to make a
railroad from Liverpool to Manchester. . . . In my judgment a railroad
certainly cannot be safely made over Chat Moss without going to the
bottom of the Moss. The soil ought all to be taken out, undoubtedly; in
doing which, it will not be practicable to approach each end of the cutting,
as you make it, with the carriages. No carriages would stand upon the Moss
short of the bottom. My estimate for the whole cutting and embankment
over Chat Moss is £270,000 nearly, at those quantities and those prices
which are decidedly correct . . . It will be necessary to take this Moss
completely out at the bottom, in order to make a solid road.”
When the engineers had given their evidence, Mr. Alderson summed up in a
speech which extended over two days. He declared Mr. Stephenson’s plan
to be “the most absurd scheme that ever entered into the head of man to
conceive. My learned friends,” said he, “almost endeavoured to stop my
examination; they wished me to put in the plan, but I had rather have the
exhibition of Mr. Stephenson in that box. I say he never had a plan—I
believe he never had one—I do not believe he is capable of making one.
His is a mind perpetually fluctuating between opposite difficulties: he
neither knows whether he is to make bridges over roads or rivers, of one
size or of another; or to make embankments, or cuttings, or inclined planes,
or in what way the thing is to be carried into effect. 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.” Mr. Alderson
proceeded to declaim against the gross ignorance of this so-called engineer,
who proposed to make “impossible ditches by the side of an impossible
railway” upon Chat Moss; “I care not,” he said, “whether Mr. Giles is right
or wrong in his estimate, for whether it be effected by means of piers raised
up all the way for four miles through Chat Moss, whether they are to
support it on beams of wood or by erecting masonry, or whether Mr. Giles
shall put a solid bank of earth through it,—in all these schemes there is not
one found like that of Mr. Stephenson’s, namely, to cut impossible drains on
the side of this road; and it is sufficient for me to suggest and to show, that
this scheme of Mr. Stephenson’s is impossible or impracticable, and that no
other scheme, if they proceed upon this line, can be suggested which will

not produce enormous expense. I think that has been irrefragably made
out. Every one knows Chat Moss—every one knows that the iron sinks
immediately on its being put upon the surface. I have heard of culverts,
which have been put upon the Moss, which, after having been surveyed the
day before, have the next morning disappeared; and that a house (a poet’s
house, who may be supposed in the habit of building castles even in the
air), story after story, as fast as one is added, the lower one sinks! There is
nothing, it appears, except long sedgy grass, and a little soil to prevent its
sinking into the shades of eternal night. I have now done, sir, with Chat
Moss, and there I leave this railroad.”
The case of the principal petitioners against the bill occupied many more
days, and on its conclusion the committee proceeded to divide on the
preamble, which was carried by a majority of only one—37 voting for it,
and 36 against it. The clauses were next considered, and on a division the
first clause, empowering the Company to make the railway, was lost by a
majority of 19 to 13. In like manner, the next clause, empowering the
Company to take land, was lost; on which the bill was withdrawn.
Thus ended this memorable contest, which had extended over two months
—carried on throughout with great pertinacity and skill, especially on the
part of the opposition, who left no stone unturned to defeat the measure.
The want of a third line of communication between Liverpool and
Manchester had been clearly proved; but the engineering evidence in
support of the proposed railway having been thrown almost entirely upon
Stephenson, who fought this, the most important part of the battle, single-
handed, was not brought out so clearly as it would have been, had he
secured more efficient engineering assistance—which he was not able to
do, as the principal engineers of that day were against the locomotive
railway. The obstacles thrown in the way of the survey by the landowners
and canal companies, by which the plans were rendered exceedingly
imperfect, also tended in a great measure to defeat the bill.
The rejection of the bill was probably the most severe trial George
Stephenson underwent in the whole course of his life. The circumstances
connected with the defeat of the measure, the errors in the levels, his rigid
cross-examination, followed by the fact of his being superseded by another
engineer, all told fearfully upon him, and for some time he was as much

weighed down as if a personal calamity of the most serious kind had
befallen him.
Stephenson had been so terribly abused by the leading counsel for the
opposition in the course of the proceedings before the Committee—
stigmatised by them as an ignoramus, a fool, and a maniac—that even his
friends seem for a time to have lost faith in him and in the locomotive
system, whose efficiency he nevertheless continued to uphold. Things
never looked blacker for the success of the railway system than at the close
of this great parliamentary struggle. And yet it was on the very eve of its
triumph.
The Committee of Directors appointed to watch the measure in Parliament
were so determined to press on the project of a railway, even though it
should have to be worked merely by horse-power, that the bill had scarcely
been thrown out ere they met in London to consider their next step. They
called their parliamentary friends together to consult as to future
proceedings; and the result was that they went back to Liverpool
determined to renew their application to Parliament in the ensuing session.
It was not considered desirable to employ Mr. Stephenson in making the
new survey. He had not as yet established his reputation as an engineer
beyond the boundaries of his own district; and the promoters of the bill had
doubtless felt the disadvantages of this in the course of their parliamentary
struggle. They therefore resolved now to employ engineers of the highest
established reputation, as well as the best surveyors that could be obtained.
In accordance with these views they engaged Messrs. George and John
Rennie to be the engineers of the railway; and Mr. Charles Vignolles was
appointed to prepare the plans and sections. The line which was eventually
adopted differed somewhat from that surveyed by Mr. Stephenson. The
principal parks and game-preserves of the district were carefully avoided.
The promoters thus hoped to get rid of the opposition of the most influential
of the resident landowners. The crossing of certain of the streets of
Liverpool was also avoided, and the entrance contrived by means of a
tunnel and an inclined plane. The new line stopped short of the river Irwell
at the Manchester end, by which the objections grounded on an illegal
interruption to the canal or river traffic were in some measure removed.
The opposition of the Duke of Bridgewater’s trustees was also got rid of,

and the Marquis of Stafford became a subscriber for a thousand shares.
With reference to the use of the locomotive engine, the promoters,
remembering with what effect the objections to it had been urged by the
opponents of the bill, intimated, in their second prospectus, that “as a
guarantee of their good faith towards the public they will not require any
clause empowering them to use it; or they will submit to such restrictions in
the employment of it as Parliament may impose.”
The survey of the new line having been completed, the plans were
deposited, the standing orders duly complied with, and the bill went before
Parliament. The same counsel appeared for the promoters, but the
examination of witnesses was not nearly so protracted as on the previous
occasion. The preamble was declared proved by a majority of 43 to 18. On
the third reading in the House of Commons, an animated, and what now
appears a very amusing discussion took place. The Hon. Edward Stanley
moved that the bill be read that day six months; and in his speech he
undertook to prove that the railway trains would take ten hours on the
journey, and that they could only be worked by horses. Sir Isaac Coffin
seconded the motion, and in doing so denounced the project as a most
flagrant imposition. He would not consent to see widows’ premises
invaded; and “What, he would like to know, was to be done with all those
who had advanced money in making and repairing turnpike-roads? What
was to become of coach-makers and harness-makers, coach-masters and
coachmen, inn-keepers, horse-breeders, and horse-dealers? Was the house
aware of the smoke and the noise, the hiss and the whirl, which locomotive
engines, passing at the rate of 10 or 12 miles an hour, would occasion?
Neither the cattle ploughing in the fields or grazing in the meadows could
behold them without dismay. Iron would be raised in price 100 per cent., or
more probably exhausted altogether! It would be the greatest nuisance, the
most complete disturbance of quiet and comfort in all parts of the kingdom,
that the ingenuity of man could invent!”
Mr. Huskisson and other speakers, though unable to reply to such
arguments as these, strongly supported the bill; and it was carried on the
third reading by a majority of 88 to 41. The bill passed the House of Lords
almost unanimously, its only opponents being the Earl of Derby and his
relative the Earl of Wilton.

CHAPTER X.
Chat Moss—Construction of the Railway.

The appointment of principal engineer to the railway was taken into
consideration at the first meeting of the directors held at Liverpool
subsequent to the passing of the Act. The magnitude of the proposed
works, and the vast consequences involved in their experiment, were deeply
impressed upon their minds; and they resolved to secure the services of a
resident engineer of proved experience and ability. Their attention was
naturally directed to Mr. Stephenson; at the same time they desired to have
the benefit of the Messrs. Rennie’s professional assistance in superintending
the works. Mr. George Rennie had an interview with the Board on the
subject, at which he proposed to undertake the chief superintendence,
making six visits in each year, and stipulating that he should have the
appointment of the resident engineer. But the responsibility attaching to the
direction in the matter of the efficient carrying on of the works, would not
admit of their being influenced by ordinary punctilios on the occasion; and
they accordingly declined this proposal, and proceeded to appoint Mr.
Stephenson their principal engineer at a salary of £1000 per annum.
He at once removed his residence to Liverpool, and made arrangements to
commence the works. He began with the “impossible thing”—to do that
which the most distinguished engineers of the day had declared that “no
man in his senses would undertake to do”—namely, to make the road over
Chat Moss! It was indeed a most formidable undertaking; and the project
of carrying a railway along, under, or over such a material as that of which
it consisted, would certainly never have occurred to an ordinary mind.
Michael Drayton supposed the Moss to have had its origin at the Deluge.
Nothing more impassable could have been imagined than that dreary waste;
and Mr. Giles only spoke the popular feeling of the day when he declared
that no carriage could stand on it “short of the bottom.” In this bog,

singular to say, Mr. Roscoe, the accomplished historian of the Medicis,
buried his fortune in the hopeless attempt to cultivate a portion of it which
he had bought.
Chat Moss is an immense peat bog of about twelve square miles in extent.
Unlike the bogs or swamps of Cambridge and Lincolnshire, which consist
principally of soft mud or silt, this bog is a vast mass of spongy vegetable
pulp, the result of the growth and decay of ages. The spagni, or bog-
mosses, cover the entire area; one year’s growth rising over another,—the
older growths not entirely decaying, but remaining partially preserved by
the antiseptic properties peculiar to peat. Hence the remarkable fact that,
although a semifluid mass, the surface of Chat Moss rises above the level of
the surrounding country. Like a turtle’s back, it declines from the summit in
every direction, having from thirty to forty feet gradual slope to the solid
land on all sides. From the remains of trees, chiefly alder and birch, which
have been dug out of it, and which must have previously flourished upon
the surface of soil now deeply submerged, it is probable that the sand and
clay base on which the bog rests is saucer-shaped, and so retains the entire
mass in position. In rainy weather, such is its capacity for water that it
sensibly swells, and rises in those parts where the moss is the deepest. This
occurs through the capillary attraction of the fibres of the submerged moss,
which is from 20 to 30 feet in depth, whilst the growing plants effectually
check evaporation from the surface. This peculiar character of the Moss
has presented an insuperable difficulty in the way of reclaiming it by any
system of extensive drainage—such as by sinking shafts, and pumping up
the water by steam power, as has been proposed. Supposing a shaft of 30
feet deep to be sunk, it has been calculated that this would only be effectual
for draining a circle of about 100 yards, the water running down an incline
of about 5 to 1; for it was found in the course of draining the bog, that a
ditch 3 feet deep only served to drain a space of less than 5 yards on each
side, and two ditches of this depth, 10 yards apart, left a portion of the Moss
between them scarcely affected by the drains.
The three resident engineers selected by Mr. Stephenson to superintend the
construction of the line, were Joseph Locke, William Allcard, and John
Dixon. The last was appointed to that portion which lay across the Moss,
neither of the other two envying his lot. On Mr. Dixon’s arrival, about July,
1826, Mr. Locke proceeded to show him over the length he was to take

charge of, and to instal him in office. When they reached Chat Moss, Mr.
Dixon found that the line had already been staked out and the levels taken
in detail by the aid of planks laid upon the bog. The cutting of the drains
along each side of the proposed road had also been commenced; but the soft
pulpy stuff had up to this time flowed into the drains and filled them up as
fast as they were cut. Proceeding across the Moss, on the first day’s
inspection, the new resident, when about halfway over, slipped off the plank
on which he walked, and sank to his knees in the bog. Struggling only sent
him the deeper, and he might have disappeared altogether, but for the
workmen, who hastened to his assistance upon planks, and rescued him
from his perilous position. Much disheartened, he desired to return, and
even thought of giving up the job; but Mr. Locke assured him that the worst
part was now past; so the new resident plucked up heart again, and both
floundered on until they reached the further edge of the Moss, wet and
plastered over with bog-sludge. Mr. Dixon’s companions endeavoured to
comfort him by the assurance that he might avoid similar perils, by walking
upon “pattens,” or boards fastened to the soles of his feet, as they had done
when taking the levels, and as the workmen did when engaged in making
drains in the softest parts of the Moss. The resident engineer was sorely
puzzled in the outset by the problem of constructing a road for heavy
locomotives, with trains of passengers and goods, upon a bog which he had
found incapable of supporting his own weight!
Mr. Stephenson’s idea was, that such a road might be made to float upon the
bog, simply by means of a sufficient extension of the bearing surface. As a
ship, or a raft, capable of sustaining heavy loads floated in water, so in his
opinion, might a light road be floated upon a bog, which was of
considerably greater consistency than water. Long before the railway was
thought of, Mr. Roscoe had adopted the remarkable expedient of fitting his
plough-horses with flat wooden soles or pattens, to enable them to walk
upon the Moss land which he had brought into cultivation. These pattens
were fitted on by means of a screw apparatus, which met in front of the foot
and was easily fastened. The mode by which these pattens served to sustain
the horse is capable of easy explanation, and it will be observed that the
rationale likewise explains the floating of a railway train. The foot of an
ordinary farm-horse presents a base of about five inches diameter, but if this
base be enlarged to seven inches—the circles being to each other as the

squares of the diameters—it will be found that, by this slight enlargement of
the base, a circle of nearly double the area has been secured; and
consequently the pressure of the foot upon every unit of ground upon which
the horse stands has been reduced one half. In fact, this contrivance has an
effect tantamount to setting the horse upon eight feet instead of four.
Apply the same reasoning to the ponderous locomotive, and it will be
found, that even such a machine may be made to stand upon a bog, by
means of a similar extension of the bearing surface. Suppose the engine to
be 20 feet long and 5 feet wide, thus covering a surface of 100 square feet,
and, provided the bearing has been extended by means of cross sleepers
supported on a matting of heath and branches of trees covered with a few
inches of gravel, the pressure of an engine of 20 tons will be only equal to
about 3 pounds per inch over the whole surface on which it stands. Such
was George Stephenson’s idea in contriving his floating road—something
like an elongated raft across the Moss; and we shall see that he steadily kept
it in view in carrying the work into execution.
The first thing done was to form a footpath of ling or heather along the
proposed road, on which a man might walk without risk of sinking. A
single line of temporary railway was then laid down, formed of ordinary
cross-bars about 3 feet long and an inch square, with holes punched through
them at the ends and nailed down to temporary sleepers. Along this way
ran the waggons in which were conveyed the materials requisite to form the
permanent road. These waggons carried about a ton each, and they were
propelled by boys running behind them along the narrow iron rails. The
boys became so expert that they would run the 4 miles across at the rate of
7 or 8 miles an hour without missing a step; if they had done so, they would
have sunk in many places up to their middle. A comparatively slight
extension of the bearing surface being found sufficient to enable the bog to
bear this temporary line, the circumstance was a source of increased
confidence and hope to our engineer in proceeding with the formation of
the permanent roadway alongside.
The digging of drains had been proceeding for some time along each side of
the intended line; but they filled up almost as soon as dug, the sides flowing
in, and the bottom rising up. It was only in some of the drier parts of the
bog that a depth of three or four feet could be reached. The surface-ground

between the drains, containing the intertwined roots of heather and long
grass, was left untouched, and upon this was spread branches of trees and
hedge-cuttings. In the softest places, rude gates or hurdles, some 8 or 9 feet
long by 4 feet wide, interwoven with heather, were laid in double
thicknesses, their ends overlapping each other; and upon this floating bed
was spread a thin layer of gravel, on which the sleepers, chairs, and rails
were laid in the usual manner. Such was the mode in which the road was
formed upon the Moss.
It was found, however, after the permanent way had been thus laid, that
there was a tendency to sinking at those parts where the bog was softest. In
ordinary cases, where a bank subsides, the sleepers are packed up with
ballast or gravel; but in this case the ballast was dug away and removed in
order to lighten the road, and the sleepers were packed instead with cakes of
dry turf or bundles of heath. By these expedients the subsided parts were
again floated up to the level, and an approach was made towards a
satisfactory road. But the most formidable difficulties were encountered at
the centre and towards the edges of the Moss; and it required no small
degree of ingenuity and perseverance on the part of the engineer
successfully to overcome them.
The Moss, as already observed, was highest in the centre, and it there
presented a sort of hunchback with a rising and falling gradient. At that
point it was found necessary to cut deeper drains in order to consolidate the
ground between them on which the road was to be formed. But, as at other
places, the deeper the cutting the more rapid was the flow of fluid bog into
the drain, the bottom rising up almost as fast as it was removed. To meet
this emergency, numbers of empty tar-barrels were brought from Liverpool;
and as soon as a few yards of drain were dug, the barrels were laid down
end to end, firmly fixed to each other by strong slabs laid over the joints,
and nailed. They were then covered over with clay, and thus formed an
underground sewer of wood instead of bricks. This expedient was found to
answer the purpose intended, and the road across the centre of the Moss
having been so prepared, it was then laid with the permanent materials.
The greatest difficulty was, however, experienced in forming an
embankment upon the edge of the bog at the Manchester end. Moss as dry
as it could be cut, was brought up in small waggons, by men and boys, and

emptied so as to form an embankment; but the bank had scarcely been
raised three or four feet in height, when the stuff broke through the heathery
surface of the bog and sank out of sight. More moss was brought up and
emptied with no better result; and for weeks the filling was continued
without any visible embankment having been made. It was the duty of the
resident engineer to proceed to Liverpool every fortnight to obtain the
wages for the workmen employed under him; and on these occasions he
was required to colour up, on a section drawn to a working scale suspended
against the wall of the directors’ room, the amount of excavation and
embankment from time to time executed. But on many of these occasions,
Mr. Dixon had no progress whatever to show for the money expended on
the Chat Moss embankment. Sometimes, indeed, the visible work done was
less than it had appeared a fortnight or a month before!
The directors now became seriously alarmed, and feared that the evil
prognostications of the eminent engineers were about to be fulfilled. The
resident engineer was even called upon to supply an estimate of the cost of
forming an embankment of solid stuff throughout, as also of the cost of
piling the roadway, and in effect constructing a four mile viaduct of timber
across the Moss, from twenty to thirty feet high from the foundation. The
expense appalled the directors, and the question arose, whether the work
was to be proceeded with or abandoned!
Mr. Stephenson afterwards described the alarming position of affairs at a
public dinner at Birmingham (23rd December, 1837), on the occasion of a
piece of plate being presented to his son, upon the completion of the
London and Birmingham Railway. He related the anecdote, he said, for the
purpose of impressing upon the minds of those who heard him the necessity
of perseverance.
“After working for weeks and weeks,” said he, “in filling in materials to
form the road, there did not yet appear to be the least sign of our being able
to raise the solid embankment one single inch; in short we went on filling in
without the slightest apparent effect. Even my assistants began to feel
uneasy, and to doubt of the success of the scheme. The directors, too, spoke
of it as a hopeless task: and at length they became seriously alarmed, so
much so, indeed, that a board meeting was held on Chat Moss to decide
whether I should proceed any further. They had previously taken the

opinion of other engineers, who reported unfavourably. There was no help
for it, however, but to go on. An immense outlay had been incurred; and
great loss would have been occasioned had the scheme been then
abandoned, and the line taken by another route. So the directors were
compelled to allow me to go on with my plans, of the ultimate success of
which I myself never for one moment doubted.”
During the progress of this part of the works, the Worsley and Trafford men,
who lived near the Moss, and plumed themselves upon their practical
knowledge of bog-work, declared the completion of the road to be utterly
impracticable. “If you knew as much about Chat Moss as we do,” they
said, “you would never have entered on so rash an undertaking; and depend
upon it, all you have done and are doing will prove abortive. You must give
up the idea of a floating railway, and either fill the Moss hard from the
bottom, or deviate so as to avoid it altogether.” Such were the conclusions
of science and experience.
In the midst of all these alarms and prophecies of failure, Stephenson never
lost heart, but held to his purpose. His motto was “Persevere!” “You must
go on filling in,” he said; “there is no other help for it. The stuff emptied in
is doing its work out of sight, and if you will but have patience, it will soon
begin to show.” And so the filling in went on; several hundreds of men and
boys were employed to skin the Moss all round for many thousand yards,
by means of sharp spades, called by the turf cutters “tommy-spades;” and
the dried cakes of turf were afterwards used to form the embankment, until
at length as the stuff sank and rested upon the bottom, the bank gradually
rose above the surface, and slowly advanced onwards, declining in height
and consequently in weight, until it became joined to the floating road
already laid upon the Moss. In the course of forming the embankment, the
pressure of the bog turf tipped out of the waggons caused a copious stream
of bog-water to flow from the end of it, in colour resembling Barclay’s
double stout; and when completed, the bank looked like a long ridge of
tightly pressed tobacco-leaf. The compression of the turf may be imagined
from the fact that 670,000 cubic yards of raw moss formed only 277,000
cubic yards of embankment at the completion of the work.
At the western, or Liverpool end of the Chat Moss, there was a like
embankment; but, as the ground there was solid, little difficulty was

experienced in forming it, beyond the loss of substance caused by the
oozing out of the water held by the moss-earth.
At another part of the Liverpool and Manchester line, Parr Moss was
crossed by an embankment about 1½ mile in extent. In the immediate
neighbourhood was found a large excess of cutting, which it would have
been necessary to “put out in spoil-banks” (according to the technical
phrase); but the surplus clay, stone, and shale, were tipped, waggon after
waggon, into Parr Moss, until a solid but concealed embankment, from
fifteen to twenty-five feet high, was formed, although to the eye it appears
to be laid upon the level of the adjoining surface, as at Chat Moss.
The road across Chat Moss was finished by the 1st January, 1830, when the
first experimental train of passengers passed over it, drawn by the
“Rocket;” and it turned out that, instead of being the most expensive part of
the line, it was about the cheapest. The total cost of forming the line over
the Moss was £28,000, whereas Mr. Giles’s estimate was £270,000! It also
proved to be one of the best portions of the railway. Being a floating road,
it was smooth and easy to run upon, just as Dr. Arnott’s water-bed is soft
and easy to lie upon—the pressure being equal at all points. There was, and
still is, a sort of springiness in the road over the Moss, such as is felt in
passing along a suspended bridge; and those who looked along the line as a
train passed over it, said they could observe a waviness, such as precedes
and follows a skater upon ice.
During the progress of these works the most ridiculous rumours were set
afloat. The drivers of the stage-coaches who feared for their calling,
brought the alarming intelligence into Manchester from time to time, that
“Chat Moss was blown up!” “Hundreds of men and horses had sunk; and
the works were completely abandoned!” The engineer himself was
declared to have been swallowed up in the Serbonian bog; and “railways
were at an end for ever!”
In the construction of the railway, Mr. Stephenson’s capacity for organising
and directing the labours of a large number of workmen of all kinds
eminently displayed itself. A vast quantity of ballast-waggons had to be
constructed, and implements and materials collected, before the army of
necessary labourers could be efficiently employed at the various points of

the line. There were not at that time, as there are now, large contractors
possessed of railway plant, capable of executing earth-works on a large
scale. The first railway engineer had not only to contrive the plant, but to
organise and direct the labour. The labourers themselves had to be trained
to their work; and it was on the Liverpool and Manchester line that Mr.
Stephenson organised the staff of that mighty band of railway navvies,
whose handiworks will be the wonder and admiration of succeeding
generations. Looking at their gigantic traces, the men of some future age
may be found to declare of the engineer and of his workmen, that “there
were giants in those days.”
Although the works of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway are of a
much less formidable character than those of many lines that have since
been constructed, they were then regarded as of the most stupendous
description. In deed, the like of them had not before been executed in
England. It had been our engineer’s original intention carry the railway
from the north end of Liverpool, round the red-sandstone ridge on which
the upper part of the town is built, and also round the higher rise of the coal
formation at Rainhill, by following the natural levels. But the opposition of
the landowners having forced the line more to the south, it was rendered
necessary to cut through the hills, and go over the high grounds instead of
round them. The first consequence of this alteration in the plans was the
necessity for constructing a tunnel under the town of Liverpool 1½ mile in
length; the second, a long and deep cutting through the red-sandstone rock
at Olive Mount; and the third and most serious of all, was the necessity for
surmounting the Whiston and Sutton hills by inclined planes of 1 in 96.
The line was also, by the same forced deviation, prevented passing through
the Lancashire coal-field, and the engineer was compelled to carry it across
the Sankey valley, at a point where the waters of the brook had dug out an
excessively deep channel through the marl-beds of the district.
The principal difficulty was experienced in pushing on the works connected
with the formation of the tunnel under Liverpool, 2200 yards in length. The
blasting and hewing of the rock were vigorously carried on night and day;
and the engineer’s practical experience in the collieries here proved of great
use to him. Many obstacles had to be encountered and overcome in the
formation of the tunnel, the rock varying in hardness and texture at different
parts. In some places the miners were deluged by water, which surged from

the soft blue shale found at the lowest level of the tunnel. In other places,
beds of wet sand were cut through; and there careful propping and pinning
were necessary to prevent the roof from tumbling in, until the masonry to
support it could be erected. On one occasion, while the engineer was absent
from Liverpool, a mass of loose moss-earth and sand fell from the roof,
which had been insufficiently propped. The miners withdrew from the
work; and on Stephenson’s return, he found them in a refractory state,
refusing to re-enter the tunnel. He induced them, however, by his example,
to return to their labours; and when the roof had been secured, the work
went on again as before. When there was danger, he was always ready to
share it with the men; and gathering confidence from his fearlessness, they
proceeded vigorously with the undertaking, boring and mining their way
towards the light.

The Olive Mount cutting was the first extensive stone cutting executed on
any railway, and to this day it is one of the most formidable. It is about two
miles long, and in some parts 80 feet deep. It is a narrow ravine or defile
cut out of the solid rock; and not less than 480,000 cubic yards of stone
were removed from it. Mr. Vignolles, afterwards describing it, said it
looked as if it had been dug out by giants.
The crossing of so many roads and streams involved the necessity for
constructing an unusual number of bridges. There were not fewer than 63,
under or over the railway, on the 30 miles between Liverpool and
Manchester. Up to this time, bridges had been applied generally to high
roads where inclined approaches were of comparatively small importance,
and in determining the rise of his arch the engineer selected any headway he
thought proper. Every consideration was indeed made subsidiary to
constructing the bridge itself, and the completion of one large structure of
this sort was regarded as an epoch in engineering history. Yet here, in the
course of a few years, no fewer than 63 bridges were constructed on one
line of railway! Mr. Stephenson early found that the ordinary arch was
inapplicable in certain cases, where the headway was limited, and yet the
level of the railway must be preserved. In such cases he employed simple
cast-iron beams, by which he safely bridged gaps of moderate width,
economizing headway, and introducing the use of a new material of the
greatest possible value to the railway engineer. The bridges of masonry
upon the line were of many kinds; several of them askew bridges, and
others, such as those at Newton and over the Irwell at Manchester, straight
and of considerable dimensions; but the principal piece of masonry was the
Sankey viaduct.

This fine work is principally of brick, with stone facings. It consists of nine
arches of fifty feet span each. The massive piers are supported on two
hundred piles driven deep into the soil; and they rise to a great height,—the
coping of the parapet being seventy feet above the level of the valley, in
which flow the Sankey brook and canal. Its total cost was about £45,000.
By the end of 1828 the directors found they had expended £460,000 on the
works, and that they were still far from completion. They looked at the loss
of interest on this large investment, and began to grumble at the delay.
They desired to see their capital becoming productive; and in the spring of
1829 they urged the engineer to push on the works with increased vigour.

Mr. Cropper, one of the directors, who took an active interest in their
progress, said to Stephenson one day, “Now, George, thou must get on with
the railway, and have it finished without further delay; thou must really
have it ready for opening by the first day of January next.” “Consider the
heavy character of the works, sir, and how much we have been delayed by
the want of money, not to speak of the wetness of the weather: it is
impossible.” “Impossible!” rejoined Cropper; “I wish I could get Napoleon
to thee—he would tell thee there is no such word as ‘impossible’ in the
vocabulary.” “Tush!” exclaimed Stephenson, with warmth; “don’t speak to
me about Napoleon! Give me men, money, and materials, and I will do
what Napoleon couldn’t do—drive a railway from Liverpool to Manchester
over Chat Moss!”
The works made rapid progress in the course of the year 1829. Double sets
of labourers were employed on Chat Moss and at other points, by night and
day, the night shifts working by torch and fire light; and at length, the work
advancing at all points, the directors saw their way to the satisfactory
completion of the undertaking.
It may well be supposed that Mr. Stephenson’s time was fully occupied in
superintending the extensive, and for the most part novel works, connected
with the railway, and that even his extraordinary powers of labour and
endurance were taxed to the utmost during the four years that they were in
progress. Almost every detail in the plans was directed and arranged by
himself. Every bridge, from the simplest to the most complicated,
including the then novel structure of the “skew bridge,” iron girders,
siphons, fixed engines, and the machinery for working the tunnel at the
Liverpool end, had to be thought out by his own head, and reduced to
definite plans under his own eyes. Besides all this, he had to design the
working plant in anticipation of the opening of the railway. He must be
prepared with waggons, trucks, and carriages, himself superintending their
manufacture. The permanent road, turntables, switches, and crossings,—in
short, the entire structure and machinery of the line, from the turning of the
first sod to the running of the first train of carriages upon the railway,—
were executed under his immediate supervision. And it was in the midst of
this vast accumulation of work and responsibility that the battle of the
locomotive engine had to be fought,—a battle, not merely against material
difficulties, but against the still more trying obstructions of deeply-rooted

mistrust and prejudice on the part of a considerable minority of the
directors.
He had no staff of experienced assistants,—not even a staff of draughtsmen
in his office,—but only a few pupils learning their business; and he was
frequently without even their help. The time of his engineering inspectors
was fully occupied in the actual superintendence of the works at different
parts of the line; and he took care to direct all their more important
operations in person. The principal draughtsman was Mr. Thomas Gooch, a
pupil he had brought with him from Newcastle. “I may say,” writes Mr.
Gooch, “that nearly the whole of the working and other drawings, as well as
the various land-plans for the railway, were drawn by my own hand. They
were done at the Company’s office in Clayton Square during the day, from
instructions supplied in the evenings by Mr. Stephenson, either by word of
mouth, or by little rough hand-sketches on letter-paper. The evenings were
also generally devoted to my duties as secretary, in writing (mostly from his
own dictation) his letters and reports, or in making calculations and
estimates. The mornings before breakfast were not unfrequently spent by
me in visiting and lending a helping hand in the tunnel and other works near
Liverpool,—the untiring zeal and perseverance of George Stephenson never
for an instant flagging and inspiring with a like enthusiasm all who were
engaged under him in carrying forward the works.” [189]
The usual routine of his life at this time—if routine it might be called—was,
to rise early, by sunrise in summer and before it in winter, and thus “break
the back of the day’s work” by mid-day. While the tunnel under Liverpool
was in progress, one of his first duties in a morning before breakfast was to
go over the various shafts, clothed in a suitable dress, and inspect their
progress at different points; on other days he would visit the extensive
workshops at Edgehill, where most of the “plant” for the line was in course
of manufacture. Then, returning to his house, in Upper Parliament Street,
Windsor, after a hurried breakfast, he would ride along the works to inspect
their progress, and push them on with greater energy where needful. On
other days he would prepare for the much less congenial engagement of
meeting the Board, which was often a cause of great anxiety and pain to
him; for it was difficult to satisfy men of all tempers, and some of these not
of the most generous sort. On such occasions he might be seen with his
right-hand thumb thrust through the topmost button-hole of his coat-breast,

vehemently hitching his right shoulder, as was his habit when labouring
under any considerable excitement. Occasionally he would take an early
ride before breakfast, to inspect the progress of the Sankey viaduct. He had
a favourite horse, brought by him from Newcastle, called “Bobby,”—so
tractable that, with his rider on his back, he would walk up to a locomotive
with the steam blowing off, and put his nose against it without shying.
“Bobby,” saddled and bridled, was brought to Mr. Stephenson’s door
betimes in the morning; and mounting him, he would ride the fifteen miles
to Sankey, putting up at a little public house which then stood upon the
banks of the canal. There he had his breakfast of “crowdie,” which he made
with his own hands. It consisted of oatmeal stirred into a basin of hot
water,—a sort of porridge,—which was supped with cold sweet milk. After
this frugal breakfast, he would go upon the works, and remain there, riding
from point to point for the greater part of the day. When he returned before
mid-day, he examined the pay-sheets in the different departments, sent in by
the assistant engineers, or by the foremen of the workshops. To all these he
gave his most careful personal attention, requiring when necessary a full
explanation of the items.
After a late dinner, which occupied very short time and was always of a
plain and frugal description, he disposed of his correspondence, or prepared
sketches of drawings, and gave instructions as to their completion. He
would occasionally refresh himself for this evening work by a short doze,
which, however, he would never admit had exceeded the limits of
“winking,” to use his own term. Mr. Frederick Swanwick, who officiated as
his secretary, after the appointment of Mr. Gooch as Resident Engineer to
the Bolton and Leigh Railway, has informed us that he then remarked—
what in after years he could better appreciate—the clear, terse, and vigorous
style of Mr. Stephenson’s dictation. There was nothing superfluous in it;
but it was close, direct, and to the point,—in short, thoroughly businesslike.
And if, in passing through the pen of the amanuensis, his meaning
happened in any way to be distorted or modified, it did not fail to escape his
detection, though he was always tolerant of any liberties taken with his own
form of expression, so long as the words written down conveyed his real
meaning.
His letters and reports written, and his sketches of drawings made and
explained, the remainder of the evening was usually devoted to

conversation with his wife and those of his pupils who lived under his roof,
and constituted, as it were, part of the family. He then delighted to test the
knowledge of his young companions, and to question them upon the
principles of mechanics. If they were not quite “up to the mark” on any
point, there was no escaping detection by evasive or specious explanations.
These always brought out the verdict, “Ah! you know nought about it now;
but think it over again, and tell me when you understand it.” If there were
even partial success in the reply, it was at once acknowledged, and a full
explanation given, to which the master would add illustrative examples for
the purpose of impressing the principle more deeply upon the pupil’s mind.
It was not so much his object and purpose to “cram” the minds of the young
men committed to his charge with the results of knowledge, as to stimulate
them to educate themselves—to induce them to develop their mental and
moral powers by the exercise of their own free energies, and thus acquire
that habit of self-thinking and self-reliance which is the spring of all true
manly action. In a word, he sought to bring out and invigorate the
character of his pupils. He felt that he himself had been made stronger and
better through his encounters with difficulty; and he would not have the
road of knowledge made too smooth and easy for them. “Learn for
yourselves,—think for yourselves,” he would say:—“make yourselves
masters of principles,—persevere,—be industrious,—and there is then no
fear of you.” And not the least emphatic proof of the soundness of this
system of education, as conducted by Mr. Stephenson, was afforded by the
after history of these pupils themselves. There was not one of those trained
under his eye who did not rise to eminent usefulness and distinction as an
engineer. He sent them forth into the world braced with the spirit of manly
self-help—inspired by his own noble example; and they repeated in their
after career the lessons of earnest effort and persistent industry which his
daily life had taught them.
Stephenson’s evenings at home were not, however, exclusively devoted
either to business or to the graver exercises above referred to. He would
often indulge in cheerful conversation and anecdote, falling back from time
to time upon the struggles and difficulties of his early life. The not
unfrequent winding up of his story addressed to the young men about him,
was, “Ah! ye young fellows don’t know what wark is in these days!” Mr.
Swanwick takes pleasure in recalling to mind how seldom, if ever, a cross

or captious word, or an angry look, marred the enjoyment of those
evenings. The presence of Mrs. Stephenson gave them an additional charm:
amiable, kind-hearted, and intelligent, she shared quietly in the pleasure of
the party; and the atmosphere of comfort which always pervaded her home
contributed in no small degree to render it a centre of cheerful, hopeful
intercourse, and of earnest, honest industry. She was a wife who well
deserved, what she through life retained, the strong and unremitting
affection of her husband.
When Mr. Stephenson retired for the night, it was not always that he
permitted himself to sink into slumber. Like Brindley, he worked out many
a difficult problem in bed; and for hours he would turn over in his mind and
study how to overcome some obstacle, or to mature some project, on which
his thoughts were bent. Some remark inadvertently dropped by him at the
breakfast-table in the morning, served to show that he had been stealing
some hours from the past night in reflection and study. Yet he would rise at
his accustomed early hour, and there was no abatement of his usual energy
in carrying on the business of the day.

CHAPTER XI.
Robert Stephenson’s Residence in Colombia, and
Return—The Battle of the Locomotive—“The
Rocket.”

We return to the career of Robert Stephenson, who had been absent from
England during the construction of the Liverpool railway, but was shortly
about to join his father and take part in “the battle of the locomotive,”
which was now impending.
On his return from Edinburgh College in the summer of 1823, he had
assisted in the survey of the Stockton and Darlington line; and when the
Locomotive Engine Works were started in Forth Street, Newcastle, he took
an active part in that concern. “The factory,” he says, “was in active
operation early in 1824; I left England for Colombia in June of that year,
having finished drawing the designs of the Brusselton stationary engines for
the Stockton and Darlington Railway before I left.” [193]
Speculation was very rife at the time; and amongst the most promising
adventures were the companies organised for the purpose of working the
gold and silver mines of South America. Great difficulty was experienced
in finding mining engineers capable of carrying out those projects, and
young men of even the most moderate experience were eagerly sought
after. The Columbian Mining Association of London offered an
engagement to young Stephenson, to go out to Mariquita and take charge of
the engineering operations of that company. Robert was himself desirous of
accepting it, but his father said it would first be necessary to ascertain
whether the proposed change would be for his good. His health had been
very delicate for some time, partly occasioned by his rapid growth, but
principally because of his close application to work and study. Father and
son together called upon Dr. Headlam, the eminent physician of Newcastle,

to consult him on the subject. During the examination which ensued,
Robert afterwards used to say that he felt as if he were upon trial for life or
death. To his great relief, the doctor pronounced that a temporary residence
in a warm climate was the very thing likely to be most beneficial to him.
The appointment was accordingly accepted, and, before many weeks had
passed, Robert Stephenson set sail for South America.
After a tolerably prosperous voyage he landed at La Guayra, on the north
coast of Venezuela, on the 23rd July, from thence proceeding to Caraccas,
the capital of the district, about 15 miles inland. There he remained for two
months, unable to proceed in consequence of the wretched state of the roads
in the interior. He contrived, however, to make occasional excursions in the
neighbourhood, with an eye to the mining business on which he had come.
About the beginning of October he set out for Bogota, the capital of
Columbia or New Granada. The distance was about 1200 miles, through a
very difficult region, and it was performed entirely upon mule-back after
the fashion of the country.
In the course of the journey Robert visited many of the districts reported to
be rich in minerals, but he met with few traces except of copper, iron, and
coal, with occasional indications of gold and silver. He found the people
ready to furnish information, which, however, when tested, usually proved
worthless. A guide whom he employed for weeks, kept him buoyed up with
the hope of richer mining quarters than he had yet seen; but when he
professed to be able to show him mines of “brass, steel, alcohol, and
pinchbeck,” Stephenson discovered him to be an incorrigible rogue, and
immediately dismissed him. At length our traveller reached Bogota, and
after an interview with Mr. Illingworth, the commercial manager of the
mining Company, he proceeded to Honda, crossed the Magdalena, and
shortly after reached the site of his intended operations on the eastern slopes
of the Andes.
Mr. Stephenson used afterwards to speak in glowing terms of this his first
mule-journey in South America. Everything was entirely new to him. The
variety and beauty of the indigenous plants, the luxurious tropical
vegetation, the appearance, manners, and dress of the people, and the mode
of travelling, were altogether different from everything he had before seen.
His own travelling garb also must have been strange even to himself. “My

hat,” he says, “was of plaited grass, with a crown nine inches in height,
surrounded by a brim of six inches; a white cotton suit; and a ruana of blue
and crimson plaid, with a hole in the centre for the head to pass through.
This cloak is admirably adapted for the purpose, amply covering the rider
and mule, and at night answering the purpose of a blanket in the net-
hammock, which is made from fibres of the aloe, and which every traveller
carries before him on his mule, and suspends to the trees or in houses, as
occasion may require.” The part of the journey which seems to have made
the most lasting impression on his mind was that between Bogota and the
mining district in the neighbourhood of Mariquita. As he ascended the
slopes of the mountain-range, and reached the first step of the table-land, he
was struck beyond expression with the noble view of the valley of the
Magdalena behind him, so vast that he failed in attempting to define the
point at which the course of the river blended with the horizon. Like all
travellers in the district, he noted the remarkable changes of climate and
vegetation, as he rose from the burning plains towards the fresh breath of
the mountains. From an atmosphere as hot as that of an oven he passed into
delicious cool air; until, in his onward and upward journey, a still more
temperate region was reached, the very perfection of climate. Before him
rose the majestic Cordilleras, forming a rampart against the western skies,
at certain times of the day looking black, sharp, and, at their summit, almost
as even as a wall.
Our engineer took up his abode for a time at Mariquita, a fine old city,
though then greatly decayed. During the period of the Spanish dominion, it
was an important place, most of the gold and silver convoys passing
through it on their way to Cartagena, there to be shipped in galleons for
Europe. The mountainous country to the west was rich in silver, gold, and
other metals, and it was Mr. Stephenson’s object to select the best site for
commencing operations for the Company. With this object he “prospected”
about in all directions, visiting long-abandoned mines, and analysing
specimens obtained from many quarters. The mines eventually fixed upon
as the scene of his operations were those of La Manta and Santa Anna, long
before worked by the Spaniards, though, in consequence of the luxuriance
and rapidity of the vegetation, all traces of the old workings had become
completely overgrown and lost. Everything had to be begun anew. Roads
had to be cut to the mines, machinery to be erected, and the ground opened

up, in course of which some of the old adits were hit upon. The native
peons or labourers were not accustomed to work, and at first they usually
contrived to desert when they were not watched, so that very little progress
could be made until the arrival of the expected band of miners from
England. The authorities were by no means helpful, and the engineer was
driven to an old expedient with the object of overcoming this difficulty.
“We endeavour all we can,” he says, in one of his letters, “to make
ourselves popular, and this we find most effectually accomplished by
‘regaling the venal beasts.’” [196] He also gave a ball at Mariquita, which
passed off with éclat, the governor from Honda, with a host of friends,
honouring it with their presence. It was, indeed, necessary to “make a
party” in this way, as other schemers were already trying to undermine the
Colombian company in influential directions. The engineer did not
exaggerate when he said, “The uncertainty of transacting business in this
country is perplexing beyond description.”
At last, his party of miners arrived from England, but they gave him even
more trouble than the peons had done. They were rough, drunken, and
sometimes altogether ungovernable. He set them to work at the Santa Anna
mine without delay, and at the same time took up his abode amongst them,
“to keep them,” he said, “if possible, from indulging in the detestable vice
of drunkenness, which, if not put a stop to, will eventually destroy
themselves, and involve the mining association in ruin.” To add to his
troubles, the captain of the miners displayed a very hostile and
insubordinate spirit, quarrelled and fought with the men, and was insolent to
the engineer himself. The captain and his gang, being Cornish men, told
Robert to his face, that because he was a North-country man, and not born
in Cornwall it was impossible he should know anything of mining. Disease
also fell upon him,—first fever, and then visceral derangement, followed by
a return of his “old complaint, a feeling of oppression in the breast.” No
wonder that in the midst of these troubles he should longingly speak of
returning to his native land. But he stuck to his post and his duty, kept up
his courage, and by a mixture of mildness and firmness, and the display of
great coolness of judgment, he contrived to keep the men to their work, and
gradually to carry forward the enterprise which he had undertaken. By the
beginning of July, 1826, we find that quietness and order had been restored,
and the works were proceeding more satisfactorily, though the yield of

silver was not as yet very promising. Mr. Stephenson calculated that at
least three years’ diligent and costly operations would be needed to render
the mines productive.
In the mean time he removed to the dwelling which had been erected for his
accommodation at Santa Anna. It was a structure speedily raised after the
fashion of the country.

The walls were of split and flattened bamboo, tied together with the long
fibres of a dried climbing plant; the roof was of palm-leaves, and the ceiling
of reeds. When an earthquake shook the district—for earthquakes were
frequent—the inmates of such a fabric merely felt as if shaken in a basket,
without sustaining any harm. In front of the cottage lay a woody ravine,
extending almost to the base of the Andes, gorgeously clothed in primeval
vegetation—magnolias, palms, bamboos, tree-ferns, acacias, cedars; and,
towering over all, the great almendrons, with their smooth, silvery stems,
bearing aloft noble clusters of pure white blossom. The forest was haunted
by myriads of gay insects, butterflies with wings of dazzling lustre, birds of
brilliant plumage, humming-birds, golden orioles, toucans, and a host of
solitary warblers. But the glorious sunsets seen from his cottage-porch

more than all astonished and delighted the young engineer; and he was
accustomed to say that, after having witnessed them, he was reluctant to
accuse the ancient Peruvians of idolatry.
But all these natural beauties failed to reconcile him to the harassing
difficulties of his situation, which continued to increase rather than
diminish. He was hampered by the action of the Board at home, who gave
ear to hostile criticisms on his reports; and, although they afterwards made
handsome acknowledgment of his services, he felt his position to be
altogether unsatisfactory. He therefore determined to leave at the expiry of
his three years engagement, and communicated his decision to the directors
accordingly. On receiving his letter, the Board, through Mr. Richardson, of
Lombard street, one of the directors, communicated with his father at
Newcastle, representing that if he would allow his son to remain in
Colombia the Company would make it “worth his while.” To this the father
gave a decided negative, and intimated that he himself needed his son’s
assistance, and that he must return at the expiry of his three years’ term,—a
decision, writes Robert, “at which I feel much gratified, as it is clear that he
is as anxious to have me back in England as I am to get there.” [199] At the
same time, Edward Pease, a principal partner in the Newcastle firm,
privately wrote Robert to the following effect, urging his return home:—“I
can assure thee that thy business at Newcastle, as well as thy father’s
engineering, have suffered very much from thy absence, and, unless thou
soon return, the former will be given up, as Mr. Longridge is not able to
give it that attention it requires; and what is done is not done with credit to
the house.” The idea of the manufactory being given up, which Robert had
laboured so hard to establish before leaving England, was painful to him in
the extreme, and he wrote to the manager of the Company, strongly urging
that arrangements should be made for him to leave without delay. In the
mean time he was again laid prostrate by another violent attack of aguish
fever; and when able to write in June, 1827, he expressed himself as
“completely wearied and worn down with vexation.”
At length, when he was sufficiently recovered from his attack and able to
travel, he set out on his voyage homeward in the beginning of August. At
Mompox, on his way down the river Magdalena, he met Mr. Bodmer, his
successor, with a fresh party of miners from England, on their way up the
country to the quarters which he had just quitted. Next day, six hours after

leaving Mompox, a steamboat was met ascending the river, with Bolivar the
Liberator on board, on his way to St. Bogota; and it was a mortification to
our engineer that he had only a passing sight of that distinguished person. It
was his intention, on leaving Mariquita, to visit the Isthmus of Panama on
his way home, for the purpose of inquiring into the practicability of cutting
a canal to unite the Atlantic and Pacific—a project which then formed the
subject of considerable public discussion; but his presence being so
anxiously desired at home, he determined to proceed to New York without
delay.
Arrived at the port of Cartagena, he had to wait some time for a ship. The
delay was very irksome to him, the more so as the city was then desolated
by the ravages of the yellow fever. While sitting one day in the large, bare,
comfortless public room at the miserable hotel at which he put up, he
observed two strangers, whom he at once perceived to be English. One of
the strangers was a tall, gaunt man, shrunken and hollow-looking, shabbily
dressed, and apparently poverty-stricken. On making inquiry, he found it
was Trevithick, the builder of the first railroad locomotive! He was
returning home from the gold-mines of Peru penniless. He had left England
in 1816, with powerful steam-engines, intended for the drainage and
working of the Peruvian mines. He met with almost a royal reception on
his landing at Lima. A guard of honour was appointed to attend him, and it
was even proposed to erect a statue of Don Ricardo Trevithick in solid
silver. It was given forth in Cornwall that his emoluments amounted to
£100,000 a year, [201] and that he was making a gigantic fortune. Great,
therefore, was Robert Stephenson’s surprise to find this potent Don Ricardo
in the inn at Cartagena, reduced almost to his last shilling, and unable to
proceed further. He had indeed realised the truth of the Spanish proverb,
that “a silver-mine brings misery, a gold-mine ruin.” He and his friend had
lost everything in their journey across the country from Peru. They had
forded rivers and wandered through forests, leaving all their baggage
behind them, and had reached thus far with little more than the clothes upon
their backs. Almost the only remnant of precious metal saved by Trevithick
was a pair of silver spurs, which he took back with him to Cornwall.
Robert Stephenson lent him £50 to enable him to reach England; and
though he was afterwards heard of as an inventor there, he had no further
part in the ultimate triumph of the locomotive.

But Trevithick’s misadventures on this occasion had not yet ended, for
before he reached New York he was wrecked, and Robert Stephenson with
him. The following is the account of the voyage, “big with adventures,” as
given by the latter in a letter to his friend Illingworth:—“At first we had
very little foul weather, and indeed were for several days becalmed amongst
the islands, which was so far fortunate, for a few degrees further north the
most tremendous gales were blowing, and they appear (from our future
information) to have wrecked every vessel exposed to their violence. We
had two examples of the effects of the hurricane; for, as we sailed north we
took on board the remains of two crews found floating about on dismantled
hulls. The one had been nine days without food of any kind, except the
carcasses of two of their companions who had died a day or two previously
from fatigue and hunger. The other crew had been driven about for six
days, and were not so dejected, but reduced to such a weak state that they
were obliged to be drawn on board our vessel by ropes. A brig bound for
Havannah took part of the men, and we took the remainder. To attempt any
description of my feelings on witnessing such scenes would be in vain. You
will not be surprised to learn that I felt somewhat uneasy at the thought that
we were so far from England, and that I also might possibly suffer similar
shipwreck; but I consoled myself with the hope that fate would be more
kind to us. It was not so much so, however, as I had flattered myself; for on
voyaging towards New York, after we had made the land, we ran aground
about midnight. The vessel soon filled with water, and, being surrounded
by the breaking surf, the ship was soon split up, and before morning our
situation became perilous. Masts and all were cut away to prevent the hull
rocking; but all we could do was of no avail. About 8 o’clock on the
following morning, after a most miserable night, we were taken off the
wreck, and were so fortunate as to reach the shore. I saved my minerals,
but Empson lost part of his botanical collection. Upon the whole, we got
off well; and, had I not been on the American side of the Atlantic, I ‘guess’ I
would not have gone to sea again.”
After a short tour in the United States and Canada, Robert Stephenson and
his friend took ship for Liverpool, where they arrived at the end of
November, and at once proceeded to Newcastle. The factory was by no
means in a prosperous state. During the time Robert had been in America it
had been carried on at a loss; and Edward Pease, much disheartened,

wished to retire, but George Stephenson was unable to buy him out, and the
establishment had to be carried on in the hope that the locomotive might yet
be established in public estimation as a practical and economical working
power. Robert Stephenson immediately instituted a rigid inquiry into the
working of the concern, unravelled the accounts, which had fallen into
confusion during his father’s absence at Liverpool; and he soon succeeded
in placing the affairs of the factory in a more healthy condition. In all this
he had the hearty support of his father, as well as of the other partners.
The works of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway were now
approaching completion. But, singular to say, the directors had not yet
decided as to the tractive power to be employed in working the line when
opened for traffic. The differences of opinion among them were so great as
apparently to be irreconcilable. It was necessary, however, that they should
come to some decision without further loss of time; and many Board
meetings were accordingly held to discuss the subject. The old-fashioned
and well-tried system of horse haulage was not without its advocates; but,
looking at the large amount of traffic which there was to be conveyed, and
at the probable delay in the transit from station to station if this method
were adopted, the directors, after a visit made by them to the
Northumberland and Durham railways in 1828, came to the conclusion that
the employment of horse power was inadmissible.
Fixed engines had many advocates; the locomotive very few: it stood as yet
almost in a minority of one—George Stephenson. The prejudice against the
employment of the latter power had even increased since the Liverpool and
Manchester Bill underwent its first ordeal in the House of Commons. In
proof of this, we may mention that the Newcastle and Carlisle Railway Act
was conceded in 1829, on the express condition that it should not be
worked by locomotives, but by horses only.
Grave doubts existed as to the practicability of working a large traffic by
means of travelling engines. The most celebrated engineers offered no
opinion on the subject. They did not believe in the locomotive, and would
scarcely take the trouble to examine it. The ridicule with which George
Stephenson had been assailed by the barristers before the Parliamentary
Committee had not been altogether distasteful to them. Perhaps they did
not relish the idea of a man who had picked up his experience in Newcastle

coal-pits appearing in the capacity of a leading engineer before Parliament,
and attempting to establish a new system of internal communication in the
country. The directors could not disregard the adverse and conflicting
views of the professional men whom they consulted. But Mr. Stephenson
had so repeatedly and earnestly urged upon them the propriety of making a
trial of the locomotive before coming to any decision against it, that they at
length authorised him to proceed with the construction of one of his engines
by way of experiment. In their report to the proprietors at their annual
meeting on, the 27th March, 1828, they state that they had, after due
consideration, authorised the engineer “to prepare a locomotive engine,
which, from the nature of its construction and from the experiments already
made, he is of opinion will be effective for the purposes of the Company,
without proving an annoyance to the public.” The locomotive thus ordered
was placed upon the line in 1829, and was found of great service in drawing
the waggons full of marl from the two great cuttings.
In the mean time the discussion proceeded as to the kind of power to be
permanently employed for the working of the railway. The directors were
inundated with schemes of all sorts for facilitating locomotion. The
projectors of England, France, and America, seemed to be let loose upon
them. There were plans for working the waggons along the line by water
power. Some proposed hydrogen, and others carbonic acid gas.
Atmospheric pressure had its eager advocates. And various kinds of fixed
and locomotive steam-power were suggested. Thomas Gray urged his plan
of a greased road with cog rails; and Messrs. Vignolles and Ericsson
recommended the adoption of a central friction rail, against which two
horizontal rollers under the locomotive, pressing upon the sides of this rail,
were to afford the means of ascending the inclined planes. The directors
felt themselves quite unable to choose from amidst this multitude of
projects. The engineer expressed himself as decidedly as heretofore in
favour of smooth rails and locomotive engines, which, he was confident,
would be found the most economical and by far the most convenient
moving power that could be employed. The Stockton and Darlington
Railway being now at work, another deputation went down personally to
inspect the fixed and locomotive engines on that line, as well as at Hetton
and Killingworth. They returned to Liverpool with much information; but

their testimony as to the relative merits of the two kinds of engines was so
contradictory, that the directors were as far from a decision as ever.
They then resolved to call to their aid two professional engineers of high
standing, who should visit the Darlington and Newcastle railways, carefully
examine both modes of working—the fixed and the locomotive,—and
report to them fully on the subject. The gentlemen selected were Mr.
Walker of Limehouse, and Mr. Rastrick of Stourbridge. After carefully
examining the modes of working the northern railways, they made their
report to the directors in the spring of 1829. They concurred in the opinion
that the cost of an establishment of fixed engines would be somewhat
greater than that of locomotives to do the same work; but thought the
annual charge would be less if the former were adopted. They calculated
that the cost of moving a ton of goods thirty miles by fixed engines would
be 6.40d., and by locomotives, 8.36d.,—assuming a profitable traffic to be
obtained both ways. At the same time it was admitted that there appeared
more ground for expecting improvements in the construction and working
of locomotives than of stationary engines. On the whole, however, and
looking especially at the computed annual charge of working the road on
the two systems on a large scale, the two reporting engineers were of
opinion that fixed engines were preferable, and accordingly recommended
their adoption. And, in order to carry the system recommended by them
into effect, they proposed to divide the railroad between Liverpool and
Manchester into nineteen stages of about a mile and a half each, with
twenty-one engines fixed at the different points to work the trains forward.
Such was the result, so far, of George Stephenson’s labours. Two of the
best practical engineers of the day concurred in reporting substantially in
favour of the employment of fixed engines. Not a single professional man
of eminence supported the engineer in his preference for locomotive over
fixed engine power. He had scarcely an adherent, and the locomotive
system seemed on the eve of being abandoned. Still he did not despair.
With the profession as well as public opinion against him—for the most
frightful stories were abroad respecting the dangers, the unsightliness, and
the nuisance which the locomotive would create—Stephenson held to his
purpose. Even in this, apparently the darkest hour of the locomotive, he did
not hesitate to declare that locomotive railroads would, before many years
had passed, be “the great highways of the world.”

He urged his views upon the directors in all ways, and, as some of them
thought, at all seasons. He pointed out the greater convenience of
locomotive power for the purposes of a public highway, likening it to a
series of short unconnected chains, any one of which could be removed and
another substituted without interruption to the traffic; whereas the fixed
engine system might be regarded in the light of a continuous chain
extending between the two termini, the failure of any link of which would
derange the whole. [206] He represented to the Board that the locomotive
was yet capable of great improvements, if proper inducements were held
out to inventors and machinists to make them; and he pledged himself that,
if time were given him, he would construct an engine that should satisfy
their requirements, and prove itself capable of working heavy loads along
the railway with speed, regularity and safety. At length, influenced by his
persistent earnestness not less than by his arguments, the directors, at the
suggestion of Mr. Harrison, determined to offer a prize of £500 for the best
locomotive engine, which, on a certain day, should be produced on the
railway, and perform certain specified conditions in the most satisfactory
manner. [207]
It was now felt that the fate of railways in a great measure depended upon
the issue of this appeal to the mechanical genius of England. When the
advertisement of the prize for the best locomotive was published, scientific
men began more particularly to direct their attention to the new power
which was thus struggling into existence. In the mean time public opinion
on the subject of railway working remained suspended, and the progress of
the undertaking was watched with intense interest.
During the progress of the discussion with reference to the kind of power to
be employed, Mr. Stephenson was in constant communication with his son
Robert, who made frequent visits to Liverpool for the purpose of assisting
his father in the preparation of his reports to the Board on the subject. They
had also many conversations as to the best mode of increasing the powers
and perfecting the mechanism of the locomotive. These became more
frequent and interesting, when the prize was offered for the best
locomotive, and the working plans of the engine which they proposed to
construct came to be settled.

One of the most important considerations in the new engine was the
arrangement of the boiler and the extension of its heating surface to enable
steam enough to be raised rapidly and continuously, for the purpose of
maintaining high rates of speed,—the effect of high-pressure engines being
ascertained to depend mainly upon the quantity of steam which the boiler
can generate, and upon its degree of elasticity when produced. The quantity
of steam so generated, it will be obvious, must depend chiefly upon the
quantity of fuel consumed in the furnace, and by necessary consequence,
upon the high rate of temperature maintained there.
It will be remembered that in Stephenson’s first Killingworth engines he
invented and applied the ingenious method of stimulating combustion in the
furnace, by throwing the waste steam into the chimney after performing its
office in the cylinders, thus accelerating the ascent of the current of air,
greatly increasing the draught, and consequently the temperature of the
fire. This plan was adopted by him, as we have already seen, as early as
1815; and it was so successful that he himself attributed to it the greater
economy of the locomotive as compared with horse power. Hence the
continuance of its use upon the Killingworth Railway.
Though the adoption of the steam-blast greatly quickened combustion and
contributed to the rapid production of high-pressure steam, the limited
amount of heating surface presented to the fire was still felt to be an
obstacle to the complete success of the locomotive engine. Mr. Stephenson
endeavoured to overcome this by lengthening the boilers and increasing the
surface presented by the flue-tubes. The “Lancashire Witch,” which he
built for the Bolton and Leigh Railway, and used in forming the Liverpool
and Manchester Railway embankments, was constructed with a double
tube, each of which contained a fire and passed longitudinally through the
boiler. But this arrangement necessarily led to a considerable increase in
the weight of the engine, which amounted to about twelve tons; and as six
tons was the limit allowed for engines admitted to the Liverpool
competition, it was clear that the time was come when the Killingworth
locomotive must undergo a further important modification.
For many years previous to this period, ingenious mechanics had been
engaged in attempting to solve the problem of the best and most economical
boiler for the production of high-pressure steam. As early as 1803, Mr.

Woolf patented a tubular boiler, which was extensively employed at the
Cornish mines, and was found greatly to facilitate the production of steam,
by the extension of the heating surface. The ingenious Trevithick, in his
patent of 1815, seems also to have entertained the idea of employing a
boiler constructed of “small perpendicular tubes,” with the same object of
increasing the heating surface. These tubes were to be closed at the bottom,
and open into a common reservoir, from which they were to receive their
water, and where the steam of all the tubes was to be united.
About the same time George Stephenson was trying the effect of
introducing small tubes in the boilers of his locomotives, with the object of
increasing their evaporative power. Thus, in 1829, he sent to France two
engines constructed at the Newcastle works for the Lyons and St. Etienne
Railway, in the boilers of which tubes were placed containing water. The
heating surface was thus found to be materially increased; but the expedient
was not successful, for the tubes, becoming furred with deposit, shortly
burned out and were removed. It was then that M. Seguin, the engineer of
the railway, pursuing the same idea, adopted his plan of employing
horizontal tubes through which the heated air passed in streamlets. Mr.
Henry Booth, the secretary of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway,
without any knowledge of M. Seguin’s proceedings, next devised his plan
of a tubular boiler, which he brought under the notice of Mr. Stephenson,
who at once adopted it, and settled the mode in which the fire-box and tubes
were to be mutually arranged and connected. This plan was adopted in the
construction of the celebrated “Rocket” engine, the building of which was
immediately proceeded with at the Newcastle works.
The principal circumstances connected with the construction of the
“Rocket,” as described by Robert Stephenson to the author, may be briefly
stated. The tubular principle was adopted in a more complete manner than
had yet been attempted. Twenty-five copper tubes, each three inches in
diameter, extended from one end of the boiler to the other, the heated air
passing through them on its way to the chimney; and the tubes being
surrounded by the water of the boiler, it will be obvious that a large
extension of the heating surface was thus effectually secured. The principal
difficulty was in fitting the copper tubes within the boiler so as to prevent
leakage. They were made by a Newcastle coppersmith, and soldered to
brass screws which were screwed into the boiler ends, standing out in great

knobs. When the tubes were thus fitted, and the boiler was filled with
water, hydraulic pressure was applied; but the water squirted out at every
joint, and the factory floor was soon flooded. Robert went home in despair;
and in the first moment of grief, he wrote to his father that the whole thing
was a failure. By return of post came a letter from his father, telling him
that despair was not to be thought of—that he must “try again;” and he
suggested a mode of overcoming the difficulty, which his son had already
anticipated and proceeded to adopt. It was, to bore clean holes in the boiler
ends, fit in the smooth copper tubes as tightly as possible, solder up, and
then raise the steam. This plan succeeded perfectly, the expansion of the
copper tubes completely filling up all interstices, and producing a perfectly
watertight boiler, capable of withstanding extreme internal pressure.
The mode of employing the steam-blast for the purpose of increasing the
draught in the chimney, was also the subject of numerous experiments.
When the engine was first tried, it was thought that the blast in the chimney
was not strong enough to keep up the intensity of the fire in the furnace, so
as to produce high-pressure steam in sufficient quantity. The expedient was
therefore adopted of hammering the copper tubes at the point at which they
entered the chimney, whereby the blast was considerably sharpened; and on
a further trial it was found that the draught was increased to such an extent
as to enable abundance of steam to be raised. The rationale of the blast may
be simply explained by referring to the effect of contracting the pipe of a
water-hose, by which the force of the jet of water is proportionately
increased. Widen the nozzle of the pipe, and the force is in like manner
diminished. So is it with the steam-blast in the chimney of the locomotive.
Doubts were, however, expressed whether the greater draught secured by
the contraction of the blast-pipe was not counterbalanced in some degree by
the negative pressure upon the piston. A series of experiments was made
with pipes of different diameters; the amount of vacuum produced being
determined by a glass tube open at both ends, which was fixed to the
bottom of the smoke-box, and descended into a bucket of water. As the
rarefaction took place, the water would of course rise in the tube; and the
height to which it rose above the surface of the water in the bucket was
made the measure of the amount of rarefaction. These experiments proved
that a considerable increase of draught was obtained by the contraction of
the orifice; accordingly, the two blast-pipes opening from the cylinders into

either side of the “Rocket” chimney, and turned up within it, were
contracted slightly below the area of the steam-ports; and before the engine
left the factory, the water rose in the glass tube three inches above the water
in the bucket.

The other arrangements of the “Rocket” were briefly these:—the boiler was
cylindrical with flat ends, 6 feet in length, and 3 feet 4 inches in diameter.
The upper half of the boiler was used as a reservoir for the steam, the lower
half being filled with water. Through the lower part, 25 copper tubes of 3
inches diameter extended, which were open to the fire-box at one end, and
to the chimney at the other. The fire-box, or furnace, 2 feet wide and 3 feet
high, was attached immediately behind the boiler, and was also surrounded
with water. The cylinders of the engine were placed on each side of the
boiler, in an oblique position, one end being nearly level with the top of the
boiler at its after end, and the other pointing towards the centre of the
foremost or driving pair of wheels, with which the connection was directly
made from the piston-rod, to a pin on the outside of the wheel. The engine,
together with its load of water, weighed only 4¼ tons, and was supported on

four wheels, not coupled. The tender was four-wheeled, and similar in
shape to a waggon,—the foremost part holding the fuel, and the hind part a
water-cask.
When the “Rocket” was finished, it was placed upon the Killingworth
railway for the purpose of experiment. The new boiler arrangement was
found perfectly successful. The steam was raised rapidly and continuously,
and in a quantity which then appeared marvellous. The same evening
Robert despatched a letter to his father at Liverpool, informing him, to his
great joy, that the “Rocket” was “all right,” and would be in complete
working trim by the day of trial. The engine was shortly after sent by
waggon to Carlisle, and thence shipped for Liverpool.
The time so much longed for by George Stephenson had now arrived, when
the merit of the passenger locomotive was to be put to a public test. He had
fought the battle for it until now almost single-handed. Engrossed by his
daily labours and anxieties, and harassed by difficulties and
discouragements which would have crushed the spirit of a less resolute
man, he had held firmly to his purpose through good and through evil
report. The hostility which he experienced from some of the directors
opposed to the adoption of the locomotive, was the circumstance that
caused him the greatest grief of all; for where he had looked for
encouragement, he found only carping and opposition. But his pluck never
failed him; and now the “Rocket” was upon the ground,—to prove, to use
his own words, “whether he was a man of his word or not.”
Great interest was felt at Liverpool, as well as throughout the country, in the
approaching competition. Engineers, scientific men, and mechanics,
arrived from all quarters to witness the novel display of mechanical
ingenuity on which such great results depended. The public generally were
no indifferent spectators either. The inhabitants of Liverpool, Manchester,
and the adjacent towns felt that the successful issue of the experiment
would confer upon them individual benefits and local advantages almost
incalculable, whilst populations at a distance waited for the result with
almost equal interest.
On the day appointed for the great competition of locomotives at Rainhill,
the following engines were entered for the prize:—

1. Messrs. Braithwaite and Ericsson’s “Novelty.” [214]
2. Mr. Timothy Hackworth’s “Sanspareil.”
3. Messrs. R. Stephenson and Co.’s “Rocket.”
4. Mr. Burstall’s “Perseverance.”
Another engine was entered by Mr. Brandreth of Liverpool—the
“Cycloped,” weighing 3 tons, worked by a horse in a frame, but it could not
be admitted to the competition. The above were the only four exhibited, out
of a considerable number of engines constructed in different parts of the
country in anticipation of this contest, many of which could not be
satisfactorily completed by the day of trial.
The ground on which the engines were to be tried was a level piece of
railroad, about two miles in length. Each was required to make twenty
trips, or equal to a journey of 70 miles, in the course of the day; and the
average rate of travelling was to be not under 10 miles an hour. It was
determined that, to avoid confusion, each engine should be tried separately,
and on different days.

The day fixed for the competition was the 1st of October, but to allow
sufficient time to get the locomotives into good working order, the directors

extended it to the 6th. On the morning of the 6th, the ground at Rainhill
presented a lively appearance, and there was as much excitement as if the
St. Leger were about to be run. Many thousand spectators looked on,
amongst whom were some of the first engineers and mechanicians of the
day. A stand was provided for the ladies; the “beauty and fashion” of the
neighbourhood were present, and the side of the railroad was lined with
carriages of all descriptions.
It was quite characteristic of the Stephensons, that, although their engine
did not stand first on the list for trial, it was the first that was ready; and it
was accordingly ordered out by the judges for an experimental trip. Yet the
“Rocket” was by no means “the favourite” with either the judges or the
spectators. A majority of the judges was strongly predisposed in favour of
the “Novelty,” and nine-tenths of those present were against the “Rocket”
because of its appearance. Nearly every person favoured some other
engine, so that there was nothing for the “Rocket” but the practical test.
The first trip which it made was quite successful. It ran about 12 miles,
without interruption, in about 53 minutes.
The “Novelty” was next called out. It was a light engine, very compact in
appearance, carrying the water and fuel upon the same wheels as the
engine. The weight of the whole was only 3 tons and 1 hundredweight. A
peculiarity of this engine was that the air was driven or forced through the
fire by means of bellows. The day being now far advanced, and some
dispute having arisen as to the method of assigning the proper load for the
“Novelty,” no particular experiment was made, further than that the engine
traversed the line by way of exhibition, occasionally moving at the rate of
24 miles an hour. The “Sanspareil,” constructed by Mr. Timothy
Hackworth, was next exhibited; but no particular experiment was made
with it on this day.
The contest was postponed until the following day, but before the judges
arrived on the ground, the bellows for creating the blast in the “Novelty”
gave way, and it was found incapable of going through its performance. A
defect was also detected in the boiler of the “Sanspareil;” and some further
time was allowed to get it repaired. The large number of spectators who
had assembled to witness the contest were greatly disappointed at this
postponement; but, to lessen it, Stephenson again brought out the “Rocket,”

and, attaching to it a coach containing thirty persons, he ran them along the
line at the rate of from 24 to 30 miles an hour, much to their gratification
and amazement. Before separating, the judges ordered the engine to be in
readiness by eight o’clock on the following morning, to go through its
definitive trial according to the prescribed conditions.
On the morning of the 8th October, the “Rocket” was again ready for the
contest. The engine was taken to the extremity of the stage, the fire-box
was filled with coke, the fire lighted, and the steam raised until it lifted the
safety-valve loaded to a pressure of 50 pounds to the square inch. This
proceeding occupied fifty-seven minutes. The engine then started on its
journey, dragging after it about 13 tons weight in waggons, and made the
first ten trips backwards and forwards along the two miles of road, running
the 35 miles, including stoppages, in one hour and 48 minutes. The second
ten trips were in like manner performed in 2 hours and 3 minutes. The
maximum velocity attained during the trial trip was 29 miles an hour, or
about three times the speed that one of the judges of the competition had
declared to be the limit of possibility. The average speed at which the
whole of the journeys were performed was 15 miles an hour, or 5 miles
beyond the rate specified in the conditions published by the Company. The
entire performance excited the greatest astonishment amongst the
assembled spectators; the directors felt confident that their enterprise was
now on the eve of success; and George Stephenson rejoiced to think that in
spite of all false prophets and fickle counsellors, the locomotive system was
now safe. When the “Rocket,” having performed all the conditions of the
contest, arrived at the “grand stand” at the close of its day’s successful run,
Mr. Cropper—one of the directors favourable to the fixed-engine system—
lifted up his hands, and exclaimed, “Now has George Stephenson at last
delivered himself!”
Neither the “Novelty” nor the “Sanspareil” was ready for trial until the
10th, on the morning of which day an advertisement appeared, stating that
the former engine was to be tried on that day, when it would perform more
work than any engine upon the ground. The weight of the carriages
attached to it was only about 7 tons. The engine passed the first post in
good style; but in returning, the pipe from the forcing-pump burst and put
an end to the trial. The pipe was afterwards repaired, and the engine made

several trips by itself, in which it was said to have gone at the rate of from
24 to 28 miles an hour.
The “Sanspareil” was not ready until the 13th; and when its boiler and
tender were filled with water, it was found to weigh 4 cwt. beyond the
weight specified in the published conditions as the limit of four-wheeled
engines; nevertheless the judges allowed it to run on the same footing as the
other engines, to enable them to ascertain whether its merits entitled it to
favourable consideration. It travelled at the average speed of about 14
miles an hour, with its load attached; but at the eighth trip the cold-water
pump got wrong, and the engine could proceed no further.
It was determined to award the premium to the successful engine on the
following day, the 14th, on which occasion there was an unusual
assemblage of spectators. The owners of the “Novelty” pleaded for another
trial; and it was conceded. But again it broke down. The owner of the
“Sanspareil” also requested the opportunity for making another trial of his
engine. But the judges had now had enough of failures; and they declined,
on the ground that not only was the engine above the stipulated weight, but
that it was constructed on a plan which they could not recommend for
adoption by the directors of the Company. One of the principal practical
objections to this locomotive was the enormous quantity of coke consumed
or wasted by it—about 692 lbs. per hour when travelling—caused by the
sharpness of the steam-blast in the chimney, which blew a large proportion
of the burning coke into the air.
The “Perseverance” was found unable to move at more than five or six
miles an hour; and it was withdrawn from the contest at an early period.
The “Rocket” was thus the only engine that had performed, and more than
performed, all the stipulated conditions; and its owners were declared to be
fully entitled to the prize of £500, which was awarded to the Messrs.
Stephenson and Booth accordingly. And further, to show that the engine
had been working quite within its powers, Mr. Stephenson ordered it to be
brought upon the ground and detached from all incumbrances, when, in
making two trips, it was found to travel at the astonishing rate of 35 miles
an hour.

The “Rocket” had thus eclipsed the performances of all locomotive engines
that had yet been constructed, and outstripped even the sanguine
expectations of its constructors. It satisfactorily answered the report of
Messrs. Walker and Rastrick; and established the efficiency of the
locomotive for working the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, and indeed
all future railways. The “Rocket” showed that a new power had been born
into the world, full of activity and strength, with boundless capability of
work. It was the simple but admirable contrivance of the steam-blast, and
its combination with the multitubular boiler, that at once gave the
locomotive a vigorous life, and secured the triumph of the railway system.
[219]
It has been well observed, that this wonderful ability to increase and
multiply its powers of performance with the emergency that demands them,
has made this giant engine the noblest creation of human wit, the very lion
among machines. The success of the Rainhill experiment, as judged by the
public, may be inferred from the fact that the shares of the Company
immediately rose ten per cent., and nothing more was heard of the proposed
twenty-one fixed engines, engine-houses, ropes, etc. All this cumbersome
apparatus was thenceforward effectually disposed of.
Very different now was the tone of those directors who had distinguished
themselves by the persistency of their opposition to Mr. Stephenson’s
plans. Coolness gave way to eulogy, and hostility to unbounded offers of
friendship—after the manner of many men who run to the help of the
strong. Deeply though the engineer had felt aggrieved by the conduct
pursued towards him during this eventful struggle, by some from whom
forbearance was to have been expected, he never entertained towards them
in after life any angry feelings; on the contrary, he forgave all. But though
the directors afterwards passed unanimous resolutions eulogising “the great
skill and unwearied energy” of their engineer, he himself, when speaking
confidentially to those with whom he was most intimate, could not help
pointing out the difference between his “foul-weather and fair-weather
friends.” Mr. Gooch says of him that though naturally most cheerful and
kind-hearted in his disposition, the anxiety and pressure which weighed
upon his mind during the construction of the railway, had the effect of
making him occasionally impatient and irritable, like a spirited horse
touched by the spur; though his original good-nature from time to time
shone through it all. When the line had been brought to a successful

completion, a very marked change in him became visible. The irritability
passed away, and when difficulties and vexations arose they were treated by
him as matters of course, and with perfect composure and cheerfulness.

CHAPTER XII.
Opening of the Liverpool and Manchester
Railway, and Extension of the Railway System.

The directors of the Railway now began to see daylight; and they derived
encouragement from the skilful manner in which their engineer had
overcome the principal difficulties of the undertaking. He had formed a
solid road over Chat Moss, and thus achieved one “impossibility;” and he
had constructed a locomotive that could run at a speed of 30 miles an hour,
thus vanquishing a still more formidable difficulty.
A single line of way was completed over Chat Moss by the 1st of January,
1830; and on that day, the “Rocket” with a carriage full of directors,
engineers, and their friends, passed along the greater part of the road
between Liverpool and Manchester. Mr. Stephenson continued to direct his
close attention to the improvement of the details of the locomotive, every
successive trial of which proved more satisfactory. In this department he
had the benefit of the able and unremitting assistance of his son, who, in the
workshops at Newcastle, directly superintended the construction of the new
engines required for the public working of the railway. He did not by any
means rest satisfied with the success, decided though it was, which had
been achieved by the “Rocket.” He regarded it but in the light of a
successful experiment; and every succeeding engine placed upon the
railway exhibited some improvement on its predecessors. The arrangement
of the parts, and the weight and proportions of the engines, were altered, as
the experience of each successive day, or week, or month, suggested; and it
was soon found that the performances of the “Rocket” on the day of trial
had been greatly within the powers of the locomotive.
The first entire trip between Liverpool and Manchester was performed on
the 14th of June, 1830, on the occasion of a Board meeting being held at the

latter town. The train was on this occasion drawn by the “Arrow,” one of
the new locomotives, in which the most recent improvements had been
adopted. Mr. Stephenson himself drove the engine, and Captain Scoresby,
the circumpolar navigator, stood beside him on the foot-plate, and minuted
the speed of the train. A great concourse of people assembled at both
termini, as well as along the line, to witness the novel spectacle of a train of
carriages dragged by an engine at a speed of 17 miles an hour. On the
return journey to Liverpool in the evening, the “Arrow” crossed Chat Moss
at a speed of nearly 27 miles an hour, reaching its destination in about an
hour and a half.
In the mean time Mr. Stephenson and his assistants were diligently
occupied in making the necessary preliminary arrangements for the conduct
of the traffic against the time when the line should be ready for opening.
The experiments made with the object of carrying on the passenger traffic at
quick velocities were of an especially harassing and anxious character.
Every week, for nearly three months before the opening, trial trips were
made to Newton and back, generally with two or three trains following each
other, and carrying altogether from 200 to 300 persons. These trips were
usually made on Saturday afternoons, when the works could be more
conveniently stopped and the line cleared. In these experiments Mr.
Stephenson had the able assistance of Mr. Henry Booth, the secretary of the
Company, who contrived many of the arrangements in the rolling stock, not
the least valuable of which was his invention of the coupling screw, still in
use on all passenger railways.
At length the line was finished, and ready for the public ceremony of the
opening, which took place on the 15th September, 1830, and attracted a vast
number of spectators. The completion of the railway was justly regarded as
an important national event, and the opening was celebrated accordingly.
The Duke of Wellington, then Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel, and Mr.
Huskisson, one of the members for Liverpool, were among the number of
distinguished public personages present.
Eight locomotive engines, constructed at the Stephenson works, had been
delivered and placed upon the line, the whole of which had been tried and
tested weeks before, with perfect success. The several trains of carriages
accommodated in all about six hundred persons. The procession was

cheered in its progress by thousands of spectators—through the deep ravine
of Olive Mount; up the Sutton incline; over the great Sankey viaduct,
beneath which a great multitude of persons had assembled,—carriages
filling the narrow lanes, and barges crowding the river; the people below
gazing with wonder and admiration at the trains which sped along the line,
far above their heads, at the rate of some 24 miles an hour.
At Parkside, about 17 miles from Liverpool, the engines stopped to take in
water. Here a deplorable accident occurred to one of the illustrious visitors,
which threw a deep shadow over the subsequent proceedings of the day.
The “Northumbrian” engine, with the carriage containing the Duke of
Wellington, was drawn up on one line, in order that the whole of the trains
on the other line might pass in review before him and his party. Mr.
Huskisson had alighted from the carriage, and was standing on the opposite
road, along which the “Rocket” was observed rapidly coming up. At this
moment the Duke of Wellington, between whom and Mr. Huskisson some
coolness had existed, made a sign of recognition, and held out his hand. A
hurried but friendly grasp was given; and before it was loosened there was a
general cry from the bystanders of “Get in, get in!” Flurried and confused,
Mr. Huskisson endeavoured to get round the open door of the carriage,
which projected over the opposite rail; but in so doing he was struck down
by the “Rocket,” and falling with his leg doubled across the rail, the limb
was instantly crushed. His first words, on being raised, were, “I have met
my death,” which unhappily proved true, for he expired that same evening
in the parsonage of Eccles. It was cited at the time as a remarkable fact,
that the “Northumbrian” engine, driven by George Stephenson himself,
conveyed the wounded body of the unfortunate gentleman a distance of
about 15 miles in 25 minutes, or at the rate of 36 miles an hour. This
incredible speed burst upon the world with the effect of a new and
unlooked-for phenomenon.
The accident threw a gloom over the rest of the day’s proceedings. The
Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel expressed a wish that the
procession should return to Liverpool. It was, however, represented to them
that a vast concourse of people had assembled at Manchester to witness the
arrival of the trains; that report would exaggerate the mischief, if they did
not complete the journey; and that a false panic on that day might seriously
affect future railway travelling and the value of the Company’s property.

The party consented accordingly to proceed to Manchester, but on the
understanding that they should return as soon as possible, and refrain from
further festivity.
As the trains approached Manchester, crowds of people were found
covering the banks, the slopes of the cuttings, and even the railway itself.
The multitude, become impatient and excited by the rumours which reached
them, had outflanked the military, and all order was at an end. The people
clambered about the carriages, holding on by the door-handles, and many
were tumbled over; but, happily no fatal accident occurred. At the
Manchester station, the political element began to display itself; placards
about “Peterloo,” etc., were exhibited, and brickbats were thrown at the
carriage containing the Duke. On the carriages coming to a stand in the
Manchester station the Duke did not descend, but remained seated, shaking
hands with the women and children who were pushed forward by the
crowd. Shortly after, the trains returned to Liverpool, which they reached,
after considerable interruptions, in the dark, at a late hour.
On the following morning the railway was opened for public traffic. The
first train of 140 passengers was booked and sent on to Manchester,
reaching it in the allotted period of two hours; and from that time the traffic
has regularly proceeded from day to day until now.
It is scarcely necessary that we should speak at any length of the
commercial results of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. Suffice it to
say that its success was complete and decisive. The anticipations of its
projectors were, however, in many respects at fault. They had based their
calculations almost entirely on the heavy merchandise traffic—such as coal,
cotton, and timber,—relying little upon passengers; whereas the receipts
derived from the conveyance of passengers far exceeded those derived from
merchandise of all kinds, which, for a time continued a subordinate branch
of the traffic.
For some time after the public opening of the line, Mr. Stephenson’s
ingenuity continued to be employed in devising improved methods for
securing the safety and comfort of the travelling public. Few are aware of
the thousand minute details which have to be arranged—the forethought
and contrivance that have to be exercised—to enable the traveller by

railway to accomplish his journey in safety. After the difficulties of
constructing a level road over bogs, across valleys, and through deep
cuttings, have been overcome, the maintenance of the way has to be
provided for with continuous care. Every rail with its fastenings must be
complete, to prevent risk of accident; and the road must be kept regularly
ballasted up to the level, to diminish the jolting of vehicles passing over it at
high speeds. Then the stations must be protected by signals observable
from such a distance as to enable the train to be stopped in event of an
obstacle, such as a stopping or shunting train being in the way. For some
years the signals employed on the Liverpool railway were entirely given by
men with flags of different colours stationed along the line; there were no
fixed signals, nor electric telegraphs; but the traffic was nevertheless
worked quite as safely as under the more elaborate and complicated system
of telegraphing which has since been established.
From an early period it became obvious that the iron road as originally laid
down was far too weak for the heavy traffic which it had to carry. The line
was at first laid with fish-bellied rails weighing thirty-five pounds to the
yard, calculated only for horse-traffic, or, at most, for engines like the
“Rocket,” of very light weight. But as the power and the weight of the
locomotives were increased, it was found that such rails were quite
insufficient for the safe conduct of the traffic, and it therefore became
necessary to re-lay the road with heavier and stronger rails at considerably
increased expense.
The details of the carrying stock had in like manner to be settled by
experience. Everything had, as it were, to be begun from the beginning.
The coal-waggon, it is true, served in some degree as a model for the
railway-truck; but the railway passenger-carriage was an entirely novel
structure. It had to be mounted upon strong framing, of a peculiar kind,
supported on springs to prevent jolting. Then there was the necessity for
contriving some method of preventing hard bumping of the carriage-ends
when the train was pulled up; and hence the contrivance of buffer-springs
and spring frames. For the purpose of stopping the train, brakes on an
improved plan were also contrived, with new modes of lubricating the
carriage-axles, on which the wheels revolved at an unusually high velocity.
In all these arrangements, Mr. Stephenson’s inventiveness was kept
constantly on the stretch; and though many improvements in detail have

been effected since his time, the foundations were then laid by him of the
present system of conducting railway traffic. As an illustration of the
inventive ingenuity which he displayed in providing for the working of the
Liverpool line, we may mention his contrivance of the Self-acting Brake.
He early entertained the idea that the momentum of the running train might
itself be made available for the purpose of checking its speed. He proposed
to fit each carriage with a brake which should be called into action
immediately on the locomotive at the head of the train being pulled up. The
impetus of the carriages carrying them forward, the buffer-springs would be
driven home and, at the same time, by a simple arrangement of the
mechanism, the brakes would be called into simultaneous action; thus the
wheels would be brought into a state of sledge, and the train speedily
stopped. This plan was adopted by Mr. Stephenson before he left the
Liverpool and Manchester Railway, though it was afterwards discontinued;
but it is a remarkable fact, that this identical plan, with the addition of a
centrifugal apparatus, has quite recently been revived by M. Guérin, a
French engineer, and extensively employed on foreign railways, as the best
method of stopping railway trains in the most efficient manner and in the
shortest time.
Finally, Mr. Stephenson had to attend to the improvement of the power and
speed of the locomotive—always the grand object of his study,—with a
view to economy as well as regularity of working. In the “Planet” engine,
delivered upon the line immediately subsequent to the public opening, all
the improvements which had up to that time been contrived by him and his
son were introduced in combination—the blast-pipe, the tubular boiler,
horizontal cylinders inside the smoke-box, the cranked axle, and the fire-
box firmly fixed to the boiler. The first load of goods conveyed from
Liverpool to Manchester by the “Planet” was 80 tons in weight, and the
engine performed the journey against a strong head wind in 2½ hours. On
another occasion, the same engine brought up a cargo of voters from
Manchester to Liverpool, during a contested election, within a space of
sixty minutes! The “Samson,” delivered in the following year, exhibited
still further improvements, the most important of which was that of
coupling the fore and hind wheels of the engine. By this means, the
adhesion of the wheels on the rails was more effectually secured, and thus
the full hauling power of the locomotive was made available. The

“Samson,” shortly after it was placed upon the line, dragged after it a train
of waggons weighing 150 tons at a speed of about 20 miles an hour; the
consumption of coke being reduced to only about a third of a pound per ton
per mile.
The success of the Liverpool and Manchester experiment naturally excited
great interest. People flocked to Lancashire from all quarters to see the
steam-coach running upon a railway at three times the speed of a
mailcoach, and to enjoy the excitement of actually travelling in the wake of
an engine at that incredible velocity. The travellers returned to their
respective districts full of the wonders of the locomotive, considering it to
be the greatest marvel of the age. Railways are familiar enough objects
now, and our children who grow up in their midst may think little of them;
but thirty years since it was an event in one’s life to see a locomotive, and to
travel for the first time upon a public railroad.
The practicability of railway locomotion being now proved, and its great
social and commercial advantages ascertained, the general extension of the
system was merely a question of time, money, and labour. Although the
legislature took no initiative step in the direction of railway extension, the
public spirit and enterprise of the country did not fail it at this juncture. The
English people, though they may be defective in their capacity for
organization, are strong in individualism; and not improbably their
admirable qualities in the latter respect detract from their efficiency in the
former. Thus, in all times, their greatest enterprises have not been planned
by officialism and carried out upon any regular system, but have sprung,
like their constitution, their laws, and their entire industrial arrangements,
from the force of circumstances and the individual energies of the people.
The mode of action in the case of railway extension, was characteristic and
national. The execution of the new lines was undertaken entirely by joint-
stock associations of proprietors, after the manner of the Stockton and
Darlington, and Liverpool and Manchester companies. These associations
are conformable to our national habits, and fit well into our system of laws.
They combine the power of vast resources with individual watchfulness and
motives of self-interest; and by their means gigantic undertakings, which
otherwise would be impossible to any but kings and emperors with great
national resources at command, were carried out by the co-operation of

private persons. And the results of this combination of means and of
enterprise have been truly marvellous. Within the life of the present
generation, the private citizens of England engaged in railway extension
have, in the face of Government obstructions, and without taking a penny
from the public purse, executed a system of communications involving
works of the most gigantic kind, which, in their total mass, their cost, and
their public utility, far exceed the most famous national undertakings of any
age or country.
Mr. Stephenson was of course, actively engaged in the construction of the
numerous railways now projected by the joint-stock companies. The desire
for railway extension principally pervaded the manufacturing districts,
especially after the successful opening of the Liverpool and Manchester
line. The commercial classes of the larger towns soon became eager for a
participation in the good which they had so recently derided. Railway
projects were set on foot in great numbers, and Manchester became a centre
from which main lines and branches were started in all directions. The
interest, however, which attaches to these later schemes is of a much less
absorbing kind than that which belongs to the earlier history of the railway
and the steps by which it was mainly established. We naturally sympathise
more keenly with the early struggles of a great principle, its trials and its
difficulties, than with its after stages of success; and, however gratified and
astonished we may be at its consequences, the interest is in a great measure
gone when its triumph has become a matter of certainty.
The commercial results of the Liverpool and Manchester line were so
satisfactory, and indeed so greatly exceeded the expectations of its
projectors, that many of the abandoned projects of the speculative year
1825 were forthwith revived. An abundant crop of engineers sprang up,
ready to execute railways of any extent. Now that the Liverpool and
Manchester line had been made, and the practicability of working it by
locomotive power had been proved, it was as easy for engineers to make
railways and to work them, as it was for navigators to find America after
Columbus had made the first voyage. Mr. Francis Giles attached himself to
the Newcastle and Carlisle and London and Southampton projects. Mr.
Brunel appeared as engineer of the line projected between London and
Bristol; and Mr. Braithwaite, the builder of the “Novelty” engine, acted in
the same capacity for a railway from London to Colchester.

The first lines constructed subsequent to the opening of the Liverpool and
Manchester Railway, were mostly in connection with it, and principally in
the county of Lancaster. Thus a branch was formed from Bolton to Leigh,
and another from Leigh to Kenyon, where it formed a junction with the
main line between Liverpool and Manchester. Branches to Wigan on the
north, and to Runcorn Gap and Warrington on the south of the same line,
were also formed. A continuation of the latter, as far south as Birmingham,
was shortly after projected under the name of the Grand Junction Railway.
The last mentioned line was projected as early as the year 1824, when the
Liverpool and Manchester scheme was under discussion, and Mr.
Stephenson then published a report on the subject. The plans were
deposited, but the bill was thrown out through the opposition of the
landowners and canal proprietors. When engaged in making the survey,
Stephenson called upon some of the landowners in the neighbourhood of
Nantwich to obtain their assent, and was greatly disgusted to learn that the
agents of the canal companies had been before him, and described the
locomotive to the farmers as a most frightful machine, emitting a breath as
poisonous as the fabled dragon of old; and telling them that if a bird flew
over the district where one of these engines passed, it would inevitably drop
down dead! The application for the bill was renewed in 1826, and again
failed; and at length it was determined to wait the issue of the Liverpool and
Manchester experiment. The act was eventually obtained in 1833.
When it was proposed to extend the advantages of railways to the
population of the midland and southern counties of England, an immense
amount of alarm was created in the minds of the country gentlemen. They
did not relish the idea of private individuals, principally resident in the
manufacturing districts, invading their domains; and they everywhere rose
up in arms against the “new-fangled roads.” Colonel Sibthorpe openly
declared his hatred of the “infernal railroads,” and said that he “would
rather meet a highwayman, or see a burglar on his premises, than an
engineer!” The impression which prevailed in the rural districts was, that
fox-covers and game-preserves would be seriously prejudiced by the
formation of railroads; that agricultural communications would be
destroyed, land thrown out of cultivation, landowners and farmers reduced
to beggary, the poor-rates increased through the number of persons thrown
out of employment by the railways,—and all this in order that Liverpool,

Manchester, and Birmingham shopkeepers and manufacturers might
establish a monstrous monopoly in railway traffic.
The inhabitants of even some of the large towns were thrown into a state of
consternation by the proposal to provide them with the accommodation of a
railway. The line from London to Birmingham would naturally have passed
close to the handsome town of Northampton, and was so projected; but the
inhabitants of the shire, urged on by the local press, and excited by men of
influence and education, opposed the project, and succeeded in forcing the
promoters, in their survey of the line, to pass the town at a distance. When
the first railway through Kent was projected, the line was laid out so as to
pass by Maidstone, the county town. But it had not a single supporter
amongst the townspeople, whilst the landowners for many miles round
combined to oppose it. In like manner, the line projected from London to
Bristol was strongly denounced by the inhabitants of the intermediate
districts; and when the first bill was thrown out, Eton assembled under the
presidency of the Marquis of Chandos to congratulate the country upon its
defeat.
During the time that the works of the Liverpool and Manchester line were
in progress, our engineer was consulted respecting a short railway proposed
to be formed between Leicester and Swannington, for the purpose of
opening up a communication between the town of Leicester and the coal-
fields in the western part of the county. The projector of this undertaking
had some difficulty in getting the requisite capital subscribed for, the
Leicester townspeople who had money being for the most part interested in
canals. George Stephenson was invited to come upon the ground and
survey the line. He did so, and then the projector told him of the difficulty
he had in finding subscribers to the concern. “Give me a sheet,” said
Stephenson, “and I will raise the money for you in Liverpool.” The
engineer was as good as his word, and in a short time the sheet was returned
with the subscription complete. Mr. Stephenson was then asked to
undertake the office of engineer for the line, but his answer was that he had
thirty miles of railway in hand, which were enough for any engineer to
attend to properly. Was there any person he could recommend? “Well,”
said he, “I think my son Robert is competent to undertake the thing.”
Would Mr. Stephenson be answerable for him? “Oh, yes, certainly.” And

Robert Stephenson, at twenty-seven years of age, was installed engineer of
the line accordingly.

The requisite Parliamentary powers having been obtained, Robert
Stephenson proceeded with the construction of the railway, about 16 miles
in length, towards the end of 1830. The works were comparatively easy,
excepting at the Leicester end, where the young engineer encountered his
first stiff bit of tunnelling. The line passed underground for 1¾ mile, and
500 yards of its course lay in loose dry running sand. The presence of this
material rendered it necessary for the engineer first to construct a wooden
tunnel to support the soil while the brickwork was being executed. This
proved sufficient, and the whole was brought to a successful termination
within a reasonable time. While the works were in progress, Robert kept up

a regular correspondence with his father at Liverpool, consulting him on all
points in which his greater experience was likely to be of service. Like his
father, Robert was very observant, and always ready to seize opportunity by
the forelock. It happened that the estate of Snibston, near Ashby-de-la-
Zouch, was advertised for sale; and the young engineer’s experience as a
coal-viewer and practical geologist suggested to his mind that coal was
most probably to be found underneath. He communicated his views to his
father on the subject. The estate lay in the immediate neighbourhood of the
railway; and if the conjecture proved correct, the finding of coal would
necessarily greatly enhance its value. He accordingly requested his father
to come over to Snibston and look at the property, which he did; and after a
careful inspection of the ground, he arrived at the same conclusion as his
son.
The large manufacturing town of Leicester, about fourteen miles distant,
had up to that time been exclusively supplied with coal brought by canal
from Derbyshire; and Mr. Stephenson saw that the railway under
construction from Swannington to Leicester, would furnish him with a
ready market for any coals which he might find at Snibston. Having
induced two of his Liverpool friends to join him in the venture, the Snibston
estate was purchased in 1831: and shortly after, Stephenson removed his
home from Liverpool to Alton Grange, for the purpose of superintending
the sinking of the pit. He travelled thither by gig with his wife,—his
favourite horse “Bobby” performing the journey by easy stages.
Sinking operations were immediately begun, and proceeded satisfactorily
until the old enemy, water, burst in upon the workmen, and threatened to
drown them out. But by means of efficient pumping-engines, and the
skilful casing of the shaft with segments of cast-iron—a process called
“tubbing,” [234] which Mr. Stephenson was the first to adopt in the Midland
Counties—it was eventually made water-tight, and the sinking proceeded.
When a depth of 166 feet had been reached, a still more formidable
difficulty presented itself—one which had baffled former sinkers in the
neighbourhood, and deterred them from further operations. This was a
remarkable bed of whinstone or green-stone, which had originally been
poured out as a sheet of burning lava over the denuded surface of the coal
measures; indeed it was afterwards found that it had turned to cinders one
part of the seam of coal with which it had come in contact. The appearance

of this bed of solid rock was so unusual a circumstance in coal mining, that
some experienced sinkers urged Stephenson to proceed no further, believing
the occurrence of the dyke at that point to be altogether fatal to his
enterprise. But, with his faith still firm in the existence of coal underneath,
he fell back on his old motto of “Persevere.” He determined to go on
boring; and down through the solid rock he went until, twenty-two feet
lower, he came upon the coal measures. In the mean time, however, lest the
boring at that point should prove unsuccessful, he had commenced sinking
another pair of shafts about a quarter of a mile west of the “fault;” and after
about nine months’ labour he reached the principal seam, called the “main
coal.”
The works were then opened out on a large scale, and Mr. Stephenson had
the pleasure and good fortune to send the first train of main coal to
Leicester by railway. The price was immediately reduced to about 8s. a ton,
effecting a pecuniary saving to the inhabitants of the town of about £40,000
per annum, or equivalent to the whole amount then collected in
Government taxes and local rates, besides giving an impetus to the
manufacturing prosperity of the place, which has continued down to the
present day. The correct principles upon which the mining operations at
Snibston were conducted offered a salutary example to the neighbouring
colliery owners. The numerous improvements there introduced were freely
exhibited to all, and they were afterwards reproduced in many forms all
over the Midland Counties, greatly to the advantage of the mining interest.
Nor was Mr. Stephenson less attentive to the comfort and well-being of
those immediately dependent upon him—the workpeople of the Snibston
colliery and their families. Unlike many of those large employers who have
“sprung from the ranks,” he was one of the kindest and most indulgent of
masters. He would have a fair day’s work for a fair day’s wages; but he
never forgot that the employer had his duties as well as his rights. First of
all, he attended to the proper home accommodation of his workpeople. He
erected a village of comfortable cottages, each provided with a snug little
garden. He was also instrumental in erecting a church adjacent to the
works, as well as Church schools for the education of the colliers’ children;
and with that broad catholicity of sentiment which distinguished him, he
further provided a chapel and a school-house for the use of the Dissenting
portion of the colliers and their families—an example of benevolent

liberality which was not without a salutary influence upon the neighbouring
employers.

CHAPTER XIII.
Robert Stephenson constructs the London and
Birmingham Railway.

Of the numerous extensive projects which followed close upon the
completion of the Liverpool and Manchester line, and the Locomotive
triumph at Rainhill, that of a railway between London and Birmingham was
the most important. The scheme originated at the latter place in 1830. Two
committees were formed, and two plans were proposed. One was of a line
to London by way of Oxford, and the other by way of Coventry. The
simple object of the promoters of both schemes being to secure the
advantages of railway communication with the metropolis, they wisely
determined to combine their strength to secure it. They then resolved to call
George Stephenson to their aid, and requested him to advise them as to the
two schemes which were before them. After a careful examination of the
country, Mr. Stephenson reported in favour of the Coventry route, when the
Lancashire gentlemen, who were the principal subscribers to the project,
having every confidence in his judgment, supported his decision, and the
line recommended by him was adopted accordingly.
At the meeting of the promoters held at Birmingham to determine on the
appointment of the engineer for the railway, there was a strong party in
favour of associating with Mr. Stephenson a gentleman with whom he had
been brought into serious collision in the course of the Liverpool and
Manchester undertaking. When the offer was made to him that he should
be joint engineer with the other, he requested leave to retire and consider
the proposal with his son. The father was in favour of accepting it. His
struggle heretofore had been so hard that he could not bear the idea of
missing so promising an opportunity of professional advancement. But the
son, foreseeing the jealousies and heartburnings which the joint
engineership would most probably create, recommended his father to

decline the connection. George adopted the suggestion, and returning to the
Committee, he announced to them his decision; on which the promoters
decided to appoint him the engineer of the undertaking in conjunction with
his son.
This line, like the Liverpool and Manchester, was very strongly opposed,
especially by the landowners. Numerous pamphlets were published, calling
on the public to “beware of the bubbles,” and holding up the promoters of
railways to ridicule. They were compared to St. John Long and similar
quacks, and pronounced fitter for Bedlam than to be left at large. The canal
proprietors, landowners, and road trustees, made common cause against
them. The failure of railways was confidently predicted—indeed, it was
elaborately attempted to be proved that they had failed; and it was
industriously spread abroad that the locomotive engines, having been found
useless and highly dangerous on the Liverpool and Manchester line, were
immediately to be abandoned in favour of horses—a rumour which the
directors of the Company thought it necessary publicly to contradict.
Public meetings were held in all the counties through which the line would
pass between London and Birmingham, at which the project was
denounced, and strong resolutions against it were passed. The attempt was
made to conciliate the landlords by explanations, but all such efforts proved
futile, the owners of nearly seven-eighths of the land being returned as
dissentients. “I remember,” said Robert Stephenson, describing the
opposition, “that we called one day on Sir Astley Cooper, the eminent
surgeon, in the hope of overcoming his aversion to the railway. He was one
of our most inveterate and influential opponents. His country house at
Berkhampstead was situated near the intended line, which passed through
part of his property. We found a courtly, fine-looking old gentleman, of
very stately manners, who received us kindly and heard all we had to say in
favour of the project. But he was quite inflexible in his opposition to it. No
deviation or improvement that we could suggest had any effect in
conciliating him. He was opposed to railways generally, and to this in
particular. ‘Your scheme,’ said he, ‘is preposterous in the extreme. It is of
so extravagant a character, as to be positively absurd. Then look at the
recklessness of your proceedings! You are proposing to cut up our estates
in all directions for the purpose of making an unnecessary road. Do you
think for one moment of the destruction of property involved by it? Why,

gentlemen, if this sort of thing be permitted to go on, you will in a very few
years destroy the noblesse!’ We left the honourable baronet without having
produced the slightest effect upon him, excepting perhaps, it might be,
increased exasperation against our scheme. 1 could not help observing to
my companions as we left the house, ‘Well, it is really provoking to find
one who has been made a “Sir” for cutting that wen out of George the
Fourth’s neck, charging us with contemplating the destruction of the
noblesse, because we propose to confer upon him the benefits of a
railroad.’“
Such being the opposition of the owners of land, it was with the greatest
difficulty that an accurate survey of the line could be made. At one point
the vigilance of the landowners and their servants was such, that the
surveyors were effectually prevented taking the levels by the light of day;
and it was only at length accomplished at night by means of dark lanterns.
There was one clergyman, who made such alarming demonstrations of his
opposition, that the extraordinary expedient was resorted to of surveying his
property during the time he was engaged in the pulpit. This was managed
by having a strong force of surveyors in readiness to commence their
operations, who entered the clergyman’s grounds on one side the moment
they saw him fairly off them on the other. By a well-organised and
systematic arrangement each man concluded his allotted task just as the
reverend gentleman concluded his sermon; so that, before he left the
church, the deed was done, and the sinners had all decamped. Similar
opposition was offered at many other points, but ineffectually. The
laborious application of Robert Stephenson was such, that in examining the
country to ascertain the best line, he walked the whole distance between
London and Birmingham upwards of twenty times.
When the bill went before the Committee of the Commons in 1832, a
formidable array of evidence was produced. All the railway experience of
the day was brought to bear in support of the measure, and all that
interested opposition could do was set in motion against it. The necessity
for an improved mode of communication between London and Birmingham
was clearly demonstrated; and the engineering evidence was regarded as
quite satisfactory. Not a single fact was proved against the utility of the
measure, and the bill passed the Committee, and afterwards the third
reading in the Commons, by large majorities.

It was then sent to the Lords, and went into Committee, when a similar
mass of testimony was again gone through. But it had been evident, from
the opening of the proceedings, that the fate of the bill had been determined
before even a word of the evidence had been heard. At that time the
committees were open to all peers; and the promoters of the bill found, to
their dismay, many of the lords who were avowed opponents of the measure
as landowners, sitting as judges to decide its fate. Their principal object
seemed to be, to bring the proceedings to a termination as quickly as
possible. An attempt at negotiation was indeed made in the course of the
proceedings in committee, but failed, and the bill was thrown out.
As the result had been foreseen, measures were taken to neutralise the effect
of this decision as regarded future operations. Not less than £32,000 had
been expended in preliminary and parliamentary expenses up to this stage;
but the promoters determined not to look back, and forthwith made
arrangements for prosecuting the bill in the next session. Strange to say, the
bill then passed both Houses silently and almost without opposition. The
mystery was afterwards solved by the appearance of a circular issued by the
directors of the company, in which it was stated, that they had opened
“negotiations” with the most influential of their opponents; that “these
measures had been successful to a greater extent than they had ventured to
anticipate; and the most active and formidable had been conciliated.” An
instructive commentary on the mode by which these noble lords and
influential landed proprietors had been “conciliated,” was the simple fact
that the estimate for land was nearly trebled, and that the owners were paid
about £750,000 for what had been originally estimated at £250,000.
The landowners having thus been “conciliated,” the promoters of the
measure were permitted to proceed with the formation of their great
highway. Robert Stephenson was, with the sanction of his father, appointed
sole engineer; and steps were at once taken by him to make the working
survey, to prepare the working drawings, and arrange for the construction of
the railway. Eighty miles of the road were shortly under contract, having
been let within the estimates; and the works were in satisfactory progress by
the beginning of 1834.
The difficulties encountered in their construction were very great; the most
formidable of them originating in the character of the works themselves.

Extensive tunnels had to be driven through unknown strata, and miles of
underground excavation had to be carried out in order to form a level road
from valley to valley, under the intervening ridges. This kind of work was
the newest of all to the contractors of that day. Robert Stephenson’s
experience in the collieries of the North rendered him well fitted to grapple
with such difficulties; yet even he, with all his practical knowledge, could
scarcely have foreseen the serious obstacles which he was called upon to
encounter in executing the formidable cuttings, embankments, and tunnels
of the London and Birmingham Railway. It would be an uninteresting, as it
would be a fruitless task, to attempt to describe the works in detail; but a
general outline of their extraordinary character and extent may not be out of
place.

The length of railway to be constructed between London and Birmingham
was 112½ miles. The line crossed a series of low-lying districts separated

from each other by considerable ridges of hills; and it was the object of the
engineer to cross the valleys at as high, and the hills at as low, elevations as
possible. The high ground was therefore cut down and the “stuff” led into
embankments, in some places of great height and extent, so as to form a
road upon as level a plane as was considered practicable for the working of
the locomotive engine. In some places, the high grounds were passed in
open cuttings, whilst in others it was necessary to bore through them in
tunnels with deep cuttings at each end.
The most formidable excavations on the line are those at Tring, Denbigh
Hall, and Blisworth. The Tring cutting is an immense chasm across the
great chalk ridge of Ivinghoe. It is 2½ miles long, and for ¼ of a mile is 57
feet deep. A million and a half cubic yards of chalk and earth were taken
out of this cutting by means of horse-runs and deposited in spoil banks;
besides the immense quantity run into the embankment north of the cutting,
forming a solid mound nearly 6 miles long and about 30 feet high. Passing
over the Denbigh Hall cutting, and the Wolverton embankment of 1½ mile
in length across the valley of the Ouse, we come to the excavation at
Blisworth, a brief description of which will give the reader an idea of one of
the most difficult kinds of railway work.

The Blisworth Cutting is one of the longest and deepest grooves cut in the
solid earth. It is 1½ mile long, in some places 65 feet deep, passing through
earth, stiff clay, and hard rock. Not less than a million cubic yards of these
materials were dug, quarried, and blasted out of it. One-third of the cutting
was stone, and beneath the stone lay a thick bed of clay, under which were
found beds of loose shale so full of water that almost constant pumping was
necessary at many points to enable the works to proceed. For a year and a
half the contractor went on fruitlessly contending with these difficulties,
and at length he was compelled to abandon the adventure. The engineer
then took the works in hand for the Company, and they were vigorously
proceeded with. Steam-engines were set to work to pump out the water;
two locomotives were put on, one at each end of the cutting, to drag away
the excavated rock and clay; and 800 men and boys were employed along
the work, in digging, wheeling, and blasting, besides a large number of
horses. Some idea of the extent of the blasting operations may be formed

from the fact that 25 barrels of gunpowder were used weekly; the total
quantity exploded in forming this one cutting being about 3,000 barrels.
Considerable difficulty was experienced in supporting the bed of rock cut
through, which overlaid the clay and shale along each side of the cutting. It
was found necessary to hold it up by strong retaining walls, to prevent the
clay bed from bulging out, and these walls were further supported by a
strong invert,—that is, an arch placed in an inverted position under the road,
—thus binding together the walls on both sides. Behind the retaining walls,
a drift or horizontal drain was provided to enable the water to run off, and
occasional openings were left in the walls themselves for the same purpose.
The work was at length brought to a successful completion, but the
extraordinary difficulties encountered in forming the cutting had the effect
of greatly increasing the cost of this portion of the railway.
The Tunnels on the line are eight in number, their total length being 7336
yards. The first high ground encountered was Primrose Hill, where the stiff
London clay was passed through for a distance of about 1164 yards. The
clay was close, compact, and dry, more difficult to work than stone itself. It
was entirely free from water; but the absorbing properties of the clay were
such that when exposed to the air it swelled out rapidly. Hence an unusual
thickness of brick lining was found necessary; and the engineer afterwards
informed the author that for some time he entertained an apprehension lest
the pressure should force in the brickwork altogether. It was so great that it
made the face of the bricks to fly off in minute chips which covered his
clothes whilst he was inspecting the work. The materials used in the
building were, however, of excellent quality; and the tunnel was happily
brought to a completion without any accident.
At Watford the chalk ridge was penetrated by a tunnel about 1800 yards
long; and at Northchurch, Lindslade, and Stowe Hill, there were other
tunnels of minor extent. But the chief difficulty of the undertaking was the
execution of that under the Kilsby ridge. Though not the largest, this is in
many respects one of the most interesting works of the kind in England. It
is about 2400 yards long, and runs at an average depth of about 160 feet
below the surface. The ridge under which it extends is of considerable
extent, the famous battle of Naseby having been fought upon one of the
spurs of the same high ground about seven miles to the eastward.

Previous to the letting of the contract, the character of the underground soil
was examined by trial-shafts. The tests indicated that it consisted of shale
of the lower oolite, and the works were let accordingly. But they had
scarcely been commenced when it was discovered that, at an interval
between the two trial-shafts which had been sunk, about 200 yards from the
south end of the tunnel, there existed an extensive quicksand under a bed of
clay 40 feet thick, which the borings had escaped in the most singular
manner. At the bottom of one of these shafts the excavation and building of
the tunnel were proceeding, when the roof at one part suddenly gave way, a
deluge of water burst in, and the party of workmen with the utmost
difficulty escaped with their lives. They were only saved by means of a
raft, on which they were towed by one of the engineers swimming with the
rope in his mouth to the lower end of the shaft, out of which they were
safely lifted to the daylight. The works were of course at that point
immediately stopped.

The contractor, who had undertaken the construction of the tunnel, was so
overwhelmed by the calamity, that, though he was relieved by the Company
from his engagement, he took to his bed and shortly after died. Pumping-
engines were then erected for the purpose of draining off the water, but for a
long time it prevailed, and sometimes even rose in the shaft. The question
then presented itself, whether in the face of so formidable a difficulty, the
works should be proceeded with or abandoned. Robert Stephenson sent
over to Alton Grange for his father, and the two took serious counsel
together. George was in favour of pumping out the water from the top by
powerful engines erected over each shaft, until the water was mastered.
Robert concurred in that view, and although other engineers pronounced
strongly against the practicability of the scheme and advised its
abandonment, the directors authorised him to proceed; and powerful steam-
engines were ordered to be constructed and delivered without loss of time.

In the mean time, Robert suggested to his father the expediency of running
a drift along the heading from the south end of the tunnel, with the view of
draining off the water in that way. George said he thought it would scarcely
answer, but that it was worth a trial, at all events until the pumping-engines
were got ready. Robert accordingly gave orders for the drift to be
proceeded with. The excavators were immediately set to work; and they
were very soon close upon the sand bed. One day, when the engineer, his
assistants, and the workmen were clustered about the open entrance of the
drift-way, they heard a sudden roar as of distant thunder. It was hoped that
the water had burst in—for all the workmen were out of the drift,—and that
the sand bed would now drain itself off in a natural way. Instead of which,
very little water made its appearance; and on examining the inner end of the
drift, it was found that the loud noise had been caused by the sudden
discharge into it of an immense mass of sand, which had completely choked
up the passage, and prevented the water from flowing away.
The engineer now found that there was nothing for it but to sink numerous
additional shafts over the line of the tunnel at the points at which it crossed
the quicksand, and endeavour to master the water by sheer force of engines
and pumps. The engines erected, possessed an aggregate power of 160
horses; and they went on pumping for eight successive months, emptying
out an almost incredible quantity of water. It was found that the water, with
which the bed of sand extending over many miles was charged, was to a
certain degree held back by the particles of the sand itself, and that it could
only percolate through at a certain average rate. It appeared in its flow to
take a slanting direction to the suction of the pumps, the angle of inclination
depending upon the coarseness or fineness of the sand, and regulating the
time of the flow. Hence the distribution of the pumping power at short
intervals along the line of the tunnel had a much greater effect than the
concentration of that power at any one spot. It soon appeared that the water
had found its master. Protected by the pumps, which cleared a space for the
engineering operations—carried on in the midst, as it were, of two almost
perpendicular walls of water and sand on either side—the workmen
proceeded with the building of the tunnel at numerous points. Every
exertion was used to wall in the dangerous parts as quickly as possible; the
excavators and bricklayers labouring night and day until the work was
finished. Even while under the protection of the immense pumping power

above described, it often happened that the bricks were scarcely covered
with cement ready for the setting, ere they were washed quite clean by the
streams of water which poured from overhead. The men were accordingly
under the necessity of holding over their work large whisks of straw and
other appliances to protect the bricks and cement at the moment of setting.
The quantity of water pumped out of the sand bed during eight months of
incessant pumping, averaged 2,000 gallons per minute, raised from an
average depth of 120 feet. It is difficult to form an adequate idea of the
bulk of the water thus raised, but it may be stated that if allowed to flow for
three hours only, it would fill a lake one acre square to the depth of one
foot, and if allowed to flow for one entire day it would fill the lake to over
eight feet in depth, or sufficient to float vessels of 100 tons burthen. The
water pumped out of the tunnel while the work was in progress would be
nearly equivalent to the contents of the Thames at high water, between
London and Woolwich. It is a curious circumstance that notwithstanding
the quantity thus removed, the level of the surface of the water in the tunnel
was only lowered about 2½ to 3 inches per week, proving the vast area of
the quicksand, which probably extended along the entire ridge of land under
which the railway passed.
The cost of the line was greatly increased by the difficulties encountered at
Kilsby. The original estimate for the tunnel was only £99,000; but before it
was finished it had cost more than £100 per lineal yard forward, or a total of
nearly £300,000. The expenditure on the other parts of the line also greatly
exceeded the amount first set down by the engineer; and before the works
were finished it was more than doubled. The land cost three times more
than the estimate; and the claims for compensation were enormous.
Although the contracts were let within the estimates, very few of the
contractors were able to complete them without the assistance of the
Company, and many became bankrupt.
The magnitude of the works, which were unprecedented in England, was
one of the most remarkable features in the undertaking. The following
striking comparison has been made between this railway and one of the
greatest works of ancient times. The Great Pyramid of Egypt was,
according to Diodorus Siculus, constructed by 300,000—according to
Herodotus, by 100,000—men. It required for its execution twenty years,

and the labour expended upon it has been estimated as equivalent to lifting
15,733,000,000 of cubic feet of stone one foot high. Whereas, if the labour
expended in constructing the London and Birmingham Railway be in like
manner reduced to one common denomination the result is 25,000,000,000
of cubic feet more than was lifted for the Great Pyramid; and yet the
English work was performed by about 20,000 men in less than five years.
And whilst the Egyptian work was executed by a powerful monarch
concentrating upon it the labour and capital of a great nation, the English
railway was constructed, in the face of every conceivable obstruction and
difficulty, by a company of private individuals out of their own resources,
without the aid of Government or the contribution of one farthing of public
money.
The labourers who executed this formidable work were in many respects a
remarkable class. The “railway navvies,” as they are called, were men
drawn by the attraction of good wages from all parts of the kingdom; and
they were ready for any sort of hard work. Some of the best came from the
fen districts of Lincoln and Cambridge, where they had been trained to
execute works of excavation and embankment. These old practitioners
formed a nucleus of skilled manipulation and aptitude, which rendered them
of indispensable utility in the immense undertakings of the period. Their
expertness in all sorts of earthwork, in embanking, boring, and well-sinking
—their practical knowledge of the nature of soils and rocks, the tenacity of
clays, and the porosity of certain stratifications—were very great; and,
rough-looking though they were, many of them were as important in their
own department as the contractor or the engineer.
During the railway-making period the navvy wandered about from one
public work to another—apparently belonging to no country and having no
home. He usually wore a white felt hat with the brim turned up, a velveteen
or jean square-tailed coat, a scarlet plush waistcoat with little black spots,
and a bright-coloured kerchief round his herculean neck, when, as often
happened, it was not left entirely bare. His corduroy breeches were retained
in position by a leathern strap round the waist, and were tied and buttoned
at the knee, displaying beneath a solid calf and foot encased in strong high-
laced boots. Joining together in a “butty gang,” some ten or twelve of these
men would take a contract to cut out and remove so much “dirt”—as they
denominated earth-cutting—fixing their price according to the character of