So closely were the Stephensons identified with this measure, and so great was the personal interest which they were both known to take in its success, that, on the news of the triumph of the bill reaching Newcastle, a sort of general holiday took place, and the workmen belonging to the Stephenson Locomotive Factory, upwards of 800 in number, walked in procession through the principal streets of the town, accompanied with music and banners.
It is unnecessary to enter into any description of the works on the Newcastle and Berwick Railway. There are no fewer than 110 bridges of all sorts on the line—some under and some over it. But by far the most formidable piece of masonry work on this railway is at its northern extremity, where it passes across the Tweed into Scotland, immediately opposite the formerly redoubtable castle of Berwick. Not many centuries had passed since the district amidst which this bridge stands was the scene of almost constant warfare. Berwick was regarded as the key of Scotland, and was fiercely fought for, sometimes held by a Scotch and sometimes by an English garrison. Though strongly fortified, it was repeatedly taken by assault. On its capture by Edward I., Boetius says 17,000 persons were slain, so that its streets “ran with blood like a river.” Within sight of the ramparts, a little to the west, is Halidon Hill, where a famous victory was gained by Edward III., over the Scottish army under Douglas; and there is scarcely a foot of ground in the neighbourhood but has been the scene of contention in days long past. In the reigns of James I. and Charles I., a bridge of 15 arches was built across the Tweed at Berwick; and in our own day a railway-bridge of 28 arches has been built a little above the old one, but at a much higher level. The bridge built by the Kings, out of the national resources, cost £15,000, and occupied 24 years and 4 months in the building; the bridge built by the Railway Company, with funds drawn from private resources, cost £120,000, and was finished in 3 years and 4 months from the day of laying the foundation-stone.
The Royal Border Bridge, Berwick-upon-Tweed
This important viaduct, built after the design of Robert Stephenson, consists of a series of 28 semicircular arches, each 61 feet 6 inches in span, the greatest height above the bed of the river being 126 feet. The whole is built of ashlar, with a hearting of rubble; excepting the river parts of the arches, which are constructed with bricks laid in cement. The total length of the work is 2160 feet. The foundations of the piers were got in by coffer-dams in the ordinary way, Nasmyth’s steam-hammer being extensively used in driving the piles. The bearing piles, from which the foundations of the piers were built up, were each capable of carrying 70 tons.
Another bridge, of still greater importance, necessary to complete the continuity of the East Coast route, was the masterwork erected by Robert Stephenson between the north and south banks of the Tyne at Newcastle, commonly known as the High Level Bridge. Mr. R. W. Brandling, George Stephenson’s early friend, is entitled to the merit of originating the idea of this bridge as it was eventually carried out, with a central terminus for the northern railways in the Castle Garth. The plan was first promulgated by him in 1841; and in the following year it was resolved that George Stephenson should be consulted as to the most advisable site for the proposed structure. A prospectus of a High Level Bridge Company was issued in 1843, the names of George Stephenson and George Hudson appearing on the committee of management, Robert Stephenson being the consulting engineer. The project was eventually taken up by the Newcastle and Darlington Railway Company, and an Act for the construction of the bridge was obtained in 1845.
The rapid extension of railways had given an extraordinary stimulus to the art of bridge-building; the number of such structures erected in Great Britain alone, since 1830, having been above 25,000, or more than all that had before existed in the country. Instead of the erection a single large bridge constituting, as formerly, an epoch in engineering, hundreds of extensive bridges of novel design were simultaneously constructed. The necessity which existed for carrying rigid roads, capable of bearing heavy railway trains at high speeds, over extensive gaps free of support, rendered it obvious that the methods which had up to that time been employed for bridging space were altogether insufficient. The railway engineer could not, like the ordinary road engineer, divert his road and make choice of the best point for crossing a river or a valley. He must take such ground as lay in the line of his railway, be it bog, or mud, or shifting sand. Navigable rivers and crowded thoroughfares had to be crossed without interruption to the existing traffic, sometimes by bridges at right angles to the river or road, sometimes by arches more or less oblique. In many cases great difficulty arose from the limited nature of the headway; but, as the level of the original road must generally be preserved, and that of the railway was in a measure fixed and determined, it was necessary to modify the form and structure of the bridge, in almost every case, in order to comply with the public requirements. Novel conditions were met by fresh inventions, and difficulties of the most unusual character were one after another successfully surmounted. In executing these extraordinary works, iron has been throughout the sheet-anchor of the engineer. In its different forms of cast or wrought iron, it offered a valuable resource, where rapidity of execution, great strength, and cheapness of construction in the first instance, were elements of prime importance; and by its skilful use, the railway architect was enabled to achieve results which thirty years ago would scarcely have been thought possible.
In many of the early cast-iron bridges the old form of the arch was adopted, the stability of the structure depending wholly on compression, the only novel feature being the use of iron instead of stone. But in a large proportion of cases, the arch, with the railroad over it, was found inapplicable in consequence of the limited headway which it provided. Hence it early occurred to George Stephenson, when constructing the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, to adopt the simple cast-iron beam for the crossing of several roads and canals along that line—this beam resembling in some measure the lintel of the early temples—the pressure on the abutments being purely vertical. One of the earliest instances of this kind of bridge was that erected over Water Street, Manchester, in 1829; after which, cast-iron girders, with their lower webs considerably larger than their upper, were ordinarily employed where the span was moderate; and wrought-iron tie rods below were added to give increased strength where the span was greater.
The next step was the contrivance of arched beams or bowstring girders, firmly held together by horizontal ties to resist the thrust, instead of abutments. Numerous excellent specimens of this description of bridge were erected by Robert Stephenson on the original London and Birmingham Railway; but by far the grandest work of the kind—perfect as a specimen of modern constructive skill—was the High Level Bridge, which we owe to the genius of the same engineer.
The problem was, to throw a railway bridge across the deep ravine which lies between the towns of Newcastle and Gateshead, at the bottom of which flows the navigable river Tyne. Along and up the sides of the valley—on the Newcastle bank especially—run streets of old-fashioned houses, clustered together in the strange forms peculiar to the older cities. The ravine is of great depth—so deep and so gloomy-looking towards dusk, that local tradition records that when the Duke of Cumberland arrived late in the evening at the brow of the hill overlooking the Tyne, on his way to Culloden, he exclaimed to his attendants, on looking down into the black gorge before him, “For God’s sake, don’t think of taking me down that coal-pit at this time of night!” The road down the Gateshead High Street is almost as steep as the roof of a house, and up the Newcastle Side, as the street there is called, it is little better. During many centuries the traffic north and south passed along this dangerous and difficult route, over the old bridge which crosses the river in the bottom of the valley. For about 30 years the Newcastle Corporation had discussed various methods of improving the communication between the towns; and the discussion might have gone on for 30 years more, but for the advent of railways, when the skill and enterprise to which they gave birth speedily solved the difficulty and bridged the ravine. The local authorities adroitly took advantage of the opportunity, and insisted on the provision of a road for ordinary vehicles and foot passengers in addition to the railroad. In this circumstance originated one of the striking peculiarities of the High Level Bridge, which serves two purposes, being a railway above and a carriage roadway underneath.
The breadth of the river at the point of crossing is 515 feet, but the length of the bridge and viaduct between the Gateshead station and the terminus on the Newcastle side is about 4000 feet. It springs from Pipewell Gate Bank, on the south, directly across to Castle Garth, where, nearly fronting the bridge, stands the fine old Norman keep of the New Castle, now nearly 800 years old, and a little beyond it is the spire of St. Nicholas Church, with its light and graceful Gothic crown; the whole forming a grand architectural group of unusual historic interest. The bridge passes completely over the roofs of the houses which fill both sides of the valley; and the extraordinary height of the upper parapet, which is about 130 feet above the bed of the river, offers a prospect to the passing traveller the like of which is perhaps nowhere else to be seen. Far below are the queer chares and closes, the wynds and lanes of old Newcastle; the water is crowded with pudgy, black, coal keels; and, when there is a partial dispersion of the great smoke clouds which usually obscure the sky, the funnels of steamers and the masts of shipping may be seen far down the river. The old bridge lies so far beneath that the passengers crossing it seem like so many bees passing to and fro.
The first difficulty encountered in building the bridge was in securing a solid foundation for the piers. The dimensions of the piles to be driven were so huge, that the engineer found it necessary to employ some extraordinary means for the purpose. He called Nasmyth’s Titanic steam-hammer to his aid—the first occasion, we believe, on which this prodigious power was employed in bridge pile-driving. A temporary staging was erected for the steam-engine and hammer apparatus, which rested on two keels, and, notwithstanding the newness and stiffness of the machinery, the first pile was driven on the 6th October, 1846, to a depth of 32 feet, in four minutes. Two hammers of 30 cwt. each were kept in regular use, making from 60 to 70 strokes a minute; and the results were astounding to those who had been accustomed to the old style of pile-driving by means of the ordinary pile-frame, consisting of slide, ram, and monkey. By the old system, the pile was driven by a comparatively small mass of iron descending with great velocity from a considerable height—the velocity being in excess and the mass deficient, and calculated, like the momentum of a cannon-ball, rather for destructive than impulsive action. In the case of the steam pile-driver, on the contrary, the whole weight of a heavy mass is delivered rapidly upon a driving-block of several tons weight placed directly over the head of the pile, the weight never ceasing, and the blows being repeated at the rate of a blow a second, until the pile is driven home. It is a curious fact, that the rapid strokes of the steam-hammer evolved so much heat, that on many occasions the pile-head burst into flames during the process of driving. The elastic force of steam is the power that lifts the ram, the escape permitting its entire force to fall upon the head of the driving block; while the steam above the piston on the upper part of the cylinder, acting as a buffer or recoil-spring, materially enhances the effect of the downward blow. As soon as one pile was driven, the traveller, hovering overhead, presented another, and down it went into the solid bed of the river, with almost as much ease as a lady sticks pins into a cushion. By the aid of this powerful machine, pile-driving, formerly among the most costly and tedious of engineering operations, became easy, rapid, and comparatively economical.
When the piles had been driven and the coffer-dams formed and puddled, the water within the enclosed spaces was pumped out by the aid of powerful engines, so as, if possible, to lay bare the bed of the river. Considerable difficulty was experienced in getting in the foundations of the middle pier, in consequence of the water forcing itself through the quicksand beneath as fast as it was removed, This fruitless labour went on for months, and many expedients were tried. Chalk was thrown in in large quantities outside the piling, but without effect. Cement concrete was at last put within the coffer-dam, until it set, and the bottom was then found to be secure. A bed of concrete was laid up to the level of the heads of the piles, the foundation course of stone blocks being commenced about two feet below low water, and the building proceeded without further difficulty. It may serve to give an idea of the magnitude of the work, when we state that 400,000 cubic feet of ashlar, rubble, and concrete were worked up in the piers, and 450,000 cubic feet in the land-arches and approaches.
The most novel feature of the structure is the use of cast and wrought iron in forming the double bridge, which admirably combines the two principles of the arch and suspension; the railway being carried over the back of the ribbed arches in the usual manner, while the carriage-road and footpaths, forming a long gallery or aisle, are suspended from these arches by wrought-iron vertical rods, with horizontal tie-bars to resist the thrust. The suspension-bolts are enclosed within spandril pillars of cast iron, which give great stiffness to the superstructure. This system of longitudinal and vertical bracing has been much admired, for it not only accomplishes the primary object of securing rigidity in the roadway, but at the same time, by its graceful arrangement, heightens the beauty of the structure. The arches consist of four main ribs, disposed in pairs with a clear distance between the two inner arches of 20 feet 4 inches, forming the carriage-road, while between each of the inner and outer ribs there is a space of 6 feet 2 inches, constituting the footpaths. Each arch is cast in five separate lengths or segments, strongly bolted together. The ribs spring from horizontal plates of cast iron, bedded and secured on the stone piers. All the abutting joints were carefully executed by machinery, the fitting being of the most perfect kind. In order to provide for the expansion and contraction of the iron arching, and to preserve the equilibrium of the piers without disturbance or racking of the other parts of the bridge, it was arranged that the ribs of every two adjoining arches resting on the same pier should be secured to the springing-plates by keys and joggles; whilst on the next piers on either side, the ribs remained free and were at liberty to expand or contract according to temperature—a space being left for the purpose. Hence each arch is complete and independent in itself, the piers having simply to sustain their vertical pressure. There are six arches of 125 feet span each; the two approaches to the bridge being formed of cast-iron pillars and bearers in keeping with the arches.
High Level Bridge—Elevation of one Arch
The result is a bridge that for massive solidity may be pronounced unrivalled. It is perhaps the most magnificent and striking of all the bridges to which railways have given birth, and has been worthily styled “the King of railway structures.” It is a monument of the highest engineering skill of our time, with the impress of power grandly stamped upon it. It will also be observed, from the drawing placed as the frontispiece of this book, that the High Level Bridge forms a very fine object in a picture of great interest, full of striking architectural variety and beauty. The bridge was opened on the 15th August, 1849, and a few days after the royal train passed over it, halting for a few minutes to enable her Majesty to survey the wonderful scene below. In the course of the following year the Queen opened the extensive stone viaduct across the Tweed, above described, by which the last link was completed of the continuous line of railway between London and Edinburgh. Over the entrance to the Berwick station, occupying the site of the once redoubtable Border fortress, so often the deadly battle-ground of the ancient Scots and English, was erected an arch under which the royal train passed, bearing in large letters of gold the appropriate words, “The last act of the Union.”
The warders at Berwick no longer look out from the castle walls to descry the glitter of Southron spears. The bell-tower, from which the alarm was sounded of old, though still standing, is deserted; the only bell heard within the precincts of the old castle being the railway porter’s bell announcing the arrival and departure of trains. You see the Scotch express pass along the bridge and speed southward on the wings of steam. But no alarm spreads along the border now. Northumbrian beeves are safe. Chevy-Chase and Otterburn are quiet sheep-pastures. The only men at arms on the battlements of Alnwick Castle are of stone. Bamborough Castle has become an asylum for shipwrecked mariners, and the Norman Keep at Newcastle has been converted into a Museum of Antiquities. The railway has indeed consummated the Union.
We have now to describe briefly another great undertaking, begun by George Stephenson, and taken up and completed by his son, in the course of which the latter carried out some of his greatest works—we mean the Chester and Holyhead Railway, completing the railway connection with Dublin, as the Newcastle and Berwick line completed the connection with Edinburgh. It will thus be seen how closely Telford was followed by the Stephensons in perfecting the highways of their respective epochs; the former by means of turnpike-roads, and the latter by means of railways.
George Stephenson surveyed a line from Chester to Holyhead in 1838, and at the same time reported on the line through North Wales to Port Dynllaen, proposed by the Irish Railway Commissioners. His advice was strongly in favour of adopting the line to Holyhead, as less costly and presenting better gradients. A public meeting was held at Chester, in January, 1839, in support of the latter measure, at which he was present to give explanations. Mr. Uniacke, the Mayor, in opening the proceedings, said that Mr. Stephenson was present, ready to answer any questions which might be put to him on the subject; and it was judiciously remarked that “it would be better that he should be asked questions than required to make a speech; for, though a very good engineer, he was a bad speaker.” One of the questions then put to Mr. Stephenson related to the mode by which he proposed to haul the passenger carriages over the Menai Suspension Bridge by horse power; and he was asked whether he knew the pressure the bridge was capable of sustaining. His answer was, that “he had not yet made any calculations; but he proposed getting data which would enable him to arrive at an accurate calculation of the actual strain upon the bridge during the late gale. He had, however, no hesitation in saying that it was more than twenty times as much as the strain of a train of carriages and a locomotive engine. The only reason why he proposed to convey the carriages over by horses, was in order that he might, by distributing the weight, not increase the wavy motion. All the train would be on at once; but distributed. This he thought better than passing them, linked together, by a locomotive engine.” It will thus be observed that the practicability of throwing a rigid railway bridge across the Straits had not yet been contemplated.
The Dublin Chamber of Commerce passed resolutions in favour of Stephenson’s line, after hearing his explanation of its essential features. The project, after undergoing much discussion, was at length embodied in an Act passed in 1844; and the work was brought to a successful completion by his son, with several important modifications, including the grand original feature of the tubular bridges across the Menai Straits and the estuary of the Conway. Excepting these great works, the construction of this line presented no unusual features; though the remarkable terrace cut for the accommodation of the railway under the steep slope of Penmaen Mawr is worthy of a passing notice.
About midway between Conway and Bangor, Penmaen Mawr forms a bold and almost precipitous headland, at the base of which, in rough weather, the ocean dashes with great fury. There was not space enough between the mountain and the strand for the passage of the railway; hence in some places the rock had to be blasted to form a terrace, and in others sea-walls had to be built up to the proper level, on which to form an embankment of sufficient width to enable the road to be laid. Penmaen Mawr. (By Percival Skelton.) A tunnel 10½ chains in length was cut through the headland itself; and on its east and west sides the line was formed by a terrace cut out of the cliff, and by embankments protected by sea walls; the terrace being three times interrupted by embankments in its course of about 1¼ mile. The road lies so close under the steep mountain face, that it was even found necessary at certain places to protect it against possible accidents from falling stones, by means of a covered way. The terrace on the east side of the headland was, however, in some measure protected against the roll of the sea by the mass of stone run out from the tunnel, and forming a deep shingle bank in front of the wall.
The part of the work which lies on the westward of the headland penetrated by the tunnel, was exposed to the full force of the sea; and the formation of the road at that point was attended with great difficulty. While the sea wall was still in progress, its strength was severely tried by a strong north-westerly gale, which blew in October, 1846, with a spring tide of 17 feet. On the following morning it was found that a large portion of the rubble was irreparably injured, and 200 yards of the wall were then replaced by an open viaduct, with the piers placed edgeways to the sea, the openings between them being spanned by ten cast-iron girders each 42 feet long. This accident induced the engineer to alter the contour of the sea wall, so that it should present a diminished resistance to the force of the waves. But the sea repeated its assaults, and made further havoc with the work; entailing heavy expenses and a complete reorganisation of the contract. Increased solidity was then given to the masonry, and the face of the wall underwent further change. At some points outworks were constructed, and piles were driven into the beach about 15 feet from the base of the wall, for the purpose of protecting its foundations and breaking the force of the waves. The work was at length finished after about three years’ anxious labour; but Mr. Stephenson confessed that if a long tunnel had been made in the first instance through the solid rock of Penmaen Mawr, a saving of from £25,000 to £30,000 would have been effected. He also said he had arrived at the conclusion that in railway works engineers should endeavour as far as possible to avoid the necessity of contending with the sea; [324] but if he were ever again compelled to go within its reach, he would adopt, instead of retaining walls, an open viaduct, placing all the piers edgeways to the force of the sea, and allowing the waves to break upon a natural slope of beach. He was ready enough to admit the errors he had committed in the original design of this work; but he said he had always gained more information from studying the causes of failures and endeavouring to surmount them than he had done from easily-won successes. Whilst many of the latter had been forgotten, the former were indelibly fixed in his memory.
But by far the greatest difficulty which Robert Stephenson had to encounter in executing this railway, was in carrying it across the Straits of Menai and the estuary of the Conway, where, like his predecessor Telford when forming his high road through North Wales, he was under the necessity of resorting to new and altogether untried methods of bridge construction. At Menai the waters of the Irish Sea are perpetually vibrating along the precipitous shores of the strait; rising and falling from 20 to 25 feet at each successive tide; the width and depth of the channel being such as to render it available for navigation by the largest ships. The problem was, to throw a bridge across this wide chasm—a bridge of unusual span and dimensions—of such strength as to be capable of bearing the heaviest loads at high speeds, and at such a uniform height throughout as not in any way to interfere with the navigation of the Strait. From an early period, Mr. Stephenson had fixed upon the spot where the Britannia Rock occurs, nearly in the middle of the channel, as the most eligible point for crossing; the water-width from shore to shore at high water there being about 1100 feet. His first idea was to construct the bridge of two cast-iron arches, each of 350 feet span. There was no novelty in this idea; for, as early as the year 1801, Mr. Rennie prepared a design of a cast-iron bridge across the Strait at the Swilly rocks, the great centre arch of which was to be 450 feet span; and at a later period, in 1810, Telford submitted a design of a similar bridge at Inys-y-Moch, with a single cast-iron arch of 500 feet. But the same objections which led to the rejection of Rennie’s and Telford’s designs, proved fatal to Robert Stephenson’s, and his iron-arched railway bridge was rejected by the Admiralty. The navigation of the Strait was under no circumstances to be interfered with; and even the erection of scaffolding from below, to support the bridge during construction, was not to be permitted. The idea of a suspension bridge was dismissed as inapplicable; a degree of rigidity and strength, greater than could be secured by any bridge constructed on the principle of suspension, being considered an indispensable condition of the proposed structure.
Various other plans were suggested; but the whole question remained unsettled even down to the time when the Company went before Parliament, in 1844, for power to construct the proposed bridges. No existing kind of structure seemed to be capable of bearing the fearful extension to which rigid bridges of the necessary spans would be subjected; and some new expedient of engineering therefore became necessary.
Mr. Stephenson was then led to reconsider a design which he had made in 1841 for a road bridge over the river Lea at Ware, with a span of 50 feet,—the conditions only admitting of a platform 18 or 20 inches thick. For this purpose a wrought-iron platform was designed, consisting of a series of simple cells, formed of boiler-plates riveted together with angle-iron. The bridge was not, however, carried out after this design, but was made of separate wrought-iron girders composed of riveted plates. Recurring to his first idea of this bridge, Mr. Stephenson thought that a stiff platform might be constructed, with sides of strongly trussed frame-work of wrought-iron, braced together at top and bottom with plates of like material riveted together with angle-iron; and that such platform might be suspended by strong chains on either side to give it increased security. “It was now,” says Mr. Stephenson, “that I came to regard the tubular platform as a beam, and that the chains should be looked upon as auxiliaries.” It appeared, nevertheless, that without a system of diagonal struts inside, which of course would have prevented the passage of trains through it, this kind of structure was ill-suited for maintaining its form, and would be very liable to become lozenge-shaped. Besides, the rectangular figure was deemed objectionable, from the large surface which it presented to the wind.
It then occurred to him that circular or elliptical tubes might better answer the intended purpose; and in March, 1845, he gave instructions to two of his assistants to prepare drawings of such a structure, the tubes being made with a double thickness of plate at top and bottom. The results of the calculations made as to the strength of such a tube, were considered so satisfactory, that Mr. Stephenson says he determined to fall back on a bridge of this description, on the rejection of his design of the two cast-iron arches by the Parliamentary Committee. Indeed, it became evident that a tubular wrought-iron beam was the only structure which combined the necessary strength and stability for a railway, with the conditions deemed essential for the protection of the navigation. “I stood,” says Mr. Stephenson, “on the verge of a responsibility from which, I confess, I had nearly shrunk. The construction of a tubular beam of such gigantic dimensions, on a platform elevated and supported by chains at such a height, did at first present itself as a difficulty of a very formidable nature. Reflection, however, satisfied me that the principles upon which the idea was founded were nothing more than an extension of those daily in use in the profession of the engineer. The method, moreover, of calculating the strength of the structure which I had adopted, was of the simplest and most elementary character; and whatever might be the form of the tube, the principle on which the calculations were founded was equally applicable, and could not fail to lead to equally accurate results.” [327] Mr. Stephenson accordingly announced to the directors of the railway that he was prepared to carry out a bridge of this general description, and they adopted his views, though not without considerable misgivings.
While the engineer’s mind was still occupied with the subject, an accident occurred to the Prince of Wales iron steamship, at Blackwall, which singularly corroborated his views as to the strength of wrought-iron beams of large dimensions. When this vessel was being launched, the cleet on the bow gave way, in consequence of the bolts breaking, and let the vessel down so that the bilge came in contact with the wharf, and she remained suspended between the water and the wharf for a length of about 110 feet, but without any injury to the plates of the ship; satisfactorily proving the great strength of this form of construction. Thus, Mr. Stephenson became gradually confirmed in his opinion that the most feasible method of bridging the strait at Menai and the river at Conway was by means of a hollow beam of wrought-iron. As the time was approaching for giving evidence before Parliament on the subject, it was necessary for him to settle some definite plan for submission to the committee. “My late revered father,” says he, “having always taken a deep interest in the various proposals which had been considered for carrying a railway across the Menai Straits, requested me to explain fully to him the views which led me to suggest the use of a tube, and also the nature of the calculations I had made in reference to it. It was during this personal conference that Mr. William Fairbairn accidentally called upon me, to whom I also explained the principles of the structure I had proposed. He at once acquiesced in their truth, and expressed confidence in the feasibility of my project, giving me at the same time some facts relative to the remarkable strength of iron steamships, and invited me to his works at Millwall, to examine the construction of an iron steamship which was then in progress.” The date of this consultation was early in April, 1845, and Mr. Fairbairn states that, on that occasion, “Mr. Stephenson asked whether such a design was practicable, and whether I could accomplish it: and it was ultimately arranged that the subject should be investigated experimentally, to determine not only the value of Mr. Stephenson’s original conception (of a circular or egg-shaped wrought-iron tube, supported by chains), but that of any other tubular form of bridge which might present itself in the prosecution of my researches. The matter was placed unreservedly in my hands; the entire conduct of the investigation was entrusted to me; and, as an experimenter, I was to be left free to exercise my own discretion in the investigation of whatever forms or conditions of the structure might appear to me best calculated to secure a safe passage across the Straits.” [329a] Mr. Fairbairn then proceeded to construct a number of experimental models for the purpose of testing the strength of tubes of different forms. The short period which elapsed, however, before the bill was in committee, did not admit of much progress being made with those experiments; but from the evidence in chief given by Mr. Stephenson on the subject, on the 5th May following, it appears that the idea which prevailed in his mind was that of a bridge with openings of 450 feet (afterwards increased to 460 feet); with a roadway formed of a hollow wrought-iron beam, about 25 feet in diameter, presenting a rigid platform, suspended by chains. At the same time, he expressed the confident opinion that a tube of wrought iron would possess sufficient strength and rigidity to support a railway train running inside of it without the help of the chains.
While the bill was still in progress, Mr. Fairbairn proceeded with his experiments. He first tested tubes of a cylindrical form, in consequence of the favourable opinion entertained by Mr. Stephenson of the tubes in that shape, extending them subsequently to those of an elliptical form. [329b] He found tubes thus shaped more or less defective, and proceeded to test those of a rectangular kind. After the bill had received the royal assent on the 30th June, 1845, the directors of the company, with great liberality, voted a sum for the purpose of enabling the experiments to be prosecuted, and upwards of £6000 were thus expended to make the assurance of their engineer doubly sure. Mr. Fairbairn’s tests were of the most elaborate and eventually conclusive character, bringing to light many new and important facts of great practical value. The due proportions and thicknesses of the top, bottom, and sides of the tubes were arrived at after a vast number of trials; one of the results of the experiments being the adoption of Mr. Fairbairn’s invention of rectangular hollow cells in the top of the beam for the purpose of giving it the requisite degree of strength. About the end of August it was thought desirable to obtain the assistance of a mathematician, who should prepare a formula by which the strength of a full-sized tube might be calculated from the results of the experiments made with tubes of smaller dimensions. Professor Hodgkinson was accordingly called in, and he proceeded to verify and confirm the experiments which Mr. Fairbairn had made, and afterwards reduced them to the required formula.
Mr. Stephenson’s time was so much engrossed with his extensive engineering business that he was in a great measure precluded from devoting himself to the consideration of the practical details. The results of the experiments were communicated to him from time to time, and were regarded by him as exceedingly satisfactory. It would appear, however, that while Mr. Fairbairn urged the rigidity and strength of the tubes without the aid of chains, Mr. Stephenson had not quite made up his mind upon the point. Mr. Hodgkinson, also, was strongly inclined to retain them. Mr. Fairbairn held that it was quite practicable to make the tubes “sufficiently strong to sustain not only their own weight, but, in addition to that load, 2000 tons equally distributed over the surface of the platform,—a load ten times greater than they will ever be called upon to support.”
It was thoroughly characteristic of Mr. Stephenson, and of the caution with which he proceeded in every step of this great undertaking—probing every inch of the ground before he set down his foot upon it—that he should, early in 1856, (sic) have appointed his able assistant, Mr. Edwin Clark, to scrutinise carefully the results of every experiment, and subject them to a separate and independent analysis before finally deciding upon the form or dimensions of the structure, or upon any mode of procedure connected with it. At length Mr. Stephenson became satisfied that the use of auxiliary chains was unnecessary, and that the tubular bridge might be made of such strength as to be entirely self-supporting.
While these important discussions were in progress, measures were taken to proceed with the masonry of the bridges simultaneously at Conway and the Menai Straits. The foundation-stone of the Britannia Bridge was laid on the 10th April, 1846; and on the 12th May following that of the Conway Bridge was laid. Suitable platforms and workshops were also erected for proceeding with the punching, fitting, and riveting of the tubes; and when these operations were in full progress, the neighbourhood of the Conway and Britannia Bridges presented scenes of extraordinary bustle and industry. About 1500 men were employed on the Britannia Bridge alone, and they mostly lived upon the ground in wooden cottages erected for the occasion. The iron plates were brought in ship-loads from Liverpool, Anglesey marble from Penmon, and red sandstone from Runcorn, in Cheshire, as wind and tide, and shipping and convenience, might determine. There was an unremitting clank of hammers, grinding of machinery, and blasting of rock, going on from morning till night. In fitting the Britannia tubes together, not less than 2,000,000 of bolts were riveted, weighing some 900 tons.
The Britannia Bridge consists of two independent continuous tubular beams, each 1511 feet in length, and each weighing 4680 tons, independent of the cast-iron frames inserted at their bearings on the masonry of the towers. These immense beams are supported at five places, namely, on the abutments and on three towers, the central of which is known as the Great Britannia Tower, 230 feet high, built on a rock in the middle of the Strait. The side towers are 18 feet less in height than the central one, and the abutment 35 feet lower than the side towers. The design of the masonry is such as to accord with the form of the tubes, being somewhat of an Egyptian character, massive and gigantic rather than beautiful, but bearing the unmistakable impress of power.
The bridge has four spans,—two of 460 feet over the water, and two of 230 feet over the land. The weight of the larger spans, at the points where the tubes repose on the masonry, is not less than 1587 tons. On the centre tower the tubes rest solid; but on the land towers and abutments they lie on roller-beds, so as to allow of expansion and contraction. The road within each tube is 15 feet wide, and the height varies from 23 feet at the ends to 30 feet at the centre. To give an idea of the vast size of the tubes by comparison with other structures, it may be mentioned that each length constituting the main spans is twice as long as London Monument is high; and if it could be set on end in St. Paul’s Churchyard, it would reach nearly 100 feet above the cross.
The Conway Bridge is, in most respects, similar to the Britannia, consisting of two tubes, of 400 feet span, placed side by side, each weighing 1180 tons. The principle adopted in the construction of the tubes, and the mode of floating and raising them, were nearly the same as at the Britannia Bridge, though the general arrangement of the plates is in many respects different.
It was determined to construct the shorter outer tubes of the Britannia Bridge on scaffoldings in the positions in which they were permanently to remain, and to erect the larger tubes upon wooden platforms at high-water-mark on the Caernarvon shore, from whence they were to be floated in pontoons.
The floating of the tubes on pontoons, from the places where they had been constructed, to the recesses in the masonry of the towers, up which they were to be hoisted to the positions they were permanently to occupy, was an anxious and exciting operation. The first part of this process was performed at Conway, where Mr. Stephenson directed it in person, assisted by Captain Claxton, Mr. Brunel, and other engineering friends. On the 6th March, 1848, the pontoons bearing the first great tube of the up-line were floated round quietly and majestically into their place between the towers in about twenty minutes. Unfortunately, one of the sets of pontoons had become slightly slued by the stream, by which the Conway end of the tube was prevented from being brought home; and five anxious days to all concerned intervened before it could be set in its place. In the mean time, the presses and raising machinery had been fitted in the towers above, and the lifting process was begun on the 8th April, when the immense mass was raised 8 feet, at the rate of about 2 inches a minute. On the 16th, the tube had been raised and finally lowered into its permanent bed; the rails were laid along it; and, on the 18th, Mr. Stephenson passed through with the first locomotive. The second tube was proceeded with on the removal of the first from the platform, and was completed and floated in seven months. The rapidity with which this second tube was constructed was in no small degree owing to the Jacquard punching-machine, contrived for the purpose by Mr. Roberts of Manchester. This tube was finally fixed in its permanent bed on the 2nd of January, 1849.
The floating and fixing of the great Britannia tubes was a still more formidable enterprise, though the experience gained at Conway rendered it easy compared with what it otherwise would have been. Mr. Stephenson superintended the operation of floating the first in person, giving the arranged signals from the top of the tube on which he was mounted, the active part of the business being performed by a numerous corps of sailors, under the immediate direction of Captain Claxton. Thousands of spectators lined the shores of the Strait on the evening of the 19th June, 1849. On the land attachments being cut, the pontoons began to float off; but one of the capstans having given way from excessive strain, the tube was brought home again for the night. By next morning the defective capstan was restored, and all was in readiness for another trial. At half-past seven in the evening the tube was afloat, and the pontoons swung out into the current like a monster pendulum, held steady by the shore guide-lines, but increasing in speed to almost a fearful extent as they neared their destined place between the piers. “The success of this operation,” says Mr. Clark, “depended mainly on properly striking the ‘butt’ beneath the Anglesey tower, on which, as upon a centre, the tube was to be veered round into its position across the opening. This position was determined by a 12-inch line, which was to be paid out to a fixed mark from the Llanfair capstan. The coils of the rope unfortunately over-rode each other upon this capstan, so that it could not be paid out. In resisting the motion of the tube, the capstan was bodily dragged out of the platform by the action of the palls, and the tube was in imminent danger of being carried away by the stream, or the pontoons crushed upon the rocks. The men at the capstan were all knocked down, and some of them thrown into the water, though they made every exertion to arrest the motion of the capstan-bars. In this dilemma Mr. Rolfe, who had charge of the capstan, with great presence of mind, called the visitors on shore to his assistance; and handing out the spare coil of the 12-inch line into the field at the back of the capstan, it was carried with great rapidity up the field, and a crowd of people, men, women, and children, holding on to this huge cable, arresting the progress of the tube, which was at length brought safely against the butt and veered round. The Britannia end was then drawn into the recess of the masonry by a chain passing through the tower to a crab on the far side. The violence of the tide abated, though the wind increased, and the Anglesey end was drawn into its place beneath the corbelling in the masonry; and as the tide went down, the pontoons deposited their valuable cargo on the welcome shelf at each end. The successful issue was greeted by cannon from the shore and the hearty cheers of many thousands of spectators, whose sympathy and anxiety were but too clearly indicated by the unbroken silence with which the whole operation had been accompanied.” [335] By midnight all the pontoons had been got clear of the tube, which now hung suspended over the waters of the Strait by its two ends, which rested upon the edges cut in the rock for the purpose at the base of the Britannia and Anglesey towers respectively, up which the tube had now to be lifted by hydraulic power to its permanent place near the summit. The accuracy with which the gigantic beam had been constructed may be inferred from the fact that, after passing into its place, a clear space remained between the iron plating and the rock outside of it of only about three-quarters of an inch!
Mr. Stephenson’s anxiety was, of course, very great up to the time of performing this trying operation. When he had got the first tube floated at Conway, and saw all safe, he said to Captain Moorsom, “Now I shall go to bed.” But the Britannia Bridge was a still more difficult enterprise, and cost him many a sleepless night. Afterwards describing his feelings to his friend Mr. Gooch, he said: “It was a most anxious and harassing time with me. Often at night I would lie tossing about, seeking sleep in vain. The tubes filled my head. I went to bed with them and got up with them. In the grey of the morning, when I looked across the Square, [336] it seemed an immense distance across to the houses on the opposite side. It was nearly the same length as the span of my tubular bridge!” When the first tube had been floated, a friend observed to him, “This great work has made you ten years older.” “I have not slept sound,” he replied, “for three weeks.” Sir F. Head, however relates, that when he revisited the spot on the following morning, he observed, sitting on a platform overlooking the suspended tube, a gentleman, reclining entirely by himself, smoking a cigar, and gazing, as if indolently, at the aërial gallery beneath him. It was the engineer himself, contemplating his new born child. He had strolled down from the neighbouring village, after his first sound and refreshing sleep for weeks, to behold in sunshine and solitude, that which during a weary period of gestation had been either mysteriously moving in his brain, or, like a vision—sometimes of good omen, and sometimes of evil—had, by night as well as by day, been flitting across his mind.
The next process was the lifting of the tube into its place, which was performed very deliberately and cautiously. It was raised by powerful hydraulic presses, only a few feet at a time, and carefully under-built, before being raised to a farther height. When it had been got up by successive stages of this kind to about 24 feet, an extraordinary accident occurred, during Mr. Stephenson’s absence in London, which he afterwards described to the author in as nearly as possible the following words:—“In a work of such novelty and magnitude, you may readily imagine how anxious I was that every possible contingency should be provided for. Where one chain or rope was required, I provided two. I was not satisfied with ‘enough:’ I must have absolute security, as far as that was possible. I knew the consequences of failure would be most disastrous to the Company, and that the wisest economy was to provide for all contingencies at whatever cost. When the first tube at the Britannia had been successfully floated between the piers, ready for being raised, my young engineers were very much elated; and when the hoisting apparatus had been fixed, they wrote to me saying,—‘We are now all ready for raising her: we could do it in a day, or in two at the most. But my reply was, ‘No: you must only raise the tube inch by inch, and you must build up under it as you rise. Every inch must be made good. Nothing must be left to chance or good luck.’ And fortunate it was that I insisted upon this cautious course being pursued; for, one day, while the hydraulic presses were at work, the bottom of one of them burst clean away! The crosshead and the chains, weighing more than 50 tons, descended with a fearful crash upon the press, and the tube itself fell down upon the packing beneath. Though the fall of the tube was not more than nine inches, it crushed solid castings, weighing tons, as if they had been nuts. The tube itself was slightly strained and deflected, though it still remained sufficiently serviceable. But it was a tremendous test to which it was put, for a weight of upwards of 5000 tons falling even a few inches must be admitted to be a very serious matter. That it stood so well was extraordinary. Clark immediately wrote me an account of the circumstance, in which he said, ‘Thank God, you have been so obstinate. For if this accident had occurred without a bed for the end of the tube to fall on, the whole would now have been lying across the bottom of the Straits.’ Five thousand pounds extra expense was caused by this accident, slight though it might seem. But careful provision was made against future failure; a new and improved cylinder was provided: and the work was very soon advancing satisfactorily towards completion.”
When the Queen first visited the Britannia Bridge, on her return from the North in 1852, Robert Stephenson accompanied Her Majesty and Prince Albert over the works, explaining the principles on which the bridge had been built, and the difficulties which had attended its erection. He conducted the Royal party to near the margin of the sea, and, after describing to them the incident of the fall of the tube, and the reason of its preservation, he pointed with pardonable pride to a pile of stones which the workmen had there raised to commemorate the event. While nearly all the other marks of the work during its progress had been obliterated, that cairn had been left standing in commemoration of the caution and foresight of their chief.
The floating and raising of the remaining tubes need not be described in detail. The second was floated on the 3rd December, and set in its permanent place on the 7th January, 1850. The others were floated and raised in due course. On the 5th March, Mr. Stephenson put the last rivet in the last tube, and passed through the completed bridge, accompanied by about a thousand persons, drawn by three locomotives. The bridge was opened for public traffic on the 18th March. The cost of the whole work was £234,450.
The Britannia Bridge. (By Percival Skelton)
The Britannia Bridge is one of the most remarkable monuments of the enterprise and skill of the present century. Robert Stephenson was the master spirit of the undertaking. To him belongs the merit of first seizing the ideal conception of the structure best adapted to meet the necessities of the case; and of selecting the best men to work out his idea, himself watching, controlling, and testing every result, by independent check and counter-check. And finally, he organised and directed, through his assistants, the vast band of skilled workmen and labourers who were for so many years occupied in carrying his magnificent original conception to a successful practical issue. As he himself said of the work,—“The true and accurate calculation of all the conditions and elements essential to the safety of the bridge had been a source not only of mental but of bodily toil; including, as it did, a combination of abstract thought and well-considered experiment adequate to the magnitude of the project.”
The Britannia Bridge was the result of a vast combination of skill and industry. But for the perfection of our tools and the ability of our mechanics to use them to the greatest advantage; but for the matured powers of the steam-engine; but for the improvements in the iron manufacture, which enabled blooms to be puddled of sizes before deemed impracticable, and plates and bars of immense size to be rolled and forged; but for these, the Britannia Bridge would have been designed in vain. Thus, it was not the product of the genius of the railway engineer alone, but of the collective mechanical genius of the English nation.
Conway Bridge.—Floating the First Tube
In describing the completion of the series of great works detailed in the preceding chapter, we have somewhat anticipated the closing years of George Stephenson’s life. He could not fail to take an anxious interest in the success of his son’s designs, and he accordingly paid many visits to Conway and to Menai, during the progress of the works. He was present on the occasion of the floating and raising of the first Conway tube, and there witnessed a clear proof of the soundness of Robert’s judgment as to the efficiency and strength of the tubular bridge, of which he had at first expressed some doubts; but before the like test could be applied at the Britannia Bridge, George Stephenson’s mortal anxieties were at an end, for he had then ceased from all his labours.
Towards the close of his life, George Stephenson almost entirely withdrew from the active pursuit of his profession; he devoted himself chiefly to his extensive collieries and lime-works, taking a local interest only in such projected railways as were calculated to open up new markets for their products.
At home he lived the life of a country gentleman, enjoying his garden and grounds, and indulging his love of nature, which, through all his busy life, had never left him. It was not until the year 1845 that he took an active interest in horticultural pursuits. Then he began to build new melon-houses, pineries, and vineries, of great extent; and he now seemed as eager to excel all other growers of exotic plants in his neighbourhood, as he had been to surpass the villagers of Killingworth in the production of gigantic cabbages and cauliflowers some thirty years before. He had a pine-house built 68 feet in length and a pinery 140 feet. Workmen were constantly employed in enlarging them, until at length he had no fewer than ten glass forcing-houses, heated with hot water, which he was one of the first in that neighbourhood to make use of for such a purpose. He did not take so much pleasure in flowers as in fruits. At one of the county agricultural meetings, he said that he intended yet to grow pineapples at Tapton as big as pumpkins. The only man to whom he would “knock under” was his friend Paxton, the gardener to the Duke of Devonshire; and he was so old in the service, and so skilful, that he could scarcely hope to beat him. Yet his “Queen” pines did take the first prize at a competition with the Duke,—though this was not until shortly after his death, when the plants had become more fully grown. His grapes also took the first prize at Rotherham, at a competition open to all England. He was extremely successful in producing melons, having invented a method of suspending them in baskets of wire gauze, which, by relieving the stalk from tension, allowed nutrition to proceed more freely, and better enabled the fruit to grow and ripen.
He took much pride also in his growth of cucumbers. He raised them very fine and large, but he could not make them grow straight. Place them as he would, notwithstanding all his propping of them, and humouring them by modifying the application of heat and the admission of light for the purpose of effecting his object, they would still insist on growing crooked in their own way. At last he had a number of glass cylinders made at Newcastle, for the purpose of an experiment; into these the growing cucumbers were inserted, and then he succeeded in growing them perfectly straight. Carrying one of the new products into his house one day, and exhibiting it to a party of visitors, he told them of the expedient he had adopted, and added gleefully, “I think I have bothered them noo!”
Mr. Stephenson also carried on farming operations with some success. He experimented on manure, and fed cattle after methods of his own. He was very particular as to breed and build in stock-breeding. “You see, sir,” he said to one gentleman, “I like to see the coo’s back at a gradient something like this” (drawing an imaginary line with his hand), “and then the ribs or girders will carry more flesh than if they were so—or so.” When he attended the county agricultural meetings, which he frequently did, he was accustomed to take part in the discussions, and he brought the same vigorous practical mind to bear upon questions of tillage, drainage, and farm economy, which he had been accustomed to exercise on mechanical and engineering matters.
All his early affection for birds and animals revived. He had favourite dogs, and cows, and horses; and again he began to keep rabbits, and to pride himself on the beauty of his breed. There was not a bird’s nest upon the grounds that he did not know of; and from day to day he went round watching the progress which the birds made with their building, carefully guarding them from injury. No one was more minutely acquainted with the habits of British birds, the result of a long, loving, and close observation of nature.
At Tapton he remembered the failure of his early experiment in hatching birds’ eggs by heat, and he now performed it successfully, being able to secure a proper apparatus for maintaining a uniform temperature. He was also curious about the breeding and fattening of fowls; and when his friend Edward Pease of Darlington visited him at Tapton, he explained a method which he had invented for fattening chickens in half the usual time.
Mrs. Stephenson tried to keep bees, but found they would not thrive at Tapton. Many hives perished, and there was no case of success. The cause of failure was a puzzle to the engineer; but one day his acute powers of observation enabled him to unravel it. At the foot of the hill on which Tapton House stands, he saw some bees trying to rise up from amongst the grass, laden with honey and wax. They were already exhausted, as if with long flying; and then it occurred to him that the height at which the house stood above the bees’ feeding-ground rendered it difficult for them to reach their hives when heavy laden, and hence they sank exhausted. He afterwards incidentally mentioned the circumstance to Mr. Jesse the naturalist, who concurred in his view as to the cause of failure, and was much struck by the keen observation which had led to its solution.
Mr. Stephenson had none of the in-door habits of the student. He read very little; for reading is a habit which is generally acquired in youth; and his youth and manhood had been for the most part spent in hard work. Books wearied him, and sent him to sleep. Novels excited his feelings too much, and he avoided them, though he would occasionally read through a philosophical book on a subject in which he felt particularly interested. He wrote very few letters with his own hand; nearly all his letters were dictated, and he avoided even dictation when he could. His greatest pleasure was in conversation, from which he gathered most of his imparted information.
It was his practice, when about to set out on a journey by railway, to walk along the train before it started, and look into the carriages to see if he could find “a conversable face.” On one of these occasions, at the Euston Station, he discovered in a carriage a very handsome, manly, and intelligent face, which he afterwards found was that of the late Lord Denman. He was on his way down to his seat at Stony Middleton, in Derbyshire. Mr. Stephenson entered the carriage, and the two were shortly engaged in interesting conversation. It turned upon chronometry and horology, and the engineer amazed his lordship by the extent of his knowledge on the subject, in which he displayed as much minute information, even down to the latest improvements in watchmaking, as if he had been bred a watchmaker and lived by the trade. Lord Denman was curious to know how a man whose time must have been mainly engrossed by engineering, had gathered so much knowledge on a subject quite out of his own line, and he asked the question. “I learnt clockmaking and watchmaking,” was the answer, “while a working man at Killingworth, when I made a little money in my spare hours, by cleaning the pitmen’s clocks and watches; and since then I have kept up my information on the subject.” This led to further questions, and then Mr. Stephenson told Lord Denman the interesting story of his life, which held him entranced during the remainder of the journey.
Many of his friends readily accepted invitations to Tapton House to enjoy his hospitality, which never failed. With them he would “fight his battles o’er again,” reverting to his battle for the locomotive; and he was never tired of telling, nor were his auditors of listening to, the lively anecdotes with which he was accustomed to illustrate the struggles of his early career. Whilst walking in the woods or through the grounds, he would arrest his friend’s attention by allusion to some simple object,—such as a leaf, a blade of grass, a bit of bark, a nest of birds, or an ant carrying its eggs across the path,—and descant in glowing terms upon the creative power of the Divine Mechanician, whose contrivances were so exhaustless and so wonderful. This was a theme upon which he was often accustomed to dwell in reverential admiration, when in the society of his more intimate friends.
One night, when walking under the stars, and gazing up into the field of suns, each the probable centre of a system, forming the Milky Way, a friend said to him, “What an insignificant creature is man in sight of so immense a creation as that!” “Yes!” was his reply; “but how wonderful a creature also is man, to be able to think and reason, and even in some measure to comprehend works so infinite!”
A microscope, which he had brought down to Tapton, was a source of immense enjoyment to him; and he was never tired of contemplating the minute wonders which it revealed. One evening, when some friends were visiting him, he induced them each to puncture their skin so as to draw blood, in order that he might examine the globules through the microscope. One of the gentlemen present was a teetotaller, and Mr. Stephenson pronounced his blood to be the most lively of the whole. He had a theory of his own about the movement of the globules in the blood, which has since become familiar. It was, that they were respectively charged with electricity, positive at one end and negative at the other, and that thus they attracted and repelled each other, causing a circulation. No sooner did he observe anything new, than he immediately set about devising a reason for it. His training in mechanics, his practical familiarity with matter in all its forms, and the strong bent of his mind, led him first of all to seek for a mechanical explanation. And yet he was ready to admit that there was a something in the principle of life—so mysterious and inexplicable—which baffled mechanics, and seemed to dominate over and control them. He did not care much, either, for abstruse mechanics, but only for the experimental and practical, as is usually the case with those whose knowledge has been self-acquired.
Even at his advanced age, the spirit of frolic had not left him. When proceeding from Chesterfield station to Tapton House with his friends, he would almost invariably challenge them to a race up the steep path, partly formed of stone steps, along the hill side. And he would struggle, as of old, to keep the front place, though by this time his “wind” had greatly failed. He would occasionally invite an old friend to take a quiet wrestle with him on the lawn, to keep up his skill, and perhaps to try some new “knack” of throwing. In the evening, he would sometimes indulge his visitors by reciting the old pastoral of “Damon and Phyllis,” or singing his favourite song of “John Anderson my Joe.” But his greatest glory amongst those with whom he was most intimate, was a “crowdie!” “Let’s have a crowdie night,” he would say; and forthwith a kettle of boiling water was ordered in, with a basin of oatmeal. Taking a large bowl, containing a sufficiency of hot water, and placing it between his knees, he poured in oatmeal with one hand, and stirred the mixture vigorously with the other. When enough meal had been added, and the stirring was completed, the crowdie was made. It was then supped with new milk, and Stephenson generally pronounced it “capital!” It was the diet to which he had been accustomed when a working man, and all the dainties with which he had become familiar in recent years had not spoiled his simple tastes. To enjoy crowdie at his age, besides, indicated that he still possessed that quality on which no doubt much of his practical success in life had depended,—a strong and healthy digestion.
He would also frequently invite to his house the humbler companions of his early life, and take pleasure in talking over old times with them. He never assumed any of the bearings of a great man on such occasions, but treated the visitors with the same friendliness and respect as if they had been his equals, sending them away pleased with themselves and delighted with him. At other times, needy men who had known him in youth would knock at his door, and they were never refused access. But if he had heard of any misconduct on their part he would rate them soundly. One who knew him intimately in private life has seen him exhorting such backsliders, and denouncing their misconduct and imprudence with the tears streaming down his cheeks. And he would generally conclude by opening his purse, and giving them the help which they needed “to make a fresh start in the world.”
Mr. Stephenson’s life at Tapton during his latter years was occasionally diversified with a visit to London. His engineering business having become limited, he generally went there for the purpose of visiting friends, or “to see what there was fresh going on.” He found a new race of engineers springing up on all hands—men who knew him not; and his London journeys gradually ceased to yield him pleasure. A friend used to take him to the opera, but by the end of the first act, he was generally in a profound slumber. Yet on one occasion he enjoyed a visit to the Haymarket with a party of friends on his birthday, to see T. P. Cooke, in “Black-eyed Susan;”—if that can be called enjoyment which kept him in a state of tears during half the performance. At other times he visited Newcastle, which always gave him great pleasure. He would, on such occasions, go out to Killingworth and seek up old friends, and if the people whom he knew were too retiring, and shrunk into their cottages, he went and sought them there. Striking the floor with his stick, and holding his noble person upright, he would say, in his own kind way, “Well, and how’s all here to-day?” To the last he had always a warm heart for Newcastle and its neighbourhood.
Sir Robert Peel, on more than one occasion, invited George Stephenson to his mansion at Drayton, where he was accustomed to assemble round him men of the highest distinction in art, science, and legislation, during the intervals of his parliamentary life. The first invitation was respectfully declined. Sir Robert invited him a second time, and a second time he declined: “I have no great ambition,” he said, “to mix in fine company, and perhaps should feel out of my element amongst such high folks.” But Sir Robert a third time pressed him to come down to Tamworth early in January, 1845, when he would meet Buckland, Follett, and others well known to both. “Well, Sir Robert,” said he, “I feel your kindness very much, and can no longer refuse: I will come down and join your party.”
Mr. Stephenson’s strong powers of observation, together with his native humour and shrewdness, imparted to his conversation at all times much vigour and originality, and made him, to young and old, a delightful companion. Though mainly an engineer, he was also a profound thinker on many scientific questions: and there was scarcely a subject of speculation, or a department of recondite science, on which he had not employed his faculties in such a way as to have formed large and original views. At Drayton, the conversation usually turned upon such topics, and Mr. Stephenson freely joined in it. On one occasion, an animated discussion took place between himself and Dr. Buckland on one of his favourite theories as to the formation of coal. But the result was, that Dr. Buckland, a much greater master of tongue-fence than Mr. Stephenson, completely silenced him. Next morning, before breakfast, when he was walking in the grounds, deeply pondering, Sir William Follett came up and asked what he was thinking about? “Why, Sir William, I am thinking over that argument I had with Buckland last night; I know I am right, and that if I had only the command of words which he has, I’d have beaten him.” “Let me know all about it,” said Sir William, “and I’ll see what I can do for you.” The two sat down in an arbour, and the astute lawyer made himself thoroughly acquainted with the points of the case; entering into it with all the zeal of an advocate about to plead the dearest interests of his client. After he had mastered the subject, Sir William rose up, rubbing his hands with glee, and said, “Now I am ready for him.” Sir Robert Peel was made acquainted with the plot, and adroitly introduced the subject of the controversy after dinner. The result was, that in the argument which followed, the man of science was overcome by the man of law; and Sir William Follett had at all points the mastery over Dr. Buckland. “What do you say, Mr. Stephenson?” asked Sir Robert, laughing. “Why,” said he, “I will only say this, that of all the powers above and under the earth, there seems to me to be no power so great as the gift of the gab.” [350]