The little country of Switzerland, as is well known, is a tumbled mass of snow-clad mountain ranges. On the Italian frontier, however, this natural barrier becomes more rugged and defiant, some of the peaks towering 10,000 feet or higher into the clouds. For centuries this frontier chain so successfully walled in the Helvetians that they could not pass into Italy without making a wearisome detour. Travelling from one country to the other before George Stephenson demonstrated the possibilities of the steam engine running on rails, therefore, was a journey not to be lightly undertaken, for it occupied weeks. An effort to ease this situation was made so far back as the thirteenth century by the blazing of a footpath over the St. Gotthard, but it was a mere dangerous and dizzy trail. Little wonder, therefore, that it was not favoured by other than the more adventurous.

It was not until about a century ago that the first vehicle lumbered over this rugged hump. Then the demand for closer communication between the two countries prompted the ambitious Helvetians to embark upon a costly and momentous enterprise—the building of a postroad over the mountain. They cut a roadway 18½ feet wide, with an average grade of 10 per cent. to a height of 6,936 feet up the flanks of this snow-topped giant, with its deep rifts, rushing rivers, and faced the terrors of the avalanche. It is a striking piece of work, for at places the road clings, limpet-like, to perpendicular walls, describes sharp twists and turns sudden corners. Although the people could ill afford the expense of the undertaking, they carried it to completion, confident that untold benefit would accrue from its provision.

They were right in their surmise. That mountain road changed completely the direction of the stream of traffic flowing between Switzerland and Italy. The novelty of the route, the magnificent panoramas unfolded from every foot of its length, appealed to the tourist and traveller and they bravely essayed the “pass.” To-day that mountain road is trodden but seldom. It has fallen into desuetude; the railway has killed its utility.

So soon as the iron horse invaded the little country it was sought to carry it into Italy via the St. Gotthard; not over the mountain crest, but through its base. Every engineer nursed the ambition to overcome that frowning knot with the steel highway. For years brilliant minds lived, dreamt, and died obsessed with this one great idea. Even in 1846, when the first railway was opened from Baden to Zurich, preparations were made to carry the line onward through the mountain chain. To the Swiss people, boring through a mountain for nine miles or so appeared no more difficult than burrowing through a hillock for as many yards. It was only a question of time and expense.

An “Alpine tunnel fever” set in with terrible malignancy, and there was fierce rivalry and jealousy created between the various railway companies, cantons and towns as to who should have the honour of completing this remarkable link. Fortunately the Government itself preserved a cool head, turned a deaf ear to entreaties, refused concessions, and discouraged any possible hope of financial aid. The last-named factor proved the greatest stumbling-block, but there is no doubt that if the money could have been obtained for such an enterprise an attempt to tunnel the Alps would have been made in the ’fifties.

Though the ambition was scotched it was not killed by any means, for a few years later the same scheme was revived and more keenly discussed than ever. The French and Italian nations resuscitated the project by co-operating in the effort to pierce the Col de Fréjus, popularly known as the Mont Cenis tunnel. The first stroke of the pick-axe upon this momentous enterprise was made in August, 1857, and the two chief engineers, Grattoni and Sommeiller, pledged themselves to complete the task with the assistance of the French and Italian governments. In the face of the most terrible difficulties that could be conceived, equipped with tools which appear puny and futile in comparison with those used for such work to-day, they cut, blasted, and excavated their way through 7½ miles of dense rock. Boring from either end, the rock-hogs broke down the last wall of rock on Christmas Day, 1870, and in September of the following year a shorter and more direct route between the two countries was opened to traffic.

The progress of this tunnel was watched with the closest interest by the Helvetians. This piercing of an Alpine mountain was something new in railway engineering. The wiseacres croaked that it would never be completed; that Nature would spring some sudden surprise upon the engineers in the depths of the mountain which would arrest the whole enterprise. But as the two headings slowly but surely approached one another, and the engineers broke down their obstacles as they arose with commendable pluck and determination, the sceptics became silenced.

The pride of the Swiss was wounded. If the French and Italians could accomplish such a herculean and apparently impossible task, why was a similar idea beyond their powers? The “conquest of the Alps” broke out with renewed vigour. It became more than a personal issue; it blossomed into one of economic, political and commercial importance. Consequently, before the Cenis Tunnel was opened for traffic, the preliminary arrangements for burrowing through the St. Gotthard had assumed concrete shape. But it had been a wearisome enterprise. The promoters had to battle against intrigue and jealousies innumerable on the part of private individuals, companies seeking for the same concession, towns and departmental governments. But the project became one of even more than national importance; it became an international question. The provision of such a route would bring northern Europe into closer touch with Italy and her ports on the Mediterranean. That fact was realised, and when the company incorporated to carry out the work announced that the task was far too risky for private resources, the governments of the countries most intimately interested in the fulfilment of the project promised tangible assistance in the form of substantial subventions.

The path of the tunnel through the heart of the mountain was plotted by Mr. M. O. Gelpke, C.E., and this in itself was a great achievement. Fifteen stations were scattered over the mountain slopes for the manipulation of the survey instruments, and many of these were situated unavoidably in positions very difficult, and often impossible, of access. Borings were made to ascertain the rock strata which would have to be pierced by Professor Fritsch of Frankfort, and from the result of these essential investigations it was computed that the work, including the necessary railway line on either side of the great tunnel, could be completed for a sum of £7,480,000, or $37,400,000. The money was raised by guarantees of £1,800,000 ($9,000,000) from Italy, £800,000 ($4,000,000) from both Germany and Switzerland, and by the issue of shares and mortgage bonds to the extent of £2,720,000, or $13,600,000. As a further contribution to the task, the Swiss Government undertook to supervise actual construction.

The financial arrangements completed, the company had to search for a man to bore the tunnel. For this purpose tenders were sought for the whole contract. The terms of the latter were severe, as were also the technical conditions. The tunnel was to carry a double track, to have a height of 19.68 feet to the crown of the arch, and a maximum width of 26.24 feet, with a minimum width of 24.93 feet. The tunnel was to be quite straight, with the exception of a slight curve at the southern end, where, for a distance of 474 feet from the entrance, a curve of 984 feet radius was to be introduced to gain Airolo station. The rise from the northern entrance was to be about 1 in 172 to the summit level 3,781 feet above the sea, followed by a drop of 1 in 1000 to the southern end. These gradients falling on either side from the centre were necessary for drainage, and were estimated to be just sufficient to ensure the water flowing to the portals.

Seven tenders were submitted for the enterprise, the lowest being that of L. Favre, a well-known engineer of Geneva, who had completed many notable railway works in Europe. He undertook to complete the tunnel for £2,000,000 ($10,000,000) within eight years. His nearest competitor, an Italian company, wanted twenty-five per cent. more, but would not guarantee completion within less than nine years. Monsieur Favre was supported by a body of influential capitalists, and the contract was awarded to him.

Having sanctioned the project, the Government was determined that it should be completed, and resolved that the engineer should be held to his self-appointed time limit. The penalty it stipulated was exacting. For every day over the ninth year Favre was to forfeit £200, or $1000, for six months, and then double that penalty per day until completion. A year was thus allowed over and above what he demanded to cope with any unforeseen contingencies that might arise during the progress of the task. Similarly, M. Favre was to receive a premium of £200, or $1000, a day for every day he was in advance of the stipulated period. His Italian competitor, while agreeable to the forfeit, stipulated that it should not be enforced until after the eleventh year, which terms the authorities refused to entertain. To ensure securing the forfeit money should the engineer be late, Favre was compelled to deposit a sum of £320,000 ($1,600,000) with the Government before a stone was moved.

No undertaking of such a magnitude as this tunnel, although protected adequately by severe restrictions, ever has been carried out in the face of so many vicissitudes; no engineer ever has been so harassed as was M. Favre. From the moment the tender was signed and sealed troubles commenced, some incidental to the task, others purposely thrown in his way by jealous outside interests. In the first place, the Government undertook, according to the terms of the contract, to have the approaches to the tunnel completed so that he could commence operations without delay. This was not done. Further opposition was then encountered from another and unexpected quarter, which assumed such proportions as to jeopardise the whole scheme. Italy, having contributed about a sixth of the cost, and who therefore had an important voice in the matter, demanded that half the work should be granted to the Italian engineers who had been engaged upon the Mont Cenis tunnel. This was a bitter question, and it took M. Favre two weary months to adjust it.

These hindrances at last settled satisfactorily, work was commenced on the northern side of the Alps at Göschenen on June 4, 1872, and at Airolo, the southern portal, on July 2 of the following year. The preliminary preparations were of a gigantic character. Though M. Favre had sublet the constructional contract for the tunnel itself, he was primarily responsible and nursed it as the engineer-in-chief. Huge plants had to be installed at either end for supplying the various demands for power for a thousand-and-one purposes. At the northern end water turbines were laid down, driven from the river Reuss, a head of water of 279 feet being available. At the Airolo end a similar installation was established and operated under a water head of 541 feet from the Tremola. Subsequently, it was found that this latter supply was inadequate. But M. Favre was a man of infinite resource. He promptly built a viaduct 12,000 feet in length, tapping the Tessin River, and thus overcame the water power difficulty. Small towns sprang up at either end around the respective portals to house the machinery, the workmen, and innumerable other details.

As tunnel-boring operations upon such a scale as this were in their infancy, this engineer-in-chief perforcedly had to break a great deal of new ground; to carry out considerable pioneer work. Hitherto, the usual tools at the service of the excavators were the pick-axe, shovel, chisel, and sledge-hammer; but such implements as these in a work of this magnitude were akin to forging a mighty crank shaft with a blacksmith’s hammer. New forces had to be created. The Mont Cenis had demonstrated this fact, and in the course of its realisation a new tool appeared. This was the mechanical percussion rock drill, operated by compressed air at a pressure of 112 pounds and upwards per square inch. To furnish the requisite energy to the tools elaborate air-compressing plants had to be laid down. These were designed by Professor Colladon, and they were capable of compressing 1,596 cubic yards of air to a pressure of eight atmospheres every minute, the power being stored in huge cylindrical reservoirs, not unlike mammoth steam boilers, from which the conduits extending to the working faces on either side were charged.

The scene in the tunnel was impressive in the extreme. At the working face a little gallery was bored, about eight feet wide by the same in height, at the roof of the tunnel. The drilling machines were mounted on travelling carriages, with their perforating chisels jutting ugly and business-like from the front. With the pent-up force of eight atmospheres behind them, they rapped against the solid rock and slowly but surely made a perforation. At frequent intervals there was a slight stop, the chisel point was withdrawn and a jet of water, drawn from a tender hauled up in the rear, was directed into the hole, when the chisel instantly resumed its monotonous round. At intervals, a chisel, with its cutting edge blunted from continual hammering at the iron-like mass, was taken out, thrown on one side, and another inserted in its place, to continue the attack on the rock. Progress was laboriously slow, or comparatively rapid, according to the nature of the material encountered. When the rock was of a granitic nature, then advance was only at the rate of an inch or two per hour; on the other hand, when soft, clayey material was tapped, then the chisels bored their way at the rate of as many feet in the same time.

Three men attended to each machine, and by means of levers and wheels the height of a drill could be adjusted to a nicety. Movement was difficult, for the space was cramped. In the murky gloom the outlines of the men could be faintly discerned. The fitful glimmer of the oil-lamp which each carried—electric lighting had still to be invented—fell upon their semi-nude bodies and swarthy faces. The streaming perspiration mingling with the grime and dust, which strayed over their skin in fantastic streaks, gave the men a fiendish appearance. The temperature was that of an oven. As the men drew nearer and nearer to the heart of old Gotthard, the heat rose until the men laboured in an atmosphere of 90° or more. The only sounds were those of the hammering of the drills as they bored into the rock, and the hissing of the escaping air after it had completed its allotted task in operating the chisels.

At long intervals there came a heavy silence. The holes had been bored to the requisite depth. The machine was drawn far back into the boring. Explosives were slipped into the holes and tamped home. From a safe distance the charges were fired. A dull, smothered roar, a rending and crumbling, and another gap was torn in the bowels of this monarch of the Alps. The excavators hurried forward, cleared away the tumbled debris, and brought the lumbering drill carriage up to the fresh working surface.

Day in and day out, week after week, month by month, this round continued. It was monotonous, and the work was hard. The stifling atmosphere and the conditions told severely on the physique of the workmen. Congestion of the brain, irregular action of the heart, anæmia, or one of numerous other obscure maladies, was the reward for their labour. Their faces assumed a deathly pallor; working in cramped positions gave them an unsightly stoop, and deprived their legs of movement, so they tottered rather than walked as they returned from the scene of their toil at the end of the shift.

The pay was wretched, ranging from half-a-crown to five shillings (from 60 to 125 cents) per day of eight hours, out of which they had to board themselves! Needless to say, but few Englishmen or western Europeans figured on the pay-roll, for none would accept such starvation pay for such terrible work. The labourers were Italians for the most part, and yet nearly one and all, by subsisting on miserable food, consisting for the most part of a kind of meal porridge, cheap and yet limited in quantity, saved a part of their earnings and sent it home to their needy families in sunny Italy. The average number of men employed was about 4000, half at either end, but at times it ran up to as high as 7000. The mountain claimed 310 lives, killed by accident alone, and 877 injured, before it was conquered; but, considering the conditions, it is remarkable that the casualty roll was not heavier.

In the wake of the small heading gallery came the other gangs. These rigged up the timber and other supports to the roof and excavated the small opening to the full dimensions of the tunnel. Last of all came the masons, setting the masonry lining, from 18 to 30 inches thick, in position, for the tunnel is lined throughout. In passing through the granite rock there was but little fear of a collapse of the roof, but in the treacherous clay advance had to be made warily, and heavy timbering resorted to, in order to prevent the soft soil caving in and burying all in its sticky embrace.

The material for the headings and lining, as well as the workmen and tools, were carried to and fro upon a small railway, the locomotives of which were driven by compressed air—steam was impracticable, because it would have fouled the workings; while on the short distance between the inner end of the railway and the working face haulage was done by horses. The privations suffered by the navvies was only equalled by those experienced by the animals, the mortality of which ran up to as high as twenty-five per cent. of the number employed.

Water was a constant menace, and at times retarded progress seriously. On the south side it was particularly troublesome. Time after time the drills or detonating charges would tap one of these subterranean streams, and the water would pour out in a cascade. These rivulets were of varying volume, but in one stretch, where the rock was extremely friable, it was considered too dangerous to use the mechanical drilling machine, so the men had to cut their way forward by hand. In so doing they released a vast underground pocket of water, which rushed out at the rate of over 3000 gallons per minute. At one spot it was only by superhuman effort that headway was made, for the men were half submerged in these torrential outbursts, escape from which was only possible by penetrating farther into the mountain.

In 1876 another terrible calamity overtook Louis Favre. It was discovered suddenly that the railway, far from costing the estimated sum, would approximate over £11,500,000, or $57,500,000. Somebody had blundered, and badly too. A deficit of over £4,000,000, or $20,000,000, appeared certain. What was to be done? The development of such a contingency never could have happened at a more inopportune moment. Times were hard; money was scarce; financial crashes loomed in every quarter of the Continent; and, to make matters worse, war was raging. Never in the history of engineering had such an extraordinary and unaccountable mistake been made in the estimates.

The discovery came as a thunderclap. The stock of the company ran down like a thermometer plunged into ice. Those who had supported the enterprise in the face of hostile criticism began to doubt the wisdom of their optimism. A gloom settled everywhere. It appeared as if the gigantic achievement would become numbered among the great unpaid; would be another contribution to those unfinished enterprises characterised as follies.

But Monsieur Favre kept going. There was the daily penalty staring him in the face if he did not finish within time. Any prolonged delay spelled ruin to him and to those who had financed his task. To make matters worse, the Swiss departments who had the most to gain from the completion of the railway steadfastly refused to extend the slightest assistance.

Matters reached a crisis. Either the money must be found, or that already spent must lie buried in the mountain. An International Conference was called to consider the situation, where, as prominent cities and railways who hoped to reap something from the completion of the tunnel promised support, Germany, Switzerland and Italy agreed to increase their subventions. Much of the projected work originally contemplated was postponed indefinitely in order to reduce the first cost.

This readjustment of the financial situation enabled work to be resumed energetically. But Favre was harassed sorely still. Payments for work became irregular, and every possible obstacle that could be placed in his way was forced to the front by intriguing opponents. Efforts were made even to create a rupture between him and the International Society, but Favre’s unflagging perseverance and determination resisted all such machinations, and he plodded along resolutely.

However, these worries and his feverish anxiety to succeed in his enterprise told upon his health. He never lived to see his great achievement completed. On July 19, 1879, while inspecting the progress of the work at the headings, he was seized with an apoplectic fit, to which he succumbed in a few hours. Literally in harness, this guiding spirit and clever engineer passed beyond the veil when the tunnel, the crowning effort of his life, was rapidly approaching completion.

His mantle fell upon his right-hand assistant, M. Hellwag, an accomplished German engineer, and he pushed forward the scheme with an energy characteristic of his late chief. But friction again rose. Swiss engineers were jealous of this appointment, and at last in sheer disgust the new engineer-in-chief threw up the work. He was hounded from his post, despite the fact that on another section of the railway he had overcome ingeniously the negotiation of sharp ascents within short distances, which otherwise appeared impossible, by the invention of a spiral tunnel, wherein the railway burrows into the mountain side, describes therein a complete circle, and emerges again immediately above the portal by which it entered.

On Saturday, the 27th of February, 1880, while the workmen on the Göschenen side were tearing the vitals out of the peak, they were surprised to find large masses of rock falling about their ears without any effort on their part. They stopped. The situation seemed uncanny. They listened intently, and then heard the familiar sound of a muffled roar, indicating blasting in the heading. The workmen on the Airolo side were upon them. Terrified lest the next concussion might bury them beneath a mass of rock, they hurriedly retreated and waited. Presently one espied the point of a chisel ploughing through the rock towards him. He grasped its extremity, but as quickly dropped it, for it was so hot that it burned his hand. Frantically these men rapped upon the last remaining wall of rock to inform their comrades on the other side that they were through. With lightning-like rapidity the news flashed through the Göschenen workings that the men from the Airolo side might be seen at any minute, and that the task of eight weary years was consummated practically.

As quickly the news flashed from Göschenen to the Airolo portal to cease work, since it was decided that the last blast tearing away the final thickness of rock should be the occasion of great jubilation. The whole country was excited. Officials hurried to the scene, and the countryside from far and near flocked to the two mouths of the tunnel. There was no sleep for any one in the constructional camps that Saturday night. The men were in a perfect state of frenzy. In the darkness the preparations for the culminating move were hurried forward. It was arranged that as the men on the Airolo heading had first pierced the last partition of rock, they should have the honour of blowing the gap which would afford access from one side of the mountain chain to the other through its base.

At seven o’clock on the Sunday morning a train started from each end laden with invited guests to witness the final operation. Amid many huzzas they disappeared into the dark, yawning mouths of the great bore. When each party reached the heading the machines were already at work. Only a foot of rock stood between those who had journeyed up from Airolo and the others who had travelled from Göschenen. The distinction of making the breach a thousand feet under the village of Andermatt nestling in the sunshine on the mountain slopes, and with the little lake of Sella 3000 feet above one’s head, was given to two Piedmontese workmen, Neccaraviglia and Chisso, who had toiled in the Cenis, and afterwards in the Gotthard, since its very commencement. The last charges were rammed home, and at 11.45 on the Sunday morning eight rumbling detonations heralded the piercing of St. Gotthard. Ere the smoke had cleared away the men sprang forward. There was the final breach, about three feet in diameter. Engineer Bossi sprang through the gap, and emotionally embraced his confrere on the other side, followed by his workmen, who shook hands with their comrades. It was a strange scene in the depths of the Alps, and the wild vivas of those assembled, to the memory of Louis Favre, reverberated weirdly down the shaft on either side.

The excavations of the works to the full dimensions and the lining up of the last section proceeded with great rapidity, and on May 22, 1882, amid great festivity, the tunnel was declared open. It had taken ten years to complete, but had Favre been left to his own devices, and had he not been exposed to financial harassing and intrigue, and had not his successor Hellwag been driven from his post, it would have been finished in the time the engineer contemplated. At that time Favre’s skill, pluck and unflagging devotion to his task were not appreciated, but recognition of his genius was afterwards extended by the erection of a monument to his memory at the Airolo entrance to the tunnel. It is safe to assert that it was due to his enterprise and grim determination in the face of adversity that the St. Gotthard tunnel became an accomplished fact, and resulted in the reduction of the journey between Northern Europe and Italy by thirty-six hours.

In addition to the tunnel, 172 miles of line had to be built to connect the Swiss with the Italian railway systems. From the body of this frowning clump 31,800,000 cubic feet of rock were torn by means of 2,200,000 pounds of dynamite.

The remaining sections of the railway named after the tunnel abound in interesting features from the technical point of view, the most notable, possibly, being the remarkable spiral tunnels to which reference has been made, and the successful application of which in this instance has been reproduced upon other railways where similar conditions prevail. The best examples, possibly, are those by which the Biaschina gorge is negotiated, since here there are two of these tunnels side by side, the railway almost describing a figure 8 in corkscrewing from one level to the other. Exclusive of the Gotthard, there are no less than 76 tunnels and galleries, aggregating 29 miles, as well as 1,384 other structures, 324 being bridges and viaducts over 39 feet in length. In one stretch of 7 miles, in skirting the south-eastern arm of the Lake of Lucerne, the railway passes through 9 tunnels, ranging from a mere 85-feet burrow to others 6,512 feet in length. Among the Gotthard fastnesses the railway work becomes bolder, the bridges are lofty, while the line zigzags in a remarkable manner. It is a case of tunnel, cut and bridge all the way. Up to 1880, when the railway was finished practically, constructional work provided regular employment for 10,757 men.

So rapidly did the volume of traffic upon the railway swell, however, that it became extremely difficult to handle it, as there was only a single line, except in the tunnel and at one or two other points. The provision of another track became imperative, and in 1886 it was commenced. This was not a simple matter, as the new work had to be carried out without interrupting traffic in any way—that is, so far as the main through service was concerned. With the exception of the Gotthard and four smaller tunnels, all the other structures had to be excavated out to carry the second pair of metals, while, similarly, all bridges had to be increased in width. In order to finish the work as rapidly as possible, the task was divided up into a number of small, separate contracts, each covering a few miles. Vehicles for the conveyance of constructional material were provided and supplies were hauled free of charge by the railway, while explosives for blasting were sold at cost price.

The most difficult works were carried out by the company itself by its own engineers and labour. In this comprehensive widening system over 100,000 cubic yards of rock which had been excavated from the St. Gotthard and dumped in the vicinity of Airolo were reclaimed, to be used in the building of embankments, revetments and retaining walls. The tunnel widening was carried out almost exclusively at night and on Sundays, since the smoke from passing trains would have impeded such work during the day. The quickest methods of widening were adopted, and in the approach to the Bristen tunnel an excellent expression of this is afforded. Instead of trimming back the mountain-side to provide space for the second pair of rails, a gallery was built projecting from the mountain and supported on heavy masonry pillars, giving the appearance of a colonnade.

In the handling of unavoidable night trains an elaborate protection system was adopted in connection with the tunnels, to prevent disaster to the trains themselves or to the working gangs. No trains were permitted to enter a tunnel until assurance had been made doubly sure that there was no constructional train standing on the only line to court collision, and that the workmen were safe. Each working squad was covered amply by electric and other signalling devices. Similarly, all metallic structures that required moving were handled on Sundays, when traffic was at its lowest ebb, between the scheduled movements of passing trains, so that the latter might not be delayed. It was estimated that this work would occupy nine years, but in reality it was accomplished in five and a half years, and the total cost of widening the whole mileage to a double line was only £500,000, or $2,500,000.