| By Author | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Title | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Language |
|
Download this book: [ ASCII ] Look for this book on Amazon Tweet |
Title: The Railway Conquest of the World
Author: Talbot, Frederick Arthur Ambrose
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Railway Conquest of the World" ***
This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.
WORLD ***
THE RAILWAY CONQUEST
OF THE WORLD
[Illustration:
[_Frontispiece_
WHERE THE UNION PACIFIC RAILWAY STRIKES ACROSS SALT LAKE
The “cut off” across the water is 27 miles in length, of which 15 miles
are represented by solid earth embankment.]
_CONQUESTS OF SCIENCE_
THE
RAILWAY CONQUEST
OF THE WORLD
BY
FREDERICK A. TALBOT
AUTHOR OF
“THE NEW GARDEN OF CANADA,” “THE MAKING OF A GREAT CANADIAN RAILWAY,”
&C.
_ILLUSTRATED_
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
_Copyright London 1911 by William Heinemann_
PREFACE
There is the unfathomable fascination of romance connected with the
construction of great railways, though little is known of the beginning
and the growth of the great trunk roads of the world; of the heavy tax
which their construction imposed upon the ingenuity, skill and resource
of their builders. Speeding along swiftly in a luxurious Pullman car
over a road-bed as smooth as an asphalt pavement conveys no impression
of the perils and dangers faced or of the infinite labour expended in
the making of that steel highway. To-day the earth is girdled with some
700,000 miles of railways, and there are few countries in which the
locomotive has not made its appearance.
This volume has been written with the express purpose of telling in a
popular manner this story of romance. It is obviously impossible to
deal with every great railway undertaking in the compass of a single
volume; but those described may safely be considered representative,
and they are the largest and most interesting enterprises between the
two poles.
In the writing of this volume I have been assisted by innumerable
friends who have been identified closely with the introduction of
Stephenson’s invention into fresh fields of conquest. I am indebted
especially to the following gentlemen: Messrs. Norman B. Dickson,
M.INST.C.E.; A. M. Cleland, the Northern Pacific Railway Company; the
late J. C. Meredith, chief engineer, the Florida East Coast Railway; A.
L. Lawley; R. R. Gales, M.INST.C.E.; H. E. Gwyther, chief engineer,
the Leopoldina Railway Company, Ltd.; Francis B. Clarke, president
of the Spokane, Portland and Seattle Railway; William Hood, chief
engineer, the Southern Pacific Company; F. A. Miller, the Chicago,
Milwaukee and Puget Sound Railway; the I. R. Austrian Railway Ministry;
W. Weston, the Denver, North-western and Pacific Railway Company; the
Pennsylvania Steel Company; W. T. Robson, the Canadian Pacific Railway
Company; the Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Company, and Frederic
Coleman of Darlington; the Swiss Federal Railways; H. R. Charlton,
the Grand Trunk Railway Company of Canada; the chief engineer, the
New Zealand Government Railways; the Peruvian Corporation; the chief
engineers of the New South Wales, South Australia and West Australia
Government Railways; the Minister of Ways of Communication of the
Russian Empire; the Trans-Andine Railway Company; the chief engineer,
the Imperial Japanese Government Railways; J. J. Gywn, chief engineer,
and S. K. Hooper, the Denver and Rio Grande Railway; G. J. Ray, chief
engineer, the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad; Virgil G.
Bogue, vice-president and chief engineer, the Western Pacific Railway
Company; and S. J. Ellison of the Great Northern Railway, U.S.A.
FREDERICK A. TALBOT.
HOVE,
_September 29, 1911_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I THE RAILWAY SURVEYOR’S ADVENTUROUS LIFE 1
II THE ROMANCE OF CONSTRUCTION 12
III THE BORING OF THE GOTTHARD TUNNEL 30
IV THE RAILWAY INVASION OF CANADA 46
V THE FIRST TRANS-CONTINENTAL ACROSS THE UNITED STATES 59
VI THE LONGEST “TOY” RAILWAY 76
VII THE WONDERS OF THE TYROL 88
VIII THE RECLAMATION OF ALASKA 102
IX THE HOLY RAILWAY TO MECCA 117
X THE HIGHEST LINE IN THE WORLD 128
XI CECIL RHODES’ DREAM--FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO
(I. NORTHWARDS FROM CAPE TOWN) 139
XII CECIL RHODES’ DREAM--FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO
(II. SOUTHWARDS FROM CAIRO) 152
XIII GRIDIRONING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 162
XIV THE IRON HORSE IN AUSTRALASIA (I.) 175
XV THE IRON HORSE IN AUSTRALASIA (II.) 186
XVI ACROSS SIBERIA BY RAIL 198
XVII THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY 214
XVIII THE FIRST CANADIAN TRANS-CONTINENTAL RAILWAY 224
XIX A RAILWAY OVER THE SEA 240
XX THE LAND OF REMARKABLE RAILWAY BRIDGES 250
XXI WHERE THE SNOW-PLOUGH WORKS IN SUMMER 260
XXII FROM BUENOS AIRES TO VALPARAISO OVERLAND 270
XXIII A LITTLE-KNOWN CENTRAL AFRICAN RAILWAY 281
XXIV THE INVASION OF THE FAR EAST
(I. EARLY DAYS IN CHINA) 289
XXV THE INVASION OF THE FAR EAST
(II. MODERN DEVELOPMENTS IN CHINA AND JAPAN) 297
XXVI THE CONQUEST OF THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS 308
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face page_
Where the Union Pacific Railway strikes across Salt
Lake _Frontispiece_
Building the loftiest bridge in the world 6
Driving a cutting 100 feet deep by the aid of dynamite
and steam shovels through slate on the Delaware,
Lackawanna and Western Railway, U.S.A. 7
A Railway Construction Camp among the mountains 16
Building a high bank on the Delaware, Lackawanna and
Western Railway, U.S.A., by modern methods 16
The huge steam shovel which takes some 3 tons of spoil
with every bite 17
The drag-line shovel which scoops up the earth in the
cutting as it is pulled along 17
The Pecos Viaduct on the “Sunset” Railway, the highest
structure in the United States, the track being 321
feet above the water below 24
The track layer, whereby the metals are laid at a speed
of 3 or 4 miles a day, crossing a heavy timber
trestle 25
The Göschenen entrance to the St. Gotthard Tunnel 32
The wonderful Wassen Loop on the St. Gotthard Railway,
showing three tiers of track 33
The compressed air locomotive which hauled workmen and
rock blasted from the mountain in the cutting of
the Loetschberg Tunnel 36
What the working face in the heart of the mountain is
like 36
The lofty Amsteg Bridge, 184 feet high, spanning the
Maderan Valley on the St. Gotthard Railway 37
No. 2, “The Toronto,” the first railway engine built in
Canada by James Good in 1853 48
The Niagara Cantilever Railway Bridge under construction 48
“The Eighth Wonder of the World” 49
The bridge as reconstructed 49
The magnificent single span bridge across the Niagara
River below the Falls 50
A view of the iron tube, 2,290 feet in length and 23
feet in diameter 51
The 2000 h.p. electric locomotives hauling the
“International Limited” through the tube 51
The massive bridge of the Union Pacific Railway over
the Missouri River at Council Bluffs, from which
point the first railway across the United States
was commenced 62
The timber trestle across Salt Lake, by means of which
the Union Pacific saves 57 miles 63
Building the Otavi line through the German South-west
African Bush 80
The passage of the first train, gaily decorated for the
occasion, over the “toy-like” Otavi Railway 81
The workmen cutting and blasting a narrow path on the
steep mountain slopes for the Karawanken Railway 92
The massive steel bridge which carries the railway
across the Drave River to approach the tunnel
through the Karawanken range in the background 93
The northern entrance to the Karawanken Tunnel 93
The Tauern Railway, showing winding character of the
line 96
The entrance to the Tauern Tunnel 96
One of the huge loops on the Tauern 97
The first hour’s work: navvies preparing the grade
along the main street of Skaguay 106
By railway to the Klondike--the White Pass and Yukon
line under construction 106
The dismal tract of swamp and river through which the
Alaskan Central Railway makes its way 107
The wonderful horseshoe timber trestle, 1,240 feet
long, varying from 40 to 90 feet high, on the
Central Alaskan Railway 112
A wash-out caused by the Placer River in flood 113
The obliteration of the line by a landslide 113
A striking piece of railway building in the Yarmuk
Gorge 118
A bird’s-eye view of a chasm in Palestine, through
which the line follows a winding path on the left 119
A masonry bridge on the Holy Railway, showing
solidity of construction and mountainous character
of the country 119
A heavy steel bridge in course of erection between
Haifa and Deraa, the branch from the main sacred
line to the shores of the Mediterranean Sea 122
The engineering wonder of the Hedjaz Railway--the
sudden descent into “The Devil’s Belly” 123
The railway in the domain of the Genii 124
The lonely path of the Pilgrim’s line through the
silent, rocky and sandy wastes of Arabia 125
Meiggs’ masterpiece--the V-switch by means of which
the railway is lifted from one level to another,
showing turntable and method of operation 130
The Infiernillo Bridge 130
A horseshoe curve in a tunnel 131
The first Verrugas Viaduct, which was destroyed by a
cloudburst and rock-slide 134
The highest tunnel in the world under construction 135
A British locomotive in the realm of perpetual Andean
snow, 15,865 feet above sea-level, on the Oroya
Railway 136
Looking through the tunnels on the Oroya Railway 137
The greatest bridge in the world 144
Setting up the world’s railway building record in Africa 145
Construction train on the way to the railhead crossing
a temporary timber bridge 154
The longest bridge in Africa, 1,300 feet in length,
across the Kafue River 154
The “Hanging Bridge,” one of the railway wonders of
the Denver and Rio Grande, in the Royal Gorge of
Colorado 155
The railway two miles above the sea 166
A “double-header” climbing the cliff of Animas Canyon
on the Denver and Rio Grande Railway 167
Crossing the continental “divide” on the “Moffatt” road 170
The Moffatt Railway playing “hide-and-seek” among the
tunnels in Gore Canyon 171
The gigantic snowplough, the largest yet built, which
keeps the higher levels of the “Moffatt” line
through the Rocky Mountains free from the heavy
falls of snow 172
A deep cutting 173
Boring one of the ten tunnels 173
Before the explosion 180
The blast 180
The cliff-face dislodged 180
The cliff-face broken up 180
The Puttapa Gap Bridge, 200 feet in length 181
The Hookina Creek Bridge 181
The entrance to the tunnel, 1,096 feet long, through
the Darling Range 188
The dearth of suitable water was the serious problem in
the early days of the Coolgardie gold-fields. As
the railway could not haul supplies from the coast,
this novel condensing plant was erected 189
How the Western Australian Eastern Railway cuts through
the Darling Range 194
The Leopoldina Railway is a maze of curves, twists and
bends, owing to the rugged character of the country
traversed 195
A steep bank showing the central rack rail 216
Train on the rack section of the Petropolis division,
showing the curious type of locomotive adopted 216
Rebuilding a bridge on the Leopoldina Railway 217
A flood on the line 218
A derailment caused by the train colliding with a cow! 218
An interesting engineering achievement 219
Bridge over the Parahybuna River, showing height of
river in flood and force of water surging round the
piers 219
The bridge over the Parahybuna River at Campos under
construction 220
The Parahybuna River Bridge completed. Total length
1,113½ feet 220
The rockbound shore of Lake Superior severely taxed the
engineers in the building of the Canadian Pacific
Railway 221
The “Gap,” the eastern entrance of the Canadian Pacific
Railway to the Rocky Mountains 226
Where the “Big Hill” was cut out on the Canadian
Pacific Railway, between Hector and Field 227
How the Canadian Pacific line creeps round towering
precipices along the Fraser River 230
In threading the Fraser River Canyon the engineers
were compelled to hug the waterway, though it
involved the boring of numerous short tunnels 231
The steel arch bridge across Stoney Creek in the
Selkirk Mountains 234
The railway traversing the tumbled Thompson River Canyon 235
The Cisco cantilever bridge carrying the Canadian
Pacific Railway across the Fraser River 238
The Key West “Limited” passing over Long Key Viaduct at
full speed 239
Building the grade. The dredger cutting its own path
and dumping removed spoil in centre to form the
embankment for the track 244
The embankment completed, with the canals dug by the
dredgers on either side 244
How the embankment was built on the keys 245
How the reinforced concrete arches were built within
wooden moulds 245
The training-bund or wall to narrow the Ganges by 3000
feet for the Curzon Bridge, showing railway approach 252
Erecting the piers for the Curzon Bridge 253
The training-bund under construction by native labour.
At the extreme right a pier is being built for the
bridge 254
General view of the pier-building operations for the
Curzon Bridge across the Ganges at Allahabad 255
The Gokteik Viaduct under construction 256
View of the Gokteik Viaduct 257
Train emerging from Reinunga Tunnel, 5,217 feet long,
in distance, showing snowscoop-plough on locomotive 262
Myrdal Station, showing entrance to Gravehals Tunnel,
17,420 feet in length 263
Myrdal Station in winter, showing depth of snowfall 263
A view on the Bergen Railway in winter, showing
screens to protect line from drifting snow, and
snowsheds 266
Mules carrying water in barrels 267
Load of railway metals on a mule’s back 267
Railway building in Nyasaland, Central Africa 282
A typical bridge on the Nyasaland Railway 283
The novel lift bridge over the Shiré River at Chiromo 283
The iron horse in Central Africa 284
The bascules being lowered by cables and winches from
either cliff-face 285
The bascules lowered, showing the French engineers at
centre making the connection 285
The Faux-Namiti Bridge completed 302
The line skirting the seashore near Okitsu, Tokaido, on
the Japanese Government railways 303
The most striking example of Japanese railway engineering 306
Two railways racing to the Pacific coast through the
Deschutes River Canyon 307
The “switchback” by means of which the Great Northern
Railway of the United States negotiated the Cascade
Mountains before the boring of the Cascade Tunnel 310
Building a steel trestle across a rift 311
Building the biggest embankment on record by hydraulic
sluicing 314
The “Merry-go-round” devised to expedite raising an
embankment 120 feet high 315
A lofty embankment in course of construction. In the
centre it is 120 feet high. Construction camp in
foreground 315
Building the Chicago, Milwaukee and Puget Sound Railway
through the Bitter Root Mountains 318
Carrying the Chicago, Milwaukee and Puget Sound Railway
across the Columbia River 319
CHAPTER I
THE RAILWAY SURVEYOR’S ADVENTUROUS LIFE
“One’s experience is varied from camping out in tents at fifty degrees
below zero, to spending a large amount of time in the wilderness, when
provisions are very short and one has to depend upon fish for food.”
This was the description of the task of discovering a path for the
iron road through a new country, as related to me by the late John E.
Schwitzer, one of the most brilliant railway engineers that Canada has
produced, and one who had climbed the ladder of success from the humble
capacity of rodman at a few shillings per week, to the position of
chief engineer of the Canadian Pacific Railway, within the short space
of twenty-two years. From his unique experience he was fitted to speak
with authority, and his statement sums up the life of a surveyor in a
nutshell.
So far as the loneliness and the need to fish for food are concerned
I can speak from experience. This article of diet is plentiful, but
its monotony palls very quickly, while at times one longs for the
excitement of the city. But once this feeling has been lived down one
would not exchange the virgin country, with its invigorating air and
life of exciting adventure, for a smoke-begrimed stifling centre of
activity for any consideration.
In Great Britain, owing to its completely settled condition, the
difficulties incidental to this class of work do not exist. The
wrestles with heat, sun-baked desert, ice-bound forest and extreme cold
have never been experienced in connection with the driving forward of
the ribbon of steel in these islands. There is an utter lack of that
thrilling romantic interest and adventure associated with similar work
in an unknown country, where the surveyor is not merely a surveyor, but
an explorer as well. In any of the four continents beyond Europe he
fulfils an important mission. He is the advance-guard of civilisation.
He spies out the country for the greatest settling force that has yet
been devised, and although the work more often than not is extremely
perilous, he revels in the dangers. One must be prepared to face any
emergency: be ready to fulfil any duty. One may be buried for months
amidst the strongholds of ice-capped mountains, isolated upon the
sweltering desolate expanses of broiling deserts, imprisoned in the
hearts of yawning ravines, or immersed amid reeking dismal swamps, cut
off by hundreds of miles from the nearest town or settlement. Then
Nature is the surveyor’s sole companion, and in her silent company
herculean and heroic tasks often have to be fulfilled, of which the
world at large never gleans an inkling.
The surveyor is the personification of happy-go-luckiness. He pursues
his path doggedly, laughs at obstacles, no matter how forbidding they
may be, and accomplishes glorious deeds unsung. Often his sudden death
through accident, disease or misadventure goes unmourned beyond the
limits of his own camp. Yet an everlasting and omnipotent monument to
his memory is raised--the thin thread of steel which annihilates time
and space.
These men show a devotion to their calling which it is impossible
to fathom. They brave perils beyond conception and face death in a
hundred different forms. It may be a slip on a treacherous foothold
at the brink of a yawning gulch, the upset of a frail bark in a
swiftly rushing rapid, a land- or rock-slide, an avalanche, or a tree
snapping under the fury of the storm which hurries them to their doom.
In silence they suffer the torments of thirst, the pangs of hunger,
physical exhaustion, frostbite, snow-blindness, disease, the hostility
of mankind and a thousand other dangers. When they have emerged from
the ordeal they laugh at their experiences, and consider them no more
fearsome than those confronting the ordinary city dweller as he walks
along a crowded thoroughfare.
As one travels over the railway through Mexico, interest is aroused by
four primitive little wooden crosses beside the track. It is a small
God’s acre in an undulating expanse. The probability is that it would
miss the eye unless one were bent on its discovery. Yet those four
monuments tell a silent story of grim adventure. The Mexican Central
was being driven through a hostile country, and the Indians were being
forced back relentlessly by its influence. They were sullen but not
subdued.
A little squad of four surveyors were busily engaged in pegging out the
path for the line. They were deep in the intricacies of their task.
Suddenly there was a savage blood-curdling whoop. A horde of Indians,
in the full panoply of war-paint and feathers, were bearing down upon
them on mischief bent. The engineers discarded their instruments
hurriedly and grabbed their rifles. They were outnumbered hopelessly,
but undaunted, they kept blazing away, picking off their foes with that
stubbornness born of despair. There were no thoughts of surrender to
the implacable enemy. Nor could they hope for aid; they were too far
distant from their base. One by one they fell, and when at last their
comrades came up, their mutilated corpses were the sole evidences of
that forlorn struggle. To-day those four wooden crosses serve to recall
that grim episode. Such dramatic incidents unfortunately were only
too frequent in the early days of railway building upon the American
continent, though they were far from being peculiar to the New World.
They have been, and still are, repeated occasionally in connection with
such enterprises in other parts of the globe.
It was only a year or two ago that one of the most ferocious acts of
savage barbarity, such as is difficult to parallel in the annals of
railway engineering, was perpetrated in South America. Only the fringe
of that vast territory has been opened up by the iron horse. The
greater part is more unknown to-day than the land around the North Pole.
A small party of engineers set off up country to map out a projected
extension. They plunged boldly into the depths of the primeval forest.
But they never returned. What happened when they disappeared within the
tangled labyrinth of trees no one knows. The time slipped by, and their
comrades outside, fretting at their prolonged absence, grew so alarmed
that a relief party was organised. The worst was dreaded, for the
hostility of the natives to the locomotive was known only too well. The
relief party advanced warily, weapons in hand, ready for the slightest
sign of fight. However, they were safe from molestation, but had not
ventured far into the tangled jungle before they solved the mystery,
and were able to reconstruct a tragic adventure only too realistically.
The steps of the surveying engineers had been dogged silently and
relentlessly by the remorseless savages. When the former had gained a
point sufficiently remote from the belt of civilisation, they were laid
low by poisoned arrows. The relief-party accounted for every engineer,
but one and all were beyond human succour. They were found in a
gruesome row, poised upside down, with stakes driven lengthwise through
their bodies and heads into the ground. They had been pinned down with
no more compunction than the school-boy secures his etymological prize
to a piece of cardboard.
A few years ago British North Borneo was the scene of a similar
disaster. It had been decided to drive a railway from coast to coast,
and a party set out on the reconnaissance, as the first step in a new
railway undertaking is called. The path lay through the dense forest
which had never been penetrated by the white man, and where the dreaded
Head Hunters held undisputed sway. The prospect was forbidding in the
extreme, but it did not dismay the engineers who plunged fearlessly
into the bush. As the crow flies their journey was only one of some
150 miles, but the thick vegetation concealed difficulties innumerable.
That survey was doomed to failure. The party was overwhelmed by the
Dyaks and massacred, with the exception of three native porters who
succeeded in making good their escape. After experiencing terrible
privations, this trio regained civilisation and communicated the sad
tidings of the calamity. For years that stretch of forest defied
conquest. Finally another attempt was made to traverse the jungle, and
on this occasion no interference to progress was offered. The surveyors
gained the opposite coast in about six months, being called upon to
fight only one enemy--disease. It was a desperate plunge, for the party
had to hack and hew its way foot by foot through the matted scrub and
trees.
These afford instances of the hostility of mankind which fortunately
to-day are encountered but seldom. It is the hostility of Nature which
is feared more greatly now. Yet the work possesses a fascinating
glamour. The existence of difficulty only spurs the determined to
further effort.
Railway surveying in the effort to roll back the map in a new country
offers the young man all the adventure in life that can be desired. As
one surveyor who had spent more years than he could remember in the
wilds between China and Peru remarked to me, “If it is not the natural
difficulties or the hostility of the natives which lend variety to the
work, the chances are a hundred to one that a revolution will fill the
gap, especially in China or the South Americas.”
At times the work is exasperating. Perhaps the surveyor who has been
imprisoned for months on end in an inhospitable country has been driven
to his wits’ end to find a practicable location which is immune from
the many disturbances of Nature. By dint of supreme effort finally he
discovers a route which he congratulates himself to be absolutely safe,
only to receive a rude awakening. In the survey of a new line through
the Rockies, the mountains barring the engineer’s path had achieved
an unenviable reputation, owing to the frequency and severity of the
avalanches that tore down their steep slopes every spring. The surveyor
reconnoitred that mountain chain from end to end, observed every path
that the slides had been known to take, searched local records and
questioned aged inhabitants to make himself acquainted thoroughly with
the conditions.
At last he concluded that he had elaborated a path for the railway
which was beyond the destructive efforts of the periodical visitations
and work was commenced. Yet in the first spring, while the construction
train was crawling along with a load of excavated spoil from the
mountain-side, the slipping snow departed from its accustomed path,
and in its descent caught the unlucky train, threw it into the gulch
some distance below, ripped up the metals, buried the grade beneath
thousands of tons of debris, and obliterated every vestige of the work.
The surveyor must be a man not to be daunted very easily in his
enterprise, not to be cast down by heart-breaking failures, and
who has the capacity to gather tangible assistance from apparently
insignificant trifles. The search for a rift through a frowning
mountain wall often is galling in its hopelessness. When the first
Canadian trans-continental line was being forced towards the Pacific
coast, the crossing of the Rocky, Selkirk and Gold ranges puzzled the
surveyors acutely. Walter Moberly, a surveyor to the manner born,
was deputed to complete the conquest of the Gold or Columbia Range.
The obvious path to follow was along the bank of the mighty Columbia
River, and this was taken by Moberly. Yet the Gold Range had to be
threaded somewhere and somehow, though it appeared to defy penetration.
He spent months wandering up and down the river, enduring hardships
indescribable, seeking for the slightest breach through that terrible
wall, wide enough to carry a pair of metals, but no gateway could he
find.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE LOFTIEST BRIDGE IN THE WORLD
The Fades Viaduct spanning the Sioule River in France, 1,526 feet long.
The two masonry towers are each 304 feet in height. The central span,
472 feet in length, was built out from each tower. The railway line in
the centre of the bridge is 440 feet above the river.]
Weary and sick at heart at the fruitlessness of his endeavours, he was
one day returning despondently to camp. He was compelled well-nigh
to admit failure. Suddenly he espied an eagle wheeling over his head.
He followed its movements somewhat nonchalantly, until he saw it make
directly for the Columbia mountains. Then his heart gave a thump! Would
the bird rise and clear their lofty summits or would it sweep through
a rift? Following its flight through the air, he saw the bird give a
majestic dip downwards towards the chain. He turned the head of his
jaded horse, and digging his spurs into its flanks, sped in the wake of
the bird. Onward it flew as straight as an arrow towards a projecting
crest, where it made a sharp turn and was lost to sight.
[Illustration: DRIVING A CUTTING 100 FEET DEEP BY THE AID OF DYNAMITE
AND STEAM SHOVELS THROUGH SLATE ON THE DELAWARE, LACKAWANNA AND WESTERN
RAILWAY, U.S.A.]
Moberly galloped madly forward with his eyes glued to that crag. He
never turned his head, fearing his sight might play him false, and
was oblivious to stumbles and lurches as his steed fell over logs and
slipped among boulders in its mad career. He swung round the crest,
and there before his eyes the peaks were rolled back on either side,
leaving a broad canyon, and of such a character that Nature appeared
to have fashioned it expressly for the advance of the steel highway.
The Columbia range was conquered. It was by pure accident that it
had been found, but it was an accident which culminated a prolonged
industrious quest. Indebted to his success to the monarch of the air
Moberly christened the break in the rocky wall “Eagle Pass,” and it
is through that gulch to-day that the Canadian Pacific makes its way
to the western sea. As one sweeps between the massive ice-crowned
teeth of the mountains one may see the site of the oldest cabin in the
mountains, where the indefatigable Moberly passed the winter of 1871–2
completing the preliminary surveys for the line among the fastnesses of
the Columbia Mountains.
The task of planning the location through such broken country is
attended with the gravest dangers, relieved with exciting adventures.
At places among the peaks a foothold on _terra firma_ for the
manipulation of the survey instruments is impossible. Then massive
tree-logs are lowered into the gulch a few feet above the raging foam
of a wicked mountain torrent, and along this slender staging the
surveyor has to crawl to carry out his task.
Life often hangs upon the veritable thread. It may be that logs cannot
be thrown over the cliff face. Then the surveyor has to don a leathern
waist-belt fitted with a heavy swivel to which a rope is attached. In
this way he is swung over the edge of a cliff to operate his level
and transit along the face of a precipice where no foothold exists.
Sometimes it becomes imperative to have recourse to dynamite to blast
out a ledge along which to advance. Many a promising young engineer
has gone to his last account in work of such a desperate character.
In the survey of what is now the Denver and Rio Grande through one of
Colorado’s yawning canyons, a young assistant had to be lowered in this
manner. Half-a-dozen labourers grasped the end of the rope and steadied
the surveyor in his descent over the perilous edge. From the brink to
the bottom of the canyon was a matter of 200 feet or so straight down.
In a few seconds the young fellow was dangling betwixt earth and sky,
steadying his descent as best he could down the face of the cliff.
Suddenly there was a cry of alarm! The rope-man nearest the cliff edge
noticed that the rope was bearing upon a piece of rock the edge of
which was as keen as that of a razor. The rope had been sawn almost in
two. Lowering stopped. The two men rushed forward to grasp the rope
below the point of pending rupture to ease the strain. But they were
too late. There was a slight tremor, the last strand snapped, and
before the rope-men realised the situation as the end hung limply in
their hands, the cry of the lost engineer as he tumbled through the air
was echoed from the depths of the canyon.
Life in the field is indisputably hard and exacting, and the task
is often aggravated by the scarcity, or monotony, of the food. This
condition of affairs, however, is incomparably better to-day than it
was thirty years ago. The surveyors are tended more thoughtfully than
they were then, and the perfection of food-preserving science has
enabled a camp now to be provisioned with tasty comestibles which
formerly were unknown. Pork, beans and bannock--a substitute for bread
made from flour and bacon fat with a little baking-powder--constituted
the staple articles of diet, varied with fish from the streams, game
from the forests and wild fruits. The bread was often musty, for
immersion time after time in a torrent and storage upon damp ground
did not improve the flavour of the flour by any means. The pork or
bacon often was rancid, while the cook was invariably an execrable
exponent of the culinary art, and his bannock played sad havoc with
the digestive organs of the human body. Little wonder that the men,
under such conditions, sought to secure additions to the menu from the
rivers by methods decidedly unsportsmanlike, but the “end justified the
means”; or delighted in bear steaks and venison.
Extreme altitudes such as have to be attained in order to cross the
Andes undermine the strongest constitutions and render the surveyor’s
work increasingly difficult. Struggling, crawling and slipping among
crags and loose rocks inflicting cuts and bruises is arduous work
indeed, but when the human frame is racked by the tortures of sorochté,
or mountain sickness, the surveyor’s plight is to be pitied in very
truth. In such climes the cold and winds are pitiless, the movements
of the thermometer between midnight and noon are enormous, the
fluctuation in some cases being as much as a hundred degrees in the
course of twelve hours. In the middle of the day the heat is well-nigh
unbearable, and the surveyor gladly discards his outer clothing. At
night he finds it no simple matter to keep warm, for the mercury
descends to a very low level and frost prevails. The winds too are so
cutting and penetrating that it requires elaborate and special clothing
after dark to keep warm.
Now and again a situation develops which relieves the monotony of the
daily round of struggle against the forces of Nature. South America is
pre-eminently the home of these humorous incidents. The concession for
the construction of a railway through one of the tropical republics
had been granted, and no time was lost in pushing forward with the
preliminary surveys. But when the men with the transit and level
reached a certain city they were surprised to meet with unveiled
opposition. The municipal authorities point-blankly refused to permit
the surveyors to carry out their work in the precincts of the city.
Seeing that the latter was to benefit mostly from the steel link, the
attitude was somewhat inexplicable at first sight. A little reflection,
however, upon the South American methods of transacting business
convinced the surveyor that bribery was the root of the trouble. He
reported the interruption to his superiors, whose representatives
hurried to the city to fathom the reason for the unexpected opposition.
It was as the surveyor had surmised. The civic authorities would permit
the iron horse to enter the city if the concessionaries would make a
handsome contribution to the municipal improvement fund--explained the
mayor. “Well, how much do you want?” remarked the concessionaries, who
inwardly had not overlooked this contingency. The mayor could not say
off-hand, and accordingly several delays occurred until this vital
consideration was arranged. As a result of the prolonged parleys the
concessionaries undertook to deliver a certain sum of money to the city.
The bullion was dispatched forthwith and reached the city the night
before payment was due, so as to prevent the authorities to withdraw
from the bargain on the plea that the concessionaries were dilatory.
But law and order were not enforced very strongly, and the surveyor,
with his companions, entertained certain qualms. Accordingly they
decided to mount guard over the building in which they were passing
the night in case of eventualities, at the same time securing a goodly
supply of arms and ammunition.
As the first streaks of dawn lighted the scene the guard thought he
descried the forms of men creeping along the ground in the gloom.
Silently he roused his companions, and with firearms cocked they waited
developments. Not a sign of movement was displayed among the inmates,
and the robbers silently forced an entrance through the windows and
door. Once inside the building they were greeted with a warm fusillade
of lead, and in accordance with the characteristics of their ilk,
they did not stop to reply, but beat as hurried retreat as they could
under the assistance of bullets, leaving some of their number _hors
de combat_. When day broke the besieged party examined the fruits of
their marksmanship, and to their intense surprise discovered that the
dead included the mayor of the city, and one or two of his companions
who had carried out the negotiations for the contribution to the
improvement fund, and who had been so remarkably solicitous concerning
the city’s welfare!
It will be realised that the surveyor who undertakes the plotting of
the line through a new country must be a man of illimitable resource
and capacity, and at the same time ready to meet any development.
It must be confessed, however, that the work, from its adventurous
aspect, appeals strongly to the young engineer anxious to get away from
monotonous routine.
CHAPTER II
THE ROMANCE OF CONSTRUCTION
Though the task of deciding the path for the railway teems with
excitement, adventure and privation, the battle with Nature commences
in grim earnest when the constructional engineer arrives on the scene.
On paper it seems a simple task to follow the location as indicated by
an unbroken row of wooden stakes, but to carry the surveyors’ work to
completion, and to comply with requirements as to grades and curves,
often proves a heart-rending undertaking. No matter how formidable any
obstruction may appear, it is the work of the builder to beat it down;
to overcome it by some means or other with the minimum of expense. He
must be baulked by nothing.
Such a task demands a man of illimitable resource and infinite
ingenuity, conversant with every phase of civil engineering. At the
same time he must possess the happy faculty of being able to organise
great armies of men of all nationalities, and in such a manner that he
can get the utmost out of them. This is a searching difficulty. The
camp of to-day upon a large railway undertaking is a heterogeneous mass
of humanity; the confusion of tongues at the Tower of Babel could not
have been more embarrassing. I have lived among the camps of Canada
and the United States, and among a hundred men it has been no uncommon
circumstance to find representatives of a dozen different tongues.
The control of such men is rendered all the more complex for the
reason that in the majority of cases they have little or no knowledge
of any language but their own. It is not until they have been in one
another’s company for several weeks that inter-conversation becomes
possible. In addition to this drawback there are always the peculiar
troubles incidental to racial and religious prejudices confronting the
commander-in-chief, and at times he is hard pressed to preserve order
and authority.
This trouble is not experienced to any great degree in connection with
railway building operations in Great Britain, but abroad the initial
difficulties of this character are exasperating to a superlative
degree, more especially where reliance has to be made upon native
labour. The workmen have to be educated into the use of labour- and
time-saving implements. This is no easy matter. The native entertains
strong opinions concerning his own ability, and the conversion from the
primitive to the up-to-date scientific has to be effected gradually and
unconsciously, a task which demands considerable tact and patience. A
great amount of time must be expended necessarily in the early days to
drill such raw material, but perseverance and an equable temper are the
only virtues. In Mexico the railway pioneers found it almost hopeless
to impress upon the pæons, as the navvies are called, that to carry
ballast in a basket slung upon the back was not to be compared in speed
and efficiency with conveyance by small trucks pushed along a tramroad.
It was only by carrying out the work themselves in this more modern
manner that the engineers could teach them the superior advantage of
this method, with its sparing of effort and fatigue. In fact, the only
way one can convert the raw native to ideas entirely foreign to his own
custom is to show him how he can save himself trouble. Then he will
adopt the idea with alacrity.
Now and again, however, the white man, despite his ingenuity in the
devising of time-and labour-saving appliances, has to bow to the
inevitable. For instance, in India the Hindoos toil at such a low daily
wage that in many phases of work the wonders of mechanical invention
cannot compare with their crude efforts in cheapness. It comes as a
heavy blow to the engineer’s pride to realise that he must abandon his
elaborate plant and that the native holds the balance between failure
and success.
Again, in the South Americas the _laissez-faire_ attitude of the
inhabitants galls him to the quick. In the southern part of the New
World the policy is “Never do to-day what can be done to-morrow,”
and the native acts up to the very letter of the aphorism. Religious
festivals, each of which is regarded as a holiday, occur with the most
tantalizing frequency. It is no uncommon circumstance for two or three
such orgies--they scarcely can be described as anything else--to occur
in a week, and the labourer is a commendable zealot in the observance
of the religious feasts. The engineer may fret and fume at the delay,
but unless he is in a position to recruit outside labour he must
tolerate the frequent interruptions in the work with the best grace
he can muster. In the mountainous regions of South America the native
knows only too well that he holds an unassailable advantage, for he
is accustomed to the rarefied atmosphere encountered in the extreme
altitudes, whereas it plays sad havoc with the strongest constitutions
of Europeans.
Strange to say, one of the most conscientious workmen in railway
building, as in other fields of industrial endeavour, is the Chinaman.
From a cursory point of view this appears inexplicable, but it must
be borne in mind that a Celestial’s word is his bond. Johnny will
haggle and argue for hours over a bargain, but when he finally accepts
the terms he will fulfil the contract to the letter, even should he
ascertain before he has completed the task that it involves him in a
personal loss. I have seen these men pick up their tools as the clock
struck the hour for commencing the daily task, plod along quietly and
continually until the hour of cessation, and give an indisputably good
return for their daily wage. Can the same be said of the workmen of
any other nationality? I am afraid not. In fact, the steadiness of
the Chinaman has become so famous and has proved so reliable that it
is safe to say that many of the biggest railways of the day never
would have been completed but for his aid. It enabled the first
trans-continental line to be carried across the United States to link
New York with San Francisco; through Oriental labour the Canadian
Pacific was consummated, and many another great undertaking of a like
nature could tell a similar story.
The same spirit prevails when the scene of activity is removed to China
itself. The Celestial may entertain quaint ideas concerning the iron
road and its scope of utility. He may slave hard to-day laying the
track, merely to pull it up again on the morrow on the plea that it is
disturbing the spirits of his ancestors. But nevertheless he completes
his part of the bargain in the first instance. Strikes are unknown and
disputes never arise unless the employer declines to stand by his side
of the contract. China is permeated through and through with secret
societies or Guilds--Trade Unions, if you like--to one or other of
which every Celestial belongs. The white engineer when he first arrives
in the country finds it very difficult to make headway, but in reality
he is on probation in the eyes of the Orientals. They are watching
closely his methods, fathoming his code of honour, his capacity for
handling men--in fact, are investigating him just as closely as if he
were under a microscope. Once he has established his reputation and
has inspired confidence, he need entertain no further apprehensions
concerning trouble.
Yet the Celestials have their own peculiar and effective way of
settling disputes among themselves. The engineer in need of a few
thousand men negotiates for brawn and muscle through a middle-man
or labour contractor. The engineer concludes his bargain with this
worthy, and the latter makes his own terms with the men. He recruits
the navvies at a certain wage, which he takes care to leave him a
wide margin of profit. Occasionally he will be too grasping and will
resort to sweating tactics. When the labourers find this out trouble
looms ahead. The men report the matter to their Guilds, who take the
avaricious middle-man in hand and make him disgorge some of his
ill-gotten gains. If he refuses, well, one day the contractor is
missing, and never is seen again by the engineer. No questions are
asked and no explanations for his disappearance are offered. He has
settled his account with the Guilds to his own personal disadvantage.
The engineer, however, knows nothing about the dissatisfaction until he
observes the absence of the contractor, for the work meantime continues
its daily round undisturbed.
Although labour is a vital consideration, it is but one cog in the
complex machine by means of which the iron road is driven forward
through a new country. Without tools the efforts of the navvy would
count for naught, and as time has rolled by inventive effort and
engineering skill have contrived more and more wonderful devices to
enable the epoch-making work to be fulfilled in the shortest space of
time. There is the steam shovel, which will remove two and a half cubic
yards of miscellaneous rubble with every swing of its ponderous arm;
the grader, whereby the soil is ploughed up and displaced by an endless
chain of buckets into capacious wagons for removal; the drag shovel,
a huge scoop attached to the end of a chain which is pulled along the
ground from a stationary point by steam power, becoming charged with
material in its progress, and thus fashioning the cutting; the monitor,
whereby tons of gravel are washed down the mountain-side under the
disintegrating force of a powerful jet of water similar to a fireman’s
hose; and a host of other wonderful implements, all devised for the
express purpose of expediting the work in hand. Gunpowder and dynamite
are invaluable handmaids, and to-day are used with an astonishing
prodigality. Indeed, when the advance is through rock their services
are indispensable. Crags, cliffs and even whole hills are blown away
bodily by their agency, and the cost often runs into thousands of
pounds, miniature volcanoes being produced by the upheavals.
[Illustration: A RAILWAY CONSTRUCTION CAMP AMONG THE MOUNTAINS]
[Illustration: BUILDING A HIGH BANK ON THE DELAWARE, LACKAWANNA AND
WESTERN RAILWAY, U.S.A., BY MODERN METHODS
An overhead cableway was stretched across the depression, from which a
swinging line was suspended, and on which the trucks were backed to be
emptied.]
Those who have travelled over many remarkable railway systems in
various parts of the world where striking evidences of the
engineer’s skill are apparent upon a liberal scale, have pointed to
the absence of any such evidences of activity in these islands--“The
Home of the Railway.” But this to a certain degree is inevitable. The
engineer was not faced with such physical conditions when he essayed
to gridiron this country as confronted him in the Americas or Asia.
There are no towering ranges of eternally snow-wreathed mountains to
overcome, no wildly boiling wide rivers to span, no yawning canyons to
thread or stretches of sterile desert to traverse. Yet when Stephenson
and his contemporaries sought to achieve the railway conquest of Great
Britain they encountered many obstacles which to them, with their
crude appliances, were every whit as stupendous as those which rear up
before the engineer to-day, although he is equipped with an extensive
assortment of heavy artillery to assist him in his contest against the
forces of Nature. Moreover, some of the expedients which Stephenson
evolved to overcome a difficult situation are practised to-day merely
because the intervening eighty years have not provided any better
solution of a problem of a similar character.
[Illustration: THE HUGE STEAM SHOVEL WHICH TAKES SOME 3 TONS OF SPOIL
WITH EVERY BITE]
[Illustration: THE DRAG-LINE SHOVEL WHICH SCOOPS UP THE EARTH IN THE
CUTTING AS IT IS PULLED ALONG
THE RAILWAY BUILDERS’ HEAVY ARTILLERY]
Every one has read how Stephenson was for a time nonplussed by the
treacherous bog Chat Moss, across which now speed the expresses of the
London & North-Western railway. It is the largest stretch of swamp in
the country, and many wiseacres prophesied that there Stephenson would
meet his Waterloo when he essayed to carry the Manchester & Liverpool
railway over its unstable surface. Yet Stephenson plodded along
unconcerned and achieved success in a novel manner. He laid branches
of trees and hedge cuttings upon the surface of the bog, and upon the
softest patches pressed hurdles intertwined with heather into service.
Upon this network he laid a layer of rock and gravel, which caused the
foundation to sink somewhat into the morass. This formed the permanent
way, and its peculiar character provoked more than one scornful
criticism. But its stability confounded the critics.
To-day in foreign countries where huge stretches of swamp bar the
progress of the iron road the self-same principle is adopted, and it
is known as “corduroying” or “cross-waying.” In the northern States,
Canada and Siberia--the latter country and Canada especially--the
“muskeg,” or “tundra,” as this treacherous land is called, often
stretches for miles. One can sound it sedulously to a great depth, and
then will fail to touch the bottom. The soddened decayed vegetable
matter merely fills a large depression which cannot be drained.
The builders waste no time attempting to build up a solid earthen
embankment resting on the submerged solid floor of the bog. They
fashion a huge mattress of trees. Large trunks are laid horizontally
and longitudinally to the track. Upon these are laid transversely two
or three layers of shorter logs, the whole being secured together
firmly. A topmost layer of branches forming a kind of thatching
completes the structure.
At times these mattresses assume respectable proportions. I have stood
beside some almost as thick as a man is tall, and they constituted
quite formidable pieces of work. When the corduroy is completed a
layer of rock is applied, and upon this is dumped the gravel and other
material forming the embankment. Under the weight thus superimposed the
mattress sinks deeply into the morass and rests firmly. The earthen
ridge is continued to the requisite height; the whole of the embankment
for the track rests upon the fabrication of tree-trunks. Yet the whole
is just as solid as if resting upon granite. One might remark that it
appears an indifferent foundation upon which to pile up a mass of earth
weighing several hundred tons, and that in a short time the wood, under
decomposition and collapse, would precipitate a subsidence. But as a
matter of fact, the corduroy grows stronger with every passing day.
The wood immersed in the viscous liquid and preserved from all contact
with the atmosphere becomes waterlogged, until at last it assumes the
character of bog-oak and is practically indestructible.
Stephenson was called upon to cope with another critical situation
upon the same railway. The great tunnel at Kilsby was in course of
construction, but work had not proceeded very far when the contractors
struck a large pocket of water and quicksand. They combated this
adversary for several months, and then, unable to make any appreciable
headway, threw up the contract. Efforts were made to induce other
firms to accept the task, but in vain. At last Stephenson was called
upon to rescue the undertaking from failure. The outlook was far from
promising, for the shaft was being sunk through material which the
engineer always regards askance--a shale--while the fault in which
reposed a large volume of water and sand was of large proportions.
Stephenson concluded that the best way to cope with the problem was to
pump out the water first, and accordingly he rigged up an elaborate
plant capable of handling 1,800 gallons per minute, and this was kept
going day and night. Even then, however, it was only by superhuman
effort that the water was kept down. One day after Stephenson had been
on the scene about six months, the water got the upper hand and flooded
the tunnel to such a depth that the men and materials had to be floated
in on rafts.
This undertaking, however, served to demonstrate to those anxious to
participate in railway-building speculations how estimated expenses
for definite work might be sent astray seriously, and how formidable
and ubiquitous was the unexpected factor in such work. The original
contractor offered to complete the burrow, 7,169 feet in length, under
the Kilsby Ridge for some £90,000. By the time the last brick of the
lining had been laid and the tunnel was ready for use over £300,000 had
been expended.
The attempt to pierce this tunnel at that time, however, was a far more
difficult enterprise than it would be to-day. The engineers had not the
powerful marvellous appliances such as serve the contractor’s purposes
now. Electric energy was unknown, the hydraulic shield for driving
tunnels had yet to be invented, the steam shovel had not been thought
of--in short, the contractor was handicapped on every side by the crude
character of his tools. Some of these appliances which the modern
railway-builder uses are little short of wonderful, both in time- and
labour-saving qualities, and the majority have been born of necessity.
For instance, in the early railway days on the American continent
too much time would have been occupied in building lofty earthen
embankments among the mountains. Accordingly the rifts and gullies were
spanned by timber trestles. But the woodwork was perishable, and there
was always the risk of fire demolishing the structure and precipitating
disaster to a passing train. The obvious remedy was to replace the wood
by metal, but the expense was a deterrent factor.
One day a workman on one of the mountain sections suggested that the
woodwork should be left intact, but buried beneath a mass of earth.
The suggestion was received with ridicule because, as the divisional
engineer pointed out, several thousand men and several hundred trucks
and dozens of locomotives would be required to handle the material,
while the time the task would occupy was incalculable. The workman
listened to the criticisms, and then interposed with the quiet comment
that he did not suggest using any trains and trucks, and that a few
dozen men would be ample to complete the work. The divisional engineer
was somewhat astonished, and at first thought the man had taken leave
of his senses. Then the workman revealed his intentions. He would
not resort to steam shovels or any other device of that character.
He had observed minutely and tested the power of a jet of water, and
consequently had conceived an idea to wash down masses of gravel by
means of very powerful jets of water. There was no need even to rig
up a steam engine and pump to supply the requisite force to the water
flying from the nozzle. High up on the mountain-side was a creek. A dam
could be thrown across this torrent at little cost, and the pent-up
water could be led down to the working site below through piping, and
the pressure thus secured by gravitation would be more than ample for
the purpose. The gravel as washed out of the hillside would be directed
into wooden conduits and led to points around the trestles, where it
would be discharged to build up the embankment.
It was a simple means of overcoming a perplexing difficulty. The
divisional engineer was so impressed with its feasibility that he
secured the requisite permission for the workman to put his suggestion
into practical form. The creek was dammed by throwing trees from
bank to bank, and from the little pond thus formed the water was led
several hundred feet down the mountain-side through pipes to the large
nozzles. A small network of timber conduits were fashioned to convey
the displaced gravel to the feet of the timber trestle.
In a short time work was commenced, and as the jets of water struck
against the solid face of the mountain, the soft earth and gravel were
washed out at tremendous speed. Heavy streams of mud poured down the
conduits. The hill disappeared like magic under the scouring action of
the harnessed water, to reappear in a symmetrically-shaped ridge around
the woodwork, which grew rapidly in height until the level of the
railway was gained. The embankment thus formed was found to be as solid
and stable as if built by dumping, and the whole task was accomplished
in a few weeks. While the work was in progress the chief engineer
and his lieutenant visited the spot and watched the building of the
embankment by hydraulic sluicing with intense interest. Its complete
success in this initial experiment secured its adoption, and in a short
space of time, where the conditions permitted, all the trestles among
the mountains were buried beneath a ridge of earth built up by a jet of
water.
While I was being shown some of the most impressive pieces of railway
engineering among the Cascades, my cicerone, an English engineer and
railway-builder, after describing the features whereby the Great
Northern railway is taken down to the coast, remarked, “I wonder what
Brunel would have done among these mountains? I guess he would have
revelled in the difficulties they offered.”
There is no doubt that the great engineer would have found the ascent
of the steep slopes and the crossing of the great gulches an extensive
field for the exercise of his genius. His work among the vales of
Cornwall and along the rugged seashore of Wicklow, Ireland, indicate
this fact only too plainly. In these two districts are to be found the
nearest approaches to spectacular work that these islands can afford.
True there are no wonderful loops and great terraces winding up and
down mountain-sides, but there is the daring and lofty spanning of
yawning valleys, and the driving of a narrow pathway along steep rocky
slopes.
For something like half a century Brunel’s spidery timber viaducts of
Cornwall constituted one of the sights of that county. The location,
with its grades and curves, as carried through Cornwall, has been
assailed by many critics, but it must be remembered that when Brunel
penetrated the English Riviera, railway operation was very different
from what it is to-day. Engines and train loads were light, while
money was by no means plentiful. The engineer was compelled to
achieve his object at the most moderate cost, but the very fact that
he was hampered in this connection served to influence him in the
accomplishment of monumental work. His timber viaducts were remarkable
for the novel character of their design and their extent. In the course
of sixty miles he had to span no less than thirty-four valleys in this
manner, the aggregate length of the wooden structures being about four
miles. The engineer adopted timber as a constructional material because
it was cheaper than iron, and American oak was used extensively. Some
were of great height, the St. Pinnock viaduct, for instance, carrying
the train 153 feet above the bottom of the valley, while others
attained great lengths, the Landore viaduct measuring 1,760 feet from
end to end.
These evidences of Brunel’s work, however, are disappearing under the
exigencies of to-day. Timber is being replaced by steel and granite to
meet the increased weights and speeds of trains. The location through
the county also is undergoing revision, the sharp curves introduced by
Brunel being eased or eliminated, while the grades are being flattened.
Consequently in a few years the name of Brunel in Cornwall will be
naught but a memory. Fortunately other evidences of his handiwork
abound on this system notably in the Saltash, Chepstow and Maidenhead
bridges, as well as the Box and Foxwood tunnels.
In Ireland, however, a far more daring expression of his skill is
offered. This is the stretch of line along the seashore between Bray
and Wicklow, which now forms part of the Dublin & South-Eastern
railway. This was the first stretch of iron road to be opened in the
Emerald Isle, the original one and three-quarter miles being operated
in the first instance by the system of atmospheric propulsion, whereby
the train was hauled along the metals by suction.
When it was decided to connect Wicklow with Bray, the trying character
of the country lying between the two points, and especially of Bray
Head, demanded a masterhand to effect the location and to carry the
building operations through to success. It was a matter of sixteen
miles, but they proved perhaps the most trying sixteen miles of railway
construction ever attempted in this country. It was stated that Bray
Head would defy conquest, for it was approachable only through very
rocky country, and it is quite possible that the gloomy outlook
was responsible for tempting Brunel to achieve something bold and
striking. There was no need to have carried the line in this direction,
a fact which is realised to-day, for by making a detour inland an
easier location could have been found, and the present generation
would not have been called upon to pour out heavy sums of money to
keep their line intact. Brunel’s vanity has cost the railway company
several thousands of pounds since the line was opened. It is only by
superhuman effort that the railway is not devoured by the sea, over
£40,000, or $200,000, having been expended in defence works over this
sixteen miles of line during a period of ten years alone.
Apart from this unsatisfactory feature the line is a constant source
of anxiety. A little to the south of Bray is Bramstone tunnel and a
wild ravine. This gulch attracted the engineer. Instead of avoiding
it, he bridged it with a wooden viaduct 300 feet long by 75 feet high.
Before it was quite completed it was destroyed in a single night, the
demolished timbers being carried out to sea. A few years later, while
a train was crossing, the engine left the metals and precipitated a
sensational accident. Investigation revealed the fact that it was due
to the action of the waves, which, battering against the piers of the
viaduct, had so vibrated the structure as to throw the rails out of
gauge.
Thereupon it was decided to abandon the viaduct and drive the line
directly through the rocky promontory. The traveller still can see
traces of the original route in the decaying approaches to the gap
formerly conquered by a timber trestle.
[Illustration:
_Brack, photo_]
THE PECOS VIADUCT ON THE “SUNSET” RAILWAY, THE HIGHEST STRUCTURE IN THE
UNITED STATES, THE TRACK BEING 321 FEET ABOVE THE WATER BELOW]
Still it was a grim fight with Nature for every foot of the way. A
mere ledge suffices to carry the track, and this gallery is often at a
level of seventy feet above the sea beneath. Here and there the line
is enclosed by a roof recalling the snow-sheds of the Selkirks or
Cascades, to protect the rails from stones bouncing down the cliffs.
Curiously enough, the method in which Brunei drove his line along this
forbidding wild shore recalls the staggering feats accomplished in the
American mountains, and indeed a journey over this railway will provide
a thrill in miniature such as results from a toil through the mountain
backbone of the New World. The dislodgment of massive boulders and
landslides are so frequent that flagmen have to be retained to keep a
vigilant eye on the track and to warn passing trains. At places long
walls have been erected high on the hillside to arrest the descent of
the movements of loose rock on the one hand, while on the other the
cliff face has been cut into terraces to break the force of the waves,
and together with retaining walls and groynes, seek to counteract the
insidious erosion of the sea.
[Illustration: THE TRACK LAYER, WHEREBY THE METALS ARE LAID AT A SPEED
OF 3 OR 4 MILES A DAY, CROSSING A HEAVY TIMBER TRESTLE]
When Bray Head has been passed the physical character of the country
changes with startling suddenness from jagged rock to clay. Here the
engineer was brought to fierce grips with his adversary. The clay is
honeycombed on all sides with springs, and there is a constant war
between the engineer and Nature for supremacy. Building the line was
exacting indeed, but the puzzles which had to be unravelled then are
equalled by those attending the preservation of the road. The battle
was waged relentlessly for some years, but the sea won; the engineers
were compelled to re-lay their track some distance inland.
The shareholders in the railway are paying dearly for Brunel’s colossal
error. Indeed, it is a poor return for an outlay of over £400,000, or
$2,000,000, which were sunk in this sixteen miles of line. It may be
wonderful engineering, but it is not business. The railway company are
anxious to abandon this location and to rebuild the line along the
route it should have followed in the first instance. At the present
such a result is not financially possible, but its realisation is
merely a question of time.
One inspiriting phase of the railway-builder’s work is the race
against time, and in the fulfilment of such a task many an astonishing
performance has been achieved. When one of the great American railways
was pushing its way to the Pacific coast, it required a tunnel to be
driven for two miles through the Cascades. It was a daring piece of
work, and the railway company, after considering the scheme, decided
that it could be accomplished cheaper and more quickly under contract
than by direct labour. Upon the advice of their surveyors they set the
time for its completion at twenty-eight months. Considering the remote
situation of the work the feat was considered absolutely impracticable,
and no recognised contractor could be prevailed upon to incur the risk.
The company, however, was convinced that some daring spirit existed who
could, and would, fulfil their requirements, so they advertised for
tenders. When these were perused it was found that one man was willing
to meet the time-limit and at a price far below competitors. His bid
was accepted. That man was Bennett, and he lost no time in setting his
carefully-laid plans in motion.
He was over three thousand miles from the country in which the tunnel
was to be driven, yet before the ink on the contract was dry he had
wired to his assistant on the Pacific coast to hurry forward all
requisite appliances, while he himself purchased an elaborate plant of
the most modern type to be shipped to the railway point nearest the
site. From this station he had to transport every ounce of material for
a distance of eighty-two miles through the roughest and most broken
mountainous country it is possible to conceive.
There was no road, so he had to blaze one through the deadfall and
littered rock, fording creeks and streams and toiling through viscous
mud. The wagons sank above the axles, and had to be hauled through the
muskeg by block and tackle. In this way, by sheer physical effort,
he gained the mountain which was to be pierced. It took him a solid
six months to get his forces and artillery to the spot, leaving him
scarcely twenty-two months in which to hew the passage through the
solid rock.
So pressing was time that he never permitted an hour’s cessation day or
night. An agent on the coast recruited men by the score and dispatched
them up country in large corps. As they arrived they were divided into
six-hour shifts on either side of the mountain, and in this way toil
was continued unbrokenly throughout the whole twenty-four hours. When
he had settled down to work in grim earnest wages were absorbing money
at the rate of nearly £2,000, or $10,000, per week.
Preliminary to embarking upon the contract he had prepared careful
calculations showing him how much rock it was requisite to remove every
day to effect completion in time, and he made up his mind to hold to
this table by hook or by crook. A tunnel face is not a spot where much
leeway can be made up, for only a certain number of men can be crowded
upon its limited area. But he met this disadvantage by spurring the
drillers to superhuman effort by the offer of an attractive bonus. In
this way he was able to maintain the advance he had calculated per
day until the heart of the mountain was gained, when owing to the
extreme hardness of the rock the men could not help falling behind the
scheduled progress. Now and again, however, when they encountered a
softer stretch of material they were able to make up lost time.
The months sped by; the contracted time for completion loomed nearer
and nearer. Determined not to be beaten, Bennett urged his drillers
harder and harder, offering fancy wages for additional effort. The
strain wore him almost to a skeleton; he scarcely slept, so haunted was
he by the determination to fulfil his side of the bargain. Checking and
rechecking of the finished work convinced him that the opposing parties
could not be far apart in the heart of the Cascades.
One morning the men on one side paused momentarily in their drilling.
They could hear the faint muffled chink, chink of drills. It was the
party advancing from the west. With a loud cheer, answered by a ghostly
sepulchral hurrah, both parties bent to their tasks with redoubled
energy. Before long a gaping hole was revealed in the heading. The two
forces had met--the tunnel was pierced. Without hesitation they set
to widening the breach out to its appointed dimensions, and at last,
with a sigh of relief, threw down their tools. The tunnel was finished
practically, and there were seven days or so to spare.
In another instance a railway company required a bridge to be opened
within a certain period. Its accomplishment on time meant the accretion
of a large sum of money to the treasury, and accordingly a bounty of
some £5,000, or $25,000, was offered to the firm building the bridge.
The latter in turn offered a portion to the men responsible for the
actual work. Under the incentive of this offer the riveters and
erectors strove might and main. The odds were against them hopelessly,
but general co-operation enabled the work to go forward with great
speed. By maintaining this high pressure the huge fabric assumed its
definite shape in quick time, and the last rivet was driven home with a
resounding cheer a few minutes before the expiration of the stipulated
time.
Yet railway construction has its farcical side, especially in America.
Conflicting interests often clash, and then lively times ensue. In
Canada it has been no unusual sight to see an existing railway rush a
large gang of workmen to a point threatened with invasion by a rival.
Their presence ostensibly is to improve the line in possession, but in
reality the men are drafted there to thwart the competitive enterprise.
This is the “fighting gang,” and it is rightly named, because the
opposing forces often meet and a free fight results.
When these tactics are waged by opposing railway magnates the
struggle is often bitter and long drawn out. It was so when J. J.
Hill and Harriman came to close grips in Oregon. The former great
railway-builder decided to carry a line down to the coast along
the bank of the Columbia River. Harriman construed this act as an
invasion of his preserves, and spared no effort to defeat the “Grand
Old Railway-Builder of the West,” as J. J. Hill is called popularly.
Directly Hill’s proposals became known, Harriman, to secure his legal
status, revived a defunct project known as the “Wallula Pacific
railway,” which had been incorporated so many years before, and yet had
accomplished so little, as to be forgotten. Hill was coming down the
north bank of the Columbia, and suddenly Harriman discovered that his
moribund project was to follow the same course. The result was that
two rival constructional forces appeared on the scene, one bent on
building a line, and the other determined to prevent its realisation.
A hail of rock rained from one camp to the other, and the grade was
demolished as rapidly as fashioned. One day the Hill navvies were in
possession, the next, through being outnumbered, they were driven out
and the Harriman army held the position, only to evacuate it when
the former reappeared with reinforcements. No blood was spilt, but
it came perilously near it when a navvy on one side threw a piece of
rock harder against an opposing workman than the latter appreciated.
Injuries were numerous, and one day the aspect became so threatening
that a pitched battle appeared certain. At times, however, the battle
became Gilbertian. The rivals merely played catchball with pieces of
rock, tossing the missiles at one another with considerable banter and
amid a rain of jokes.
For eighteen months this state of affairs prevailed, and then the
courts deciding against Harriman, he was forced to retire from the
scene. Directly he did so, his gangs of navvies walked over to the
opposite camp, because from their point of view Hill’s money was just
as good as that of Harriman. It was immaterial to them for which side
they worked, so long as they were paid for it. The result was that the
two gangs which had been engaged in more or less deadly strife, now
worked harmoniously side by side to carry the Hill line into Portland.
Such tactics as these, however, come somewhat as an interlude to the
grim tussle with Nature which is the railway-builder’s invariable lot.
CHAPTER III
THE BORING OF THE GOTTHARD TUNNEL
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.
[Illustration: THE GÖSCHENEN ENTRANCE TO THE ST. GOTTHARD TUNNEL
Work was commenced at this point on June 4, 1872. The huge task was
completed and the line opened for traffic on May 22, 1882.]
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.
[Illustration: THE WONDERFUL WASSEN LOOP ON THE ST. GOTTHARD RAILWAY,
SHOWING THREE TIERS OF TRACK]
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.
[Illustration: THE COMPRESSED AIR LOCOMOTIVE WHICH HAULED WORKMEN AND
ROCK BLASTED FROM THE MOUNTAIN IN THE CUTTING OF THE LOETSCHBERG TUNNEL]
[Illustration: WHAT THE WORKING FACE IN THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN IS
LIKE
The gang and drills cutting the path for the line through the
Loetschberg Tunnel recently completed.
BORING A GREAT ALPINE TUNNEL]
[Illustration:
_Photo by E. Goetz, Lucerne_]
THE LOFTY AMSTEG BRIDGE, 184 FEET HIGH, SPANNING THE MADERAN VALLEY ON
THE ST. GOTTHARD RAILWAY]
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.
CHAPTER IV
THE RAILWAY INVASION OF CANADA
The news of the victory of Stephenson’s “Rocket” in the historic
railway locomotive contest at Rainhill on the Liverpool & Manchester
railway in 1829 scarcely had filtered round the world, when the idea
of transporting passengers and merchandise by steam power along two
parallel rails occupied the earnest attention of enterprising spirits
in Canada. They realised that the new method of locomotion was certain
to play an important part in the opening up of British North America.
As a result of deliberations, a small body of prominent business men in
Montreal applied for a charter to construct a railway from La Prairie
to St. John’s in the province of Quebec, which was granted in 1832
under the seal of William IV.
It was an unpretentious enterprise, for the projected line was only
some fourteen miles in length. It was named the Champlain & St.
Lawrence railway, the idea being to link Lake Champlain, whence New
York could be reached by water, with the St. Lawrence. The first
section of the line was opened in 1836, though it was not operated by
steam. The rails were of wood, and the vehicles were hauled by horses.
This system obtained for only one year, however. The first winter
sufficed to demonstrate to those concerned with the enterprise that
such primitive methods were far from satisfactory. Consequently the
“wooden flanges,” as the rails constituting the track were called, were
torn up to make way for iron rails, and the steamengine took the place
of the animal motor.
A year or two later the objective of the promoters was attained. Lake
Champlain was brought into communication with the St. Lawrence at
Montreal by a railway some fifty miles in length, the inland sheet
of water being tapped at Rouses’s Point at the head of the lake in
United States territory. It is stated that Jay Gould, who afterwards
became one of the greatest railway-builders and magnates in the United
States, gained his first insight of the construction of railways upon
this line, by being associated with the location survey. From this
humble beginning was woven the huge railway network of Canada, which
now gridirons the country in all directions, and aggregates some 25,000
miles.
Other projects were formulated in rapid succession for a comprehensive
invasion of the eastern corner of the country. Foremost among these was
the Grand Trunk Railway Company, conceived in 1852, to build a trunk
road between the Atlantic seaboard and the Great Lakes, which at that
time was practically the western commercial limit of the Dominion. It
was an English enterprise, and, moreover, was strongly imperial from
the sentimental point of view, for it was planned to thread Canadian
territory entirely.
The famous firm of railway constructional engineers, Messrs. Peto,
Betts & Brassey, fresh from their triumphs on the Continent, were
willing to carry out the work. They had an extensive accumulation of
plant lying idle, and at the time were seeking for fresh worlds to
conquer. Canada presented just the opportunity they desired, and they
were ready to provide all the railways that Canada would require for
some years to come. The faith in this firm of constructional engineers
was so great that British financiers were open to provide any amount of
money that might be required.
The negotiations were prolonged, as rival interests opposed the scheme
vehemently. The preliminaries passed through many vicissitudes, but the
compact between the English financiers and the Canadian authorities
was ratified and sealed, at last, for the construction of a main line
between Montreal and Hamilton, a distance of about 373 miles, which the
Provincial Government undertook to finance to the extent of £3,000, or
$15,000, per mile. Hamilton was selected as the western terminal point
because therefrom another line extended to the Lakes, while a railway
was creeping up from Portland on the Atlantic coast to Montreal. By the
construction of this central section, 964 miles of through continuous
railway would be provided for the benefit of the population.
But the undertaking proved to be one of the most difficult that
the engineers, despite their wide and varied experience, had been
called upon to fulfil up to this time. The country traversed was very
sparsely populated, the forests were dense, and in winter, under the
combined adversities of snow, ice, and intense cold, the situation
was terrible. Labour was scarce, wages were high, and material was
found to be expensive. In the end it was found that the average cost
per mile approximated £8,000, or $40,000, so that to link Montreal
with Toronto entailed an expenditure of £2,664,000, or $13,320,000.
Moreover, it was one of the largest contracts that the engineers ever
had carried out, while the physical conditions harassed them to such
an extent that when they balanced up their books they found they had
incurred a loss of about £1,000,000, or $5,000,000. The wide gauge of
five feet six inches was adopted, and this factor developed into as
keen a bone of dissension in Canada as it did in Great Britain, and as
in the latter country it was finally abolished, so in Canada it was
abandoned in favour of the standard gauge of four feet eight and a half
inches, though the conversion cost the Grand Trunk railway a matter of
£1,000,000 ($5,000,000).
[Illustration: NO. 2, “THE TORONTO,” THE FIRST RAILWAY ENGINE BUILT IN
CANADA BY JAMES GOOD IN 1853]
[Illustration:
_Photo by courtesy of Pennsylvania Steel Co._]
THE NIAGARA CANTILEVER RAILWAY BRIDGE UNDER CONSTRUCTION
It was built round the suspension highway bridge so as not to interrupt
communication between the two banks.]
Yet in building this line the contractors set up an engineering
monument which for years ranked as the “eighth wonder of the world.”
Montreal was on the north bank of the St. Lawrence, while the link
connecting the metropolis with the Atlantic seaboard followed the
southern bank of the river. The two sections of line were interrupted
by the rolling waterway, which at this point is nearly two miles wide.
The spanning of this gap, so as to bring Montreal into direct railway
touch with the coast, had been one of the great obstacles to the
incorporation of the railway in the first instance, but Messrs. Peto,
Betts & Brassey undertook to forge this link. At that time it was so
formidable an undertaking as to be thought absolutely incapable of
realisation. Indeed, when a suggestion for bridging the St. Lawrence at
this point was advanced for the first time, it was laughed to scorn.
[Illustration: “THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD”
The wonderful tubular bridge, 6,592 feet long, built by Ross and
Stephenson across the St. Lawrence River to carry the Grand Trunk
Railway into Montreal.]
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE AS RECONSTRUCTED
The continuous tube carrying a single track was converted into an open
truss girder bridge to take two sets of metals, tramway line, road and
pavement.]
However, its construction constituted a vital part of the contract.
Accordingly, the contractors lost no time in attacking the undertaking
when they secured a foothold in the Dominion. The river was surveyed
minutely up and down for a considerable distance, while detailed
soundings were made to discover the extent and nature of the
foundations requisite for the piers. After infinite labour a suitable
site was discovered, and a great measure of credit for the location
is due to Alexander M. Ross, who was one of the engineers to the
undertaking, George Stephenson acting as consulting engineer. Ross
carried carefully prepared and detailed plans of the structure he had
formulated to his coadjutator in England, and Stephenson admitted, when
first submitted to his notice, that “the idea was certainly startling.”
However, he complimented Ross upon his daring, and as the latter
engineer had won his spurs in England before he departed to Canada on
behalf of the group of capitalists financing the Grand Trunk railway,
his work received greater consideration from the eminent engineer than
might have been the case otherwise. The result was that when Stephenson
went to Canada to consider the subject on the spot he concurred with
Ross in the general scheme, and the design was elaborated conjointly.
When the location was settled definitely, the project was assailed
vigorously by bridge designers in America, but this animosity was
inflamed from the fact that they had prepared alternative proposals
for bridging the waterway at a different spot. The rival engineers
emphasised the danger from ice, and commented strongly upon the risk,
in fact serious danger, arising from this cause, to the full brunt of
which Stephenson’s bridge would be submitted. Some critics even went
so far as to state that the structure never would be completed, or if
so, would come down under the first packing of the ice. Stephenson,
however, treated his American detractors with contempt, and, to the
mind of the latter worthies, appeared to fly deliberately in the face
of Fate by concurring with Ross’s recommendations. That was nearly
sixty years ago, but the piers have given no sign of collapsing yet.
The resident engineer and superintendent of the constructional
work, Mr. James Hodges, realising the monumental character of the
undertaking--for it was a larger bridge-building scheme than ever had
been attempted up to this time--spent many hours together wrestling
with difficulties as they developed, for the unexpected confronted them
at every turn. The ice was one of their greatest perplexities, because
during the winter the river is frozen so solidly that it will support
the weight of a train, and, indeed, a track has been laid across the
waterway in winter to maintain communication between the two banks.
When the ice broke up, the floes became jammed and piled against the
temporary works around the piers in an inextricable mass to such an
extent that it demanded unremitting vigilance to guard against a
collapse of the dams under the enormous pressure exerted upon them.
The depth of the river and the current were two other factors which
had to be taken into serious consideration, for some of the piers are
sunk in twenty-two feet of water, while the velocity of the current is
about seven miles an hour. The working season was very short, averaging
about twenty-six weeks during the year, and during this period every
available man had to be crowded on to the work. When construction was
in full swing, between 2000 and 3000 men found employment.
[Illustration:
_Photo by permission of the Pennsylvania Steel Co._]
THE MAGNIFICENT SINGLE SPAN BRIDGE ACROSS THE NIAGARA RIVER BELOW THE
FALLS
Length of span, 550 feet; height above 226 feet.]
The bridge consisted of a huge rectangular tube, similar to that
spanning the Menai Straits, carrying a single track. From end to end
it measured 6,592 feet by 16 feet wide, 18 feet in height, and weighed
9,044 tons. It was divided into 25 spans, 24 of which were of 242
feet each, while one was of 330 feet. The piers were built massively
in masonry, the stone being obtained from quarries in convenient
proximity. The ironwork was prepared in England, each piece being
marked carefully for its position in the structure. The bridge had
a gradual slope upwards from either bank to the centre, where the
height from the bed of the river to the top of the tube was 108 feet.
For its erection 2,250,000 feet of timber were required in connection
with the temporary work, the piers and abutments demanded the use of
some 3,000,000 feet of masonry, and 2,500,000 rivets were used to
secure the component parts of the ironwork together. In addition to
the bridge proper, some 2,500 feet of approaches on either side had
to be fashioned, so that the total length of the work was 9,144 feet.
The contracted price for the structure was £1,400,000, or $7,000,000,
but it was completed for £100,000 ($500,000) less. Of this total the
masonry and temporary work absorbed,£800,000, or $4,000,000, and the
ironwork £400,000 ($2,000,000).
[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE IRON TUBE, 2,290 FEET IN LENGTH AND 23
FEET IN DIAMETER]
[Illustration: THE 2000 H.P. ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVES HAULING THE
“INTERNATIONAL LIMITED” THROUGH THE TUBE
The “link that binds Two Great Nations,” the St. Clair Tunnel, under
the St. Clair River.]
While the work was in progress the railway company found increasing
traffic, as the sections of completed line were opened, so emphasised
the urgency of securing through communication across the river that
the contractors were approached, and a bonus of £60,000 ($300,000) was
offered to them if they would complete the work a year earlier than was
stipulated in the contract. The engineers redoubled their efforts, and
on December 17, 1859, the great bridge was opened, though the official
ceremony took place five months later, when King Edward VII, then
Prince of Wales, opened the Victoria Bridge, as it was christened, in
the name of Queen Victoria, during his visit to the Dominion.
Stephenson died before his great work was completed. For a quarter of a
century or more it constituted one of the sights of the North American
continent. As the country became more settled and the volume of traffic
flowing to and fro across the river increased, the railway experienced
a very great difficulty in handling it over a single line. At last the
inadequacy reached such a point that some improvement was imperative.
A second bridge would have been too costly, and after considerable
reflection it was decided to replace the tubular bridge by one of
larger dimensions.
A minute examination of the existing structure was made, and it
speaks volumes for the work of Stephenson and Ross, as well as of the
contractors, that the bridge appeared as sound and as fit for another
century or more as it did on the day it was first opened. The piers had
been built so solidly that they did not show the slightest trace of the
terrible buffetings and pressure to which they had been subjected by
the ice during some fifty winters.
Consequently it was decided to remove the tubular structure and to
erect in its place an open truss bridge, 66 feet 8 inches wide,
carrying a double track, a roadway for an electric tram-line, space
for vehicular traffic, and a pavement for pedestrians. The engineers
designing the new structure came to the conclusion that the striking
stability and condition of the masonry piers would carry the new bridge
with but slight alteration. As a result of this conclusion it was
decided to erect the new structure around the old bridge, cutting away
the latter span by span, so that there was no interruption to the train
service.
This appeared to be a simple expedient, but when the engineers
commenced operations on Stephenson’s handiwork they found that it
was built of far tougher material than they had expected. The rivets
defied withdrawal, so excellently had they been driven home, and one
of the engineers showed me one of these securing pieces, which he had
preserved as a memento of British handiwork of some seventy years ago.
As a matter of fact, as he related, it was far easier to build the
new structure than it was to destroy the old, and the cutting away of
the old tubular bridge span by span was found to be an exceedingly
laborious task.
However, it was achieved, and there was not the slightest interruption
in the traffic, which testifies to the skill and care with which
the engineers laid their plans. Nor was it attended by any untoward
incident, though what might have proved a terrible accident was averted
very narrowly during reconstruction, as was related to me by one of
the engineers. It was Sunday morning, and they were rebuilding the
central part of the bridge. Special men had been stationed at each
approach to the bridge, and elaborate instructions had been drawn up
for controlling the passage of trains by flag-signalling. Sunday was
selected for the most difficult portions of the work, as on that day
the trains were few and far between.
On this Sunday morning the work had advanced so satisfactorily that
the old tubular span had been removed, and there was a wide gap in
the continuity of the ironwork carrying the metals, showing the murky
river swinging along at a merry pace below. Everything was ready for
completing the new span, when one of the engineers, happening to glance
shorewards, observed a train entering the bridge and coming along at a
brisk speed. Something had gone wrong; the flagman had misunderstood
instructions or had given a wrong signal. The train was speeding to
its doom, for there was the yawning gulf. But the engineer never lost
his presence of mind. Realising the situation, he threw down his
instruments, and ran along the track towards the advancing train waving
his arms frantically and yelling like one bereft. The engine-driver,
unlike the majority of his ilk on an American railway, concluded that
something must be amiss, and applied his brakes sharply, pulling up a
short distance from the brink of the abyss. It was a narrow escape; had
the engineer hesitated a minute, disaster swift and sudden would have
overwhelmed that train.
When the new bridge, with its 22,000 tons of steel, was completed for
traffic it was renamed, but as the reconstruction coincided with the
Jubilee of Queen Victoria’s reign, the revision comprised merely the
perpetuation of that auspicious event, and to-day the structure is
known as the Victoria Jubilee Bridge. From first to last the structure
has cost £1,800,000 ($9,000,000), of which reconstruction absorbed
about £400,000 ($2,000,000).
As the Grand Trunk increased in importance, subsidiary and tributary
railways were absorbed. Nor was the original idea of a trunk line
overlooked. This end was achieved by pushing towards Chicago, the
busy centre of the Middle States. Continuity of rail in this case,
however, was interrupted by the St. Clair River, the narrow strait
which connects Lakes Huron and Ontario. In the early days communication
was maintained by means of ferry-boats, which handled complete trains,
but as the river is extremely erratic, with strong currents varying
in velocity according to the direction of the wind, and is congested
with shipping, the ferry service possessed many shortcomings. When the
strait was obstructed with floating ice, the situation became far more
serious.
Accordingly, in order to remove these disabilities, a bold solution
was elaborated in the form of a tunnel beneath the waterway connecting
Sarnia on the Canadian with Port Huron on the United States side of the
St. Clair River. It certainly was an audacious remedy for a perplexing
problem. The river is 46 feet deep and is nearly half-a-mile wide,
so that the tunnel had to be planned at a great depth. However, no
better alternative could be offered, for a bridge was quite out of
the question, so in 1886 the St. Clair Tunnel Company was formed as a
subsidiary undertaking of the railway, to complete a subaqueous link of
communication, with Mr. Joseph Hobson as chief engineer.
As the topography of the land on either side is tolerably flat, the
question of the approaches had to be settled, and a heavy grade
at either end could not be avoided. Technical difficulties were
encountered at the very start. A trial shaft was sunk on the Canadian
side to a depth of 98 feet, while another shaft on the American side
was carried down to 92 feet. The preliminary shafts were elliptical in
shape, measuring 4 feet by 8 feet in diameters. When the requisite
depths were obtained, galleries were driven at right angles beneath the
river. These efforts proving satisfactory, it was decided to build the
complete tunnel from either bank from shafts, as in the case of the
Blackwall tunnel. The shafts were each 23 feet in diameter, and they
were so built that there was a circular ring, the lower face of which
carried a knife-edge digging into the ground. The soil was excavated
from beneath this knife-edge, and as the brick-wall lining of the shaft
was built upon the upper surface of the knife-ring, it was considered
that the superimposed weight would drive the knife downwards as the
earth beneath was removed.
But these carefully-laid schemes and anticipations went astray.
Exasperating failures and mishaps occurred, and at last the engineer
changed his plans; the shaft method was abandoned. Instead, he decided
to drive the tunnel from either end through the approaches. For this
purpose the plant and machinery were removed inland from the shafts
for a distance of 1,900 feet on the Canadian, and 1,800 feet on the
American bank respectively. Two huge cuttings were driven downhill
until the tunnel level was gained, when the burrow beneath the river
was commenced. The tunnel itself consists of a circular iron tube or
pipe of sufficient diameter to carry a single track. It is 19 feet 10
inches in diameter, is built up of cast-iron rings, and weighs complete
56,000,000 pounds, or about 25,450 tons. Boring was effected from
either end by means of the hydraulic shield, and in less than three
years the task was finished.
The length of tunnel beneath the water is 2,290 feet, while that under
dry land represents another 3,748 feet, making a total length of 6,932
feet. To this must be added 5,580 feet of approaches, which brings
the total extent of the work to nearly 12,000 feet, or 2¼ miles. It
cost £540,000, or $2,700,000, and has always ranked as a noteworthy
achievement in this particular branch of engineering.
Owing to the steepness of the approaches on either side special
locomotives had to be built to handle the traffic through this artery.
They were powerful creations of the railway engine designer, and when
they appeared were the largest steam locomotives in the world. They
could haul a train weighing 760 tons, though at times the pace was slow.
But traffic between the United States and Canada increased by leaps and
bounds, owing to the provision of this tunnel, with the result that in
a very few years the railway authorities found that the tube was quite
overtaxed. A solemn conclave was held as to the best ways and means
of meeting this development. The track could not be doubled; so the
question was how to increase the existing hauling capacity of a single
engine. Steam could not meet the question, so was ruled out of court.
Then an engineer suggested electrification, and advanced a report to
show how the weight of each train might be increased by nearly 25 per
cent. with quicker working, and consequently would facilitate the
passage of a greater number of trains in a given time.
This engineer, Mr. Bion Arnold, was authorised to proceed with his
scheme and to complete his plans for the electrification of the tunnel.
He did so, and as a result a specification was drawn up requiring the
haulage of a train weighing 1000 tons over the 2¼ miles in 15 minutes,
with a maximum speed of 25 miles and a minimum speed of 10 miles per
hour respectively. When the plans were made known it was realised
that the project comprised the most ambitious electrical undertaking
that ever had been attempted up to that time in railway operations,
especially as it was insisted that the electrical system should be of
a type which constituted its first application to heavy steam railway
working. This is what is known as the single-phase alternating current
system with overhead conductor.
The invitation for tenders was awaited with keen anticipation
throughout the world, as it was conceded to offer a unique opportunity
to the electrical engineer. Consequently keen competition was evinced
to secure the honour of carrying out such a remarkable undertaking.
The contract was secured by the Westinghouse Electric & Manufacturing
Company, and was carried to a successful conclusion at a cost of
£100,000 ($500,000). The locomotives now used on this service are
among the most powerful in the world. They weigh 135 tons, and develop
about 2000 horse-power, which enables them to haul a 1000-ton train
up the heavy approach grades at a minimum speed of 10 miles per hour.
Moreover, since electricity was adopted, the tunnel has been kept free
from the dense clouds of smoke and steam which originally converted the
tube into a veritable inferno, and, what is far more important from the
railway company’s point of view, the electrical system is able to meet
three times the volume of traffic that exists to-day, so that there is
ample provision for the future. As it is, the 2¼ miles of line beneath
the teeming St. Clair River is the heaviest electrically worked section
of railway in the world.
Another link with the United States, however, was incumbent to bring
the manufacturing centres around Buffalo into closer communication
with the Dominion. Yet there was only one point where this link could
be provided--across the gorge through which the Niagara River, after
tumbling over the lofty cliff, seethes and boils on its way to Lake
Ontario. A suspension bridge met the exigencies of highway traffic for
some years, but here again improvement was demanded. Accordingly, a
new bridge was planned, and this constitutes one of the most graceful
structures spanning that fearful rift.
The old bridge fulfilled its services faithfully for forty years, and
when demolished was found to be possessed of several years of life. The
new bridge is a splendid work, and its close proximity to the Falls
offers a striking comparison between the handiwork of Nature and that
of the engineer. The bridge leaps across the gorge in a single span,
and when one is speeding over the structure in the train, one is at an
elevation of 226 feet above the raging waters below. The span is of no
less than 550 feet, and the ends are secured to massive anchorages sunk
into the face of the cliffs. It is wrought throughout of steel, and
is approached from either side over a single truss span 115 feet long,
giving a total length of 780 feet.
But the bridge serves a dual purpose. The upper level or deck, 30
feet in width, carries two tracks for the railway’s need, but below
this is another deck, 57 feet wide, which has a central carriage-way
flanked on either hand by a broad pavement, so that the bridge provides
vehicular and pedestrian accommodation between the opposite banks. In
order to provide this improved connection between the two nations,
a sum of about £100,000 ($500,000) had to be expended. The improved
facilities it offered so appealed to the public on both shores that
they celebrated its opening in 1897 by a three days’ carnival.
As time sped by, the Grand Trunk railway gradually but surely swallowed
its competitors, until at last it was left in undisputed possession
of the Province of Ontario, from the railway point of view. To-day it
has over 8000 miles of intricate steel ribbon stretched between the
Great Lakes and the Atlantic coast, while between Montreal and Chicago
the fastest trains in the Dominion hurtle to and fro over a double
track 840½ miles in length, which is the longest continuous stretch of
double track under one management in the world, and upon which some
exhilarating speeds are attained.
When the British capitalists committed themselves to an expenditure
of over £9,000,000, or $45,000,000, for the construction of less than
500 miles of line through virgin territory, it is doubtful whether in
their rosiest dreams they ever anticipated that it would grow into a
huge organisation aggregating a third of the railway mileage of British
North America within sixty years.
Development is still being maintained; new territories are being
conquered. A new long and sinuous arm, 3,556 miles from end to end, is
being stretched out from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, to bring
the eastern into direct touch with the western seaboard. The whole has
grown from the insignificant little wooden road that was laid between
La Prairie and St. John’s in the Province of Quebec eighty years ago.
CHAPTER V
THE FIRST TRANS-CONTINENTAL ACROSS THE UNITED STATES
“There were difficulties from end to end: from high and steep
mountains; from snows; from deserts where there was a scarcity
of water, and from gorges and flats where there was an excess;
difficulties from cold and heat; from a scarcity of timber and from
obstructions of rock; difficulties in keeping a large force on a long
line; from Indians; and from want of labour.”
This was the terse story related to the United States Congress by
Collis P. Huntington, one of the moving spirits of what, at that time,
was a tremendous undertaking--the construction of the first railway
across North America whereby the Atlantic was linked with the Pacific
by a bond of steel. But that concise statement concealed one of the
most romantic stories in the history of railway engineering: of grim
battles every hour either against the hostile forces of nature or of
mankind.
It was in 1863 that the first sod was turned in the construction of
the first line which was destined to bring San Francisco within 120
hours’ journey of New York, and which changed completely the whole
stream of traffic flowing round one-half of the northern hemisphere.
But for some years before the spade was driven into the earth to signal
the commencement of this enterprise, the idea had been contemplated
and discussed in a more or less academic manner. It was such a vast
scheme, the commercial possibilities of success appeared so slender
that the most daring financiers of that day shrank from fathering it.
Capitalists concluded that they might just as well pour their money
down a well as to sink it in such a project as this.
The public, however, regarded the idea from a totally different
standpoint. East wanted to shake hands with the west over the mighty
mountains and vast plains. To pass from New York to San Francisco, or
in the reverse direction, in those days was a perilous journey. One
either had to make a protracted and dangerous voyage down one side
of the American continent, round Cape Horn, and pass up the opposite
coast-line for some 10,000 miles; to brave the peril of traversing the
fever-ridden Central American Isthmus; or to embark upon an overland
journey of some 3,000 miles through country where long stretches of
parched, waterless desert gave way to lofty, snow-capped mountains,
with the Indians in open warfare.
When California seethed in the famous Gold Rush, and adventurers
flocked to this magnetic hub from all parts of the world, the
absence of a connecting link was experienced to an acute degree. The
gold-fever-stricken pioneers had to gain their objective as best they
could, and with the best means of locomotion they could afford. In a
single year 100,000 gold-seekers trailed across the continent.
The traffic produced by the discovery of gold set Collis P. Huntington
thinking. Here was a heavy volume of traffic slipping through the
fingers. Why should it not be handled by a railway? This was his
argument, and as he was a dreamer of commercial conquest, though not in
an idle manner, he decided to remedy the deficiency. Looking into the
future, he saw that a line not only would meet the immediate demands
born of the gold rush, but that it would develop into a great highway
between Europe and the East, as well as the Antipodes. He discussed
the idea with kindred spirits, Leland Stanford and Thomas C. Durant,
and they became enthused with the project. But the question was how to
obtain the money requisite for construction? To appeal to the public
was useless, and no assistance could be anticipated from the financial
world. So they approached the Government, and their endeavours proved
so successful that the country decided to subsidise the undertaking.
When the Government’s sympathy had been secured in a practical manner,
the next step was to discover an engineer who could superintend the
survey and conduct constructional operations. The country did not
possess many Stephensons, and the work in contemplation was of such
an unprecedented character that no ordinary engineer would prove
equal to the task. Happily, however, there was in San Francisco
a railway engineering genius whose ability was being wasted for
lack of opportunity. This man was Theodore D. Judah. He was a born
engineer, and his skill in railway engineering had achieved a peculiar
distinction up and down the Pacific coast. This work was his sole
hobby, and the greater the difficulties to be overcome, the more
enthusiastically and determinedly he threw himself into the task.
His efforts in this direction were so strenuous that he was regarded
generally as a crank, and his great dreams of railway conquest provided
a continual source of amusement. He was always diving into the
mountains, reconnoitring the passes with a view to their suitability
for carrying the steel highway, and openly admitting that his greatest
ambition in life was to be given the chance to lift the metals over the
gaunt Sierras frowning upon the Pacific coast, and to drop them on to
the plains rolling eastwards from the opposite slopes.
On one occasion he resigned his position upon a new railway line that
was being built around San Francisco, and, unaccompanied, forced
his way through the rocky barrier, making a mental note of the
configuration of the country as he proceeded in case of something
turning up, laboured across Nevada’s dreary wastes of alkali, skirted
Salt Lake, and at last gained the Missouri. As a result of his frequent
peregrinations among the mountains, his eye became trained expertly in
spying out the suitability of the country for the iron road, and he
became known under the sobriquet of “The Railway Pathfinder.” It was a
picturesque nickname, but it was one which described his personality to
the full. That his wanderings were not in vain is proved by the fact
that nearly every pass through the mountains which he stated to be
adapted to carry a railway has been pressed into this service since, in
order to gain the Pacific coast.
Indeed the pioneer trans-continental railway owes its birth to
Judah. For years he had advocated the project, and emphasised its
practicability. When Huntington and his colleagues were ready to
commence operations they sent for Judah, convinced that he was the very
man for whom they were searching, to plot the path for the line and
to take command of the forces in the field. The Railway Pathfinder,
realising that the ambition of his life was within reach at last,
hurried eastwards. There was a short consultation which sufficed to
prove to the promoters that Judah was the man to carry the enterprise
to success, and there and then he was placed in supreme control of
the construction. The difficulties among the mountains were what the
promoters feared the most, but the pathfinder regarded them so lightly
that their apprehensions vanished. He had spent so many months among
their silent fastnesses that he knew the range through and through. His
plans were daring and feasible, his reasoning lucid, and his enthusiasm
infectious. In order that the directing hand in the field might not be
trammelled or harassed by business or administration details, a special
emissary was deputed to attend to these secondary but vital essentials,
so that Judah might be able to concentrate his energies and ability
entirely to plotting and pushing the line forwards.
[Illustration: THE MASSIVE BRIDGE OF THE UNION PACIFIC RAILWAY OVER THE
MISSOURI RIVER AT COUNCIL BLUFFS, FROM WHICH POINT THE FIRST RAILWAY
ACROSS THE UNITED STATES WAS COMMENCED]
According to the arrangement with the Government, the railway was to
commence from the eastern bank of the Missouri River at Council Bluffs.
The selection of the eastern bank as the starting-point involved the
erection of a huge bridge as the first step in the undertaking. Such
an idea appears somewhat curious at first sight, as one would have
thought, naturally, that the western bank would have been selected as
the obvious eastern terminal. But the Government recognised one point.
The railways were spreading their tentacles slowly but surely from the
Atlantic coast towards the Missouri River. When they gained its
banks a break in the through rail communication would develop, as the
eastern railways were in their infancy, and far too poor to undertake
the construction of an expensive bridge across this wide waterway to
link up with the line stretching to San Francisco.
[Illustration: THE TIMBER TRESTLE ACROSS SALT LAKE, BY MEANS OF WHICH
THE UNION PACIFIC SAVES 57 MILES
There are 12 miles of woodwork, for which 2,824,700 lineal feet of
timber was required. The track is 19 feet above the water.]
Construction was commenced from both ends of the line. San Francisco
was the Pacific terminal, but as the Golden Gate was connected already
with Sacramento, the capital some miles inland, the latter place was
the point to which the constructional forces were dispatched. The
arm driven eastwards from the Pacific was known as the Union Pacific
railway, while that forced westwards from Council Bluffs was designated
as the Central Pacific. The two arms were to meet about half-way across
the continent.
Judah hurried to California and was soon in the turmoil of his task.
The great difficulty on this section was in regard to the supply of the
constructional material. Everything had to be sent round by water via
the most southerly point of the continent, and as this was a voyage
occupying several weeks, extreme care had to be observed to send
forward supplies in a steady, constant stream, so that no delays might
arise from lack of material. But storms raged, while the negotiation
of Cape Horn is a difficult feat at the best of times. The boats were
caught in the terrible embrace of wind and wave, and, upon emerging
from the conflict, struggled, battered and torn, into the nearest port
for repairs. Despite these heavy drawbacks, which no human foresight
could determine or avoid, practically no dearth of supplies ever
was experienced at the railhead among the mountains. In fact, Judah
prosecuted his task so vigorously that before many months had passed
the first railway conquest of the Sierras, considered invulnerable for
so long, was announced far and wide.
How was it accomplished? The pathfinder followed the easiest path open
to him. Distances between points might have been shortened, but time
was money. The builders had urged this emphatically upon Judah, so that
opportunity to indulge in stupendous engineering feats was denied
him. Yet the very conditions which were imposed enabled the pathfinder
to display some master-strokes of genius unconsciously. So long as
a natural path for the metals was available, he followed it. If his
advance were disputed by an obstacle he either removed or ran round it.
The hump was levelled and the depression was filled. The rivers were
followed so far as practicable along their puzzling meanderings. He
lifted the track several thousand feet towards the clouds to gain the
railway summit of the range, and then dropped over the other side. In
one place among the snow-clad peaks he had to hew a narrow shelf out of
the solid rocky mass to wind round the huge shoulder of a mountain. The
wall of rock sheered up on one side to a dizzy height; on the other way
it dropped for over a thousand feet into the river surging below.
The San Francisco division teemed with complex and highly troublesome
perplexities, but one and all arose from the resistance of Nature.
Yet they were slight in comparison with those which the engineers
experienced as they pushed forwards from the Missouri River. Here it
was the hostility of man which harassed them. The Indians, driven from
the eastern States by the march of civilisation, resisted its further
approach into their domain. Fierce opposition was anticipated, but
the results proved far more serious than the most gloomy forebodings.
At every turn the savages swept down upon the little band toiling in
the solitude of the wilderness, and these organised onslaughts became
fiercer and fiercer as the base of operations was left farther and
farther to the rear. For every spike that was driven, clinching a rail
to its wooden cushion beneath, an arrow sped from an Indian bow, to
be answered by the sharp crack of a rifle from the railway building
forces. History does not record how many navvies fell victims to the
noiseless weapon of the savages, or how many Indians entered the
Happy Hunting Ground by way of a bullet. Yet the total of lives would
outnumber the spikes driven to secure the metals for the 1,800 miles
between the Missouri River and the Golden Horn.
A conclave with the Red Men was urgent before the engineers stirred
from the bank of the Missouri. Council Bluffs is a famous spot in
the history of the New World, because here the Indians were wont for
centuries to meet to settle tribal disputes. It was here that Collis P.
Huntington and his colleagues met the Red Men to discuss the terms and
treaty for the acquisition of the necessary land to found the city of
Omaha.
At that day the nearest point to which the railway had advanced towards
the river from the east was Des Moines. The first locomotive required
for constructional purposes upon the Central Pacific, and which weighed
some 60 tons, had to be hauled across country on the deck of a trolley
by teams of horses. When the trans-continental railway was taken in
hand, however, the eastern railways were pushed forward with great
speed to reach Council Bluffs, in order to carry the thousands of tons
of supplies of every description requisite for building purposes.
The scarcity of one commodity was felt severely. In this country one
may travel for miles and not see a single tree. This hit the railway
hard. Every baulk of timber, whether it was required for a fire, a
shack, or a sleeper, had to be brought over enormous distances. By
the time a sleeper was laid it often cost as much as $2.50, or ten
shillings!
The route between east and west is popularly known as the “Overland
Route.” How it received this name is a little story in itself. Among
those who arrived at San Francisco in the glorious days of ’47 to
make money out of the gold-rush was a Dutchman, whose topsy-turvy
English was characteristic of a foreigner possessing only an imperfect
acquaintance with our tongue. He opened a saloon, which became a most
popular resort. Whenever a stranger entered the rendezvous, Boniface’s
curiosity was aroused. The new arrival was asked inevitably by which of
the three routes he had gained the Golden Gate. “Did you come the Horn
around, the Isthmus across, or the land over?” the Dutchman inquired.
“The land-over” signifying the wagon-trail across the States, so
appealed to the fancy of the railway-builders that they always referred
to the trans-continental as “the land-over route,” which in course of
time became twisted into the more correct designation under which it is
known to this day.
The level character of the country west of the Missouri River lent
itself favourably to rapid construction, as well as easy alignment.
At one place it was found possible to lay the track as straight as an
arrow for 41 miles. The grade grew quickly, and the rails advanced in a
continuous black-grey line across the prairie with striking rapidity,
when the Indians refrained from endeavouring to arrest its progress.
However, the raids of the Red Men became so devastating eventually that
it appeared as if work must be brought to a standstill.
At the critical moment another man appeared on the scene, and his
efforts contributed very materially to the completion of the line. This
was Major Frank J. North, one of the most daring frontiersmen that
those troublous times with the Indians produced in America. He was
Fenimore Cooper’s mythical “Pathfinder” in the flesh, and he came to
be just as greatly feared by the Red Men. When the railway engineers
failed to make headway against the Indians, he offered his services,
which, needless to say, were accepted gladly. From that moment the
protection of the grade became his one object in life, and his capture
became the one absorbing ambition of the Indians. He had roamed the
plains for years, leading a rough-and-ready frontier life, had become
familiarised with the Indians, their habits, customs and ways; could
anticipate their every movement and knew how to counteract their
subterfuges. He was versed thoroughly in their ways of warfare, was a
born fighter, and was possessed of indomitable energy and pluck.
In order to protect the railway-builders he raised four companies of
friendly Pawnee Indians. With these trusty scouts he would creep out
stealthily at night from the constructional camp, make his way with
impunity to the tepees of the Cheyennes or Sioux, and ascertain their
projected operations. Sometimes he would surprise an Indian camp,
and scatter the inmates who were on the warpath to the four winds.
His marauding expeditions became so audacious that the natives were
compelled to withdraw a respectable distance from the grade. He became
so universally detested among the foe that the mention of North’s name
was sufficient to provoke the most dismal howls of execration and
vicious snarls of vengeance.
At times he was absent so many days from the railhead camp that the
engineers wondered gravely whether or not he had met an untimely end.
Then when they were on the point of giving up hope of seeing him again,
he would trot unconcernedly into camp, with his Pawnee shadows, as if
returning from a hunt, but his general appearance and self-satisfied
air told the navvies that he “had been at the Indians again.” He
provoked the hostile Red Men to such an extreme pitch that they turned
out in tremendous force sworn to his capture or death. Four times a
pitched battle was fought, with tremendous losses; four times the
Indians drew off, leaving North flushed with victory. At last the enemy
became so disheartened that it withdrew, retreated for miles from the
line, and there was a sullen interval in the conflict.
North, however, was not to be lulled into a false sense of security.
He divined that some ulterior move was projected. So it proved. The
Indians, instead of concentrating their energies upon the destruction
of the forces at the railhead, decided to attack the long line of
communication at various points, to surprise and destroy the supply
trains. A guerilla war broke out, and this baffled North, for he could
not bring them to a pitched battle.
The Indians clung like limpets to the grade, and woe betide any
stragglers who fell into their hands, for they were cruelly tortured
and put to death. Time after time, as the supply train was puffing
along slowly, the plain on either side suddenly would reveal hordes of
ferocious savages, who had crept through the tall grass unobserved
to within a few feet of the track. The men on the train secured
any shelter possible behind the transported goods, and blazed away
furiously. Brisk skirmishes and opportunities to display marksmanship
occurred nearly every day to relieve the tedium of swinging hammer,
pick-axe and shovel. Major North happened to be attacked in this way
one day, though the enemy were unaware of his presence. But they were
so dismayed at the spirited reception that they received that they
broke and fled, with North in pursuit. He chased them for hours, and
inflicted such losses that the tribe surrendered. A few days later a
large number of the vanquished enlisted under the railway-builder’s
banner, assisted in the building of the grade, and became law-abiding
citizens.
There was one point which was a tempting prize to the Cheyennes. This
was a depot 372 miles west of Omaha. Its safety was entrusted to
North’s friendly Indians, and they proved too watchful to enable a raid
to be made with success. The Cheyennes were determined to secure its
capture, and, quietly gathering reinforcements, one day made a supreme
attempt to rush it with a thousand men. It was a desperate battle that
ensued, but the defenders, being entrenched, secured the advantage, and
after fighting desperately for several hours were left in possession of
the hundreds of tons of supplies.
These tactics had to be pursued for some 500 miles, but the engineers
in time became wearied at the daily round of working and fighting.
Besides, they were approaching the Rocky Mountains, where the physical
difficulties would be so great as to demand their entire concentration
in order to lift the metals over an obstacle 8000 feet above the sea.
It was realised, also, that the broken slopes would give the Indians
every advantage to prosecute their guerrilla warfare to distinct
advantage. The outlook was so depressing that a halt was called. The
situation was urged upon the Government, and, as a result, General
Grant decided to interview the Indians in person, with a view to
placating them. He made a hazardous and exciting journey along the
railway to the heart of the enemy’s country. There, with pow-wow and
peace-pipe, an honourable treaty was drawn up; the Indians promised to
abandon their opposition, and to permit the railway to go forward.
Another difficulty the builders had to battle against was the scarcity
of labour. The Californian Gold Fields were too magnetising to
cause the men to stay long on the grade. They preferred to woo the
fickle goddess of fortune in a scramble for the yellow metal, to a
steady, daily round of toil at a regular wage. As a last resource
the sheet-anchor of the railway-builder had to be called in--the
Chinaman. The Orientals stuck to the work, and under their efforts
the line progressed with greater speed than had been possible before
their advent. At one time the rails were laid so speedily that the
teams could not bring up supplies fast enough to meet the needs of the
graders and track-layers.
The permanent way was crude. It was a pioneer line in very truth. The
earth was thrown up roughly, the sleepers were dumped on its crown, and
the rails were hastily spiked to their bed. The line was little better
than what one sees hastily improvised for the transportation of spoil
on large engineering works. It writhed and twisted among obstructions
in a fantastic manner, for the engineers, having neither funds nor time
at their disposal, merely ran round or over humps, whichever method
was the quicker. Speed and comfort were negligible considerations.
The line, once communication with the coast was established, could be
overhauled and strengthened later at leisure. Consequently, travelling
was rough, the oscillation was severe, and the danger of derailment
always existent. It was these conditions that prompted a phlegmatic
Englishman, who essayed the journey shortly after the line was opened,
to remark that “the train travelled more smoothly when it was off the
rails!”
Some idea of the speed with which work was prosecuted, the innumerable
drawbacks notwithstanding, may be gathered from the fact that the whole
1,800 miles of line were built and opened to traffic within six years
from the turning of the first spadeful of earth at Sacramento. For the
greater part of this distance the monthly average was 50 miles--truly a
magnificent feat. In order to maintain this high pressure, 25,000 men
and 5000 cattle teams were required, and the total cost of the work was
$115,000,000, or, roughly, £23,000,000.
The dawn of the year 1869 saw the two advancing arms racing towards the
Great Salt Lake. The Central Pacific, upon encountering this inland
sea, debouched to the north and plunged into the broken Promontory
Range. Here, at an altitude of 5000 feet, the two arms met, and, amid
the wild huzzas of over a thousand people, the last gap was closed,
and golden spikes were driven into a sleeper of polished laurel by
Leland Stanford and Thomas Durant, the presidents of the respective
divisions, to admit the passage of a train, waiting close by with steam
up, to pass from the Central to the Union Pacific Railway. The precise
point at which the opposing armies met is indicated by a board standing
beside the track, the inscription on which runs--
LAST SPIKE,
COMPLETING FIRST
TRANS-CONTINENTAL RAILROAD
DRIVEN AT THIS POINT,
MAY 10, 1869.
The occasion was one of great rejoicing, especially among the citizens
of San Francisco. The town went mad with excitement. The festivities
commenced two days before the golden spike was driven, and was
continued for two days afterwards. Literature contributed its quota to
the commemoration of the historic event in the form of a poem from Bret
Harte.
In crossing the prairie stretches the railway constructional forces
were indebted appreciably for their support to the buffalo, which
roamed the plains in tens of thousands. The slaughter of this animal
was tremendous to provide fresh meat for the camps, and hides for the
clothing of the workmen against the blasts and severe cold of winter.
Their existence was providential, especially when the Indians succeeded
in capturing and destroying the supply trains bringing up provisions.
Water often was a serious problem. For stretches of over a hundred
miles at a time not a drop could be obtained from the parched land, and
specially-built cars had to be pressed into service to transport this
indispensable commodity.
Some idea of the solitude of the country may be gathered from the fact
that during a continuous 600 miles not a single white man or homestead
was seen. Before the line was completed a pony express plied between
Sacramento and Salt Lake City, and the journey under normal conditions
occupied three and a half days. To-day the distance is covered in about
one-third of the time.
In the course of a few years the traffic on the Overland Route assumed
such proportions as to be beyond the capacity of the ill-laid track.
The grades were too heavy and the curves too sharp, while rails and
bridges were too light. Extensive reconstruction was taken in hand.
Banks were abolished, curves were straightened, bridges were rebuilt,
the permanent way was re-ballasted, short sections were cut out here,
or introduced there, to reduce the mileage--in short, the whole line
was rebuilt practically at an expenditure of millions to bring the
great highway up to the model of present-day practice.
One of the most important of these improvement works was that known
as the Lucin Cut-off. This was a daring piece of engineering forced
upon the railway by rival lines, which, possessing easier grades and
a better-alignment, could haul heavier loads at a speed beyond the
capacity of the pioneer road. This adverse factor was experienced very
severely around the north end of Salt Lake, where the line plunges into
the rugged and broken Promontory Range, to overcome which such heavy
grades had to be introduced as to reduce the speed of trains to a crawl
of 12 miles per hour.
At first it appeared impracticable to ease this situation, but the
chief engineer was called in and urged to find a means of extricating
the company from the predicament. After several months’ survey around
this sheet of water he prepared plans which he submitted to his
directors. They were extremely audacious. He suggested the abandonment
of 373 miles of the old line completely, as it was beyond improvement.
In its place he proposed 326 miles of new track, which not only showed
a saving of 57 miles in distance, but gave no ruling grade exceeding
21.12 feet per mile. At one point he was baulked by the configuration
of the country in the Pequop range, where a grade of 74 feet to the
mile was found unavoidable. Moreover, he showed a saving of over
half-a-mile in vertical height, the climb on the westward run being cut
down from 4,550 feet to 1,535 feet, and on the eastward journey from
4,456½ feet to 1,444 feet.
The salient feature of the scheme, however, challenged particular
attention. Instead of running around Salt Lake he advocated a route
across it, giving a line as direct as the bird flies from shore to
shore, supported on earthen embankments where such could be erected,
and in other places upon a timber viaduct. Some idea of what this
scheme represented may be gathered from the construction of a bridge
from Dover to Calais--a project that has been promulgated--for the
distance was about the same.
The engineer was prompted in his belief as to the practicability of the
suggestion from his personal investigations. Popular fancy had clothed
this stretch of salt water in many legends, one of which was that its
depths were unfathomable. This fallacy was scattered to the winds when
soundings were taken, for the water was found to be comparatively
shallow at the point it was contemplated to cross the lake. Collis P.
Huntington hesitated from embarking upon the scheme when it was first
unfolded, partly on account of its estimated cost, but more because of
its unusual character.
However, when E. H. Harriman secured the control of the line, he
entertained no qualms. His engineer said it was feasible, so it must
be done to avoid that laborious haul over the hills to the north. Work
commenced forthwith, and was pursued with great vigour. When the bank
of the lake was gained, the engineer pushed the earthen embankment
as far into the water as he could, so as to reduce the extent of the
trestling. The distance from shore to shore was 27 miles, but as he
took advantage of a peninsula which juts well into the water from the
north bank, four miles of the line were built on dry land.
To commence the embankment from the water’s edge an ingenious expedient
was adopted. Heavy planks loaded with weighty bags of sand were floated
out on the proposed location, and upon this novel permanent way the
temporary rails for the ballast cars were laid, and the spoil dumped
into the lake until the embankment appeared above water-level. Then
the section of floating track was pushed still farther ahead, and the
same cycle of operations repeated until the limit of the earthwork was
gained. As the embankment grew in height the light rails were replaced
by a heavier type, over which rumbled cars carrying 40 tons of ballast
apiece, and which was pitched pell-mell into the water on either side.
The embankment was then left for a while to permit settling to take
place. In time it became as solid as a jetty.
The trestle section proved the most trying, not so much on account
of the technical questions involved, but owing to the difficulty in
obtaining timber. The wood had to be brought hundreds of miles from the
forests of Texas and the north-west. Extensive stretches of trees were
purchased and saw-mills were erected to cut the logs to the desired
dimensions on the spot. Upon arrival at Salt Lake the wood was dumped
into the water, large log booms being formed, so that the material
might become seasoned thoroughly.
Work was delayed considerably by the lack of supplies of timber,
from storms which swept this inland sea, and which at times wrought
considerable damage. At one or two places, although careful soundings
were taken, the lake bed proved fickle. When the pile-drivers were set
to work, banging the massive uprights into the solid earth, progress
would be painfully slow for a time, and then suddenly the pile would
descend with uncanny rapidity. The cause was discovered readily. The
lake bed is covered with a thick crust of salt and soda deposits, the
accumulation of centuries, packed so hard as to give the semblance
of being solid rock when sounded. Yet it was only a shell or crust
covering unstable soil below. Driving the piles broke up this rind, and
then a solid foundation could not be found.
Attempts to remedy this state of affairs were made by pitching rock
into the water to provide a solid floor to support the timber uprights.
This method proved so slow and expensive that the engineer devised
another solution of the difficulty. He ran out a light trestle and
dumped rubble overboard around its foundations until the woodwork was
buried completely, and a solid earthen embankment was produced to carry
the rails.
The actual extent of timber trestling aggregates 12 miles, and this
erection spans the lake practically at its narrowest central part. Some
of the pile-drivers were carried on floating pontoons, while others
were mounted on the track above, the permanent way being pushed forward
as rapidly as the timber work was completed. Owing to the depth of the
water, some of the upright members are as much as 110 feet in length.
They are disposed in rows of five at right angles to the track, and
connected by massive longitudinal members, on which is laid three-inch
planking, superimposed with a layer of ballast. It was while building
the timber work that the greatest depth of water was reached--from 30
to 34 feet.
The trestle was erected with striking rapidity, the record being the
completion of no less than 5,317 feet of track in six working days. Had
it been possible to bring the timber up more quickly, a greater length
of line could have been laid in the time. At rail-level the viaduct
is 16 feet in width, and the track is so smooth and solid that the
“Overland Limited” can hurtle along at full speed without producing the
slightest vibration.
By the time the viaduct was completed, 38,256 piles had been used. This
represented no less than 2,824,700 lineal feet of timber which had been
torn from the forests. If these logs had been placed end to end they
would have formed a continuous line for nearly 535 miles.
So straight did the engineer plot and build the Lucin Cut-off, that
even if he had complied with Euclid’s definition of a straight line,
it would have been necessary only to have deducted 1,708 feet from the
102.91 miles of track which he laid. In addition, he abolished 3,919
degrees of curves. To understand what this means it is only necessary
to remember that each degree represents a segment of the circle. By
dividing the above total by 360, the number of degrees to the circle, a
result of 11.88 circles is obtained. In other words, on the old route
between Lucin and Ogden, the train not only traversed the distance
between the two points, but described nearly 12 circles as well. For
36 miles the track is dead level and for another 30 miles the rise is
so slight that one has to walk half-a-mile to rise his own height. By
the time the task was completed a round £1,000,000, or $5,000,000, had
been expended. It appears a huge outlay to reduce working expenses and
to increase revenue, but it affords a striking illustration of the
boldness of guiding railway spirits in America.
CHAPTER VI
THE LONGEST “TOY” RAILWAY
The Principality is a land of many surprises to the visitor, for it
possesses innumerable attractions. Yet it is doubtful whether any
feature arouses more interest in North Wales than the strange little
railway which runs from Portmadoc for a distance of 13¼ miles among
the mountains. Certain it is that no tourist would think of omitting a
journey over what is known colloquially as the Festiniog “Toy” Railway,
for it is one of the great sights of North Wales.
For several years it held a unique position among the great systems of
the world as the narrowest gauge line in operation. The metals are laid
only 23¼ inches apart--less than half the distance between the rails
forming the roads of the greater proportion of steel highways bounding
the globe--and yet it has a traffic which many a more important railway
would have just cause to envy. Visitors disembarking from the London &
North-Western express at Portmadoc, and seeing the diminutive engine
and trucks drawn up alongside on their own road and completely dwarfed
by the towering rolling-stock of the standard-gauge line, cannot
repress a smile, for the engines, cars, trucks and wagons are no larger
than are used upon the larger-sized model railways devised to-day for
the amusement and education of the young.
Yet it is a complete pocket edition of the familiar railway, and its
capacity is amazing. The engine provokes interest, for it is no taller
than an average-sized person. Its coupled wheels are only 28 inches in
diameter, while the cylinders measure but 8¼ inches in diameter and
have a stroke of only 13 inches. The cars and wagons are on the same
scale, and the first impression of the diminutive iron horse awakens
doubts as to whether it is safe to trust oneself to its care. But see
that self-same engine busy at work hauling a train of 7 passenger
coaches, a guard’s van, 10 goods wagons and 100 or more empty slate
trucks, stretching out for a length of 1,200 feet and representing a
total load of 110 tons, out of Portmadoc, bound for the quarries, and
disdain gives way to complete admiration.
The locomotive “Little Wonder,” despite its age, for it dates back from
1869, completely justifies its appellation, for it handles the above
load on the steepest grades with ease, and attains a speed of 30 miles
an hour where the physical conditions are suited to fast travelling.
The work it has to fulfil is not to be despised by any means, for the
country through which the line extends is amongst the most rugged in
the country. In the course of the thirteen and a quarter miles it
has to overcome a difference of 700 feet in altitude, which means a
pull against the collar for the whole way from Portmadoc, though the
gradients are of varying severity. Yet even the easiest climb is 1 in
186, while the steepest rise is 1 in 68.6; with a bank of no less than
1 in 36 on one of the spur lines. The curves likewise are startling in
their sharpness and frequency, and at times when the engine is loaded
to its utmost capacity the train may be seen writhing like a gigantic
black snake along three curves at the same time.
The permanent way was originally laid in 1839, the enterprise having
been carried out for the conveyance of slate from the quarries
to Portmadoc. On the downward journey the laden trucks travelled
by gravity, the empties being hauled back by horses. In the late
’fifties, however, the chief engineer, Mr. C. E. Spooner, realising
the far-reaching advantages arising from the use of power, suggested
that the tramway should be converted into a railway, and in 1863 his
suggestion was adopted. In the early days travelling was exciting, for
the bridges and tunnels were so low that the engine-driver, stoker and
other officials on the line had to duck their heads when they reached
these obstacles, since to stand upright in one of the vehicles was
certain to court a violent end by collision with these structures.
These, however, have been altered so that one need entertain no more
apprehension concerning safety on this line than when travelling
upon a standard-gauge road. Visitors, realising the fact that by its
means they could be conveyed comfortably to some of the wildest and
most beautiful corners of the Principality, sought its transportation
assistance, and in 1864 passengers were first carried as an experiment,
but free of charge. The Board of Trade did not decline to sanction its
operation in the interests of the public, but possibly somewhat dubious
of the wisdom of their action, hedged in the privilege with certain
restrictions, the most important of which was limitation of speed.
When, however, it was proved that there was no danger in travelling
over this two-foot line at 30 miles an hour this latter ban was removed.
The line possesses several features of technical interest, and being
a single track, is operated upon the staff system, with every device
to secure absolute safety in operation in the form of signalling
and telegraphing facilities. Moreover, travelling is comfortable,
for although the gauge is less than two feet, the cars, designed
by the engineer, are built on the bogie principle and have seating
accommodation for fifty passengers. A trip over the line certainly
constitutes an experience.
The complete success which attended the conversion of this railway from
equine- to steam-power in 1864 stimulated the wider adoption of the
narrow-gauge system, though as a rule this term is somewhat elastic,
inasmuch as it signifies that such a railway has a gauge less than the
standard width of 4 feet 8½ inches, and is particularly associated with
the 39 inch or 42 inch gauge. Still several “two-foot” lines were laid
down, especially in France and India, so that the Festiniog experiment
has proved a very profitable “toy” to more countries than one. In
fact, not far distant from the pioneer toy railway is another--the
North Wales Narrow Gauge railway--which connects Dinas, near Carnarvon,
with Snowdon Station.
These railway systems, however, are of short length, and when one
remembers the broken character of the country which they serve, their
_raison d’être_ is obvious. But the application of the idea to a
trunk line 360 miles in length appears quite impracticable. Yet it
has been accomplished, and its realisation has opened up a corner of
Africa which formerly was almost impassable, and which, but for its
fulfilment, would have left the country traversed in the hands of
hostile natives.
This “toy” railway upon a large scale is the Otavi Line, which connects
Tsumeb, buried 368 miles in the heart of the wilderness of German
South-West Africa, with the coast at Swapkomund. To-day it ranks as
the longest narrowest gauge line in the world, the metals, as in the
case of the Festiniog railway, being laid only 600 millimetres, or
approximately two feet apart.
In the late ’eighties prospecting parties who had heard of the mineral
wealth lying dormant in this inhospitable and inaccessible country,
set out to ascertain whether rumour could be verified to a sufficient
extent to ensure the riches of the rocks being exploited commercially.
They suffered great privations and hardships in their toil across the
waterless veldt, but when they gained the Otavi country they found that
their journey was more than repaid by enormous discoveries of copper.
They collected detailed information concerning the extent of these
deposits, and when they returned to Europe it was decided to develop
the new “Copperado” without further delay.
However, there was one critical point. How could the mineral, after
being mined, be transported to the coast for shipment. The intervening
country was among the most sterile to be found in the continent south
of the Sahara. The mining companies concerned at once suggested a
railway as the only solution of the problem. But they realised very
readily, from the reports of their emissaries who had ventured
to Otavi, that such an undertaking was beset with difficulties
innumerable, while the construction of a line upon the standard gauge
would prove ruinously expensive. In order to secure extrication from
their plight the companies approached the firm of Arthur Koppel of
Berlin. The latter company dispatched a corps of its own surveyors to
the country to spy out the desert between the coast and the mines,
in order to find the best location and to report generally upon the
engineering features of the scheme.
When the surveyors returned to civilisation they unhesitatingly
recommended a light narrow-gauge railway, such as they had built
in several parts of the world where similar conditions prevailed.
They advocated the 600 millimetre or two-foot gauge because it not
only would meet all traffic requirements for many years to come, but
its initial cost would be so much cheaper, and it could be built so
much more quickly than a wider or standard gauge. The recommendation
was debated at great length, and after discussing the relative
estimated capital and operating costs of lines of different gauges,
the overwhelming advantages presented by the “toy-line” gauge were
found to outweigh any arguments that could be raised against it.
The mining companies merely demanded the line as a link between the
copper country and the coast for their own purposes. The country
lying between the coast and the mines held out no attractions for any
economic development, so that all the requisitions likely to be made
by the mining companies could be met adequately by such a railway.
Consequently the recommendation of the engineers was accepted, and they
were entrusted with the completion of the undertaking.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE OTAVI LINE THROUGH THE GERMAN SOUTH-WEST
AFRICAN BUSH
Hereros, Ovambos and Italians working side by side.]
When the mining companies expressed their decision they did not
anticipate the extraordinary traffic which the railway would be called
upon to fulfil a little later. These were duties which not only taxed
the capacity of the diminutive railway to a supreme degree, but were
of a character which justified the confidence of the engineers and
practically saved the colony to the German Empire.
[Illustration: THE PASSAGE OF THE FIRST TRAIN, GAILY DECORATED FOR THE
OCCASION, OVER THE “TOY-LIKE” OTAVI RAILWAY]
This reproduction of the Festiniog toy railway was commenced without
loss of time. In 1903 constructional engineers with a boat-load of
constructional material were dispatched to South Africa, and the grade
was commenced from Swakopmund, at a point 40 feet above the sea-level,
the location extending in a north-easterly direction to Otavi, 300
miles distant in the interior.
The first sod was turned in October, and the constructional engineers
bent to their task with great zest. But scarcely had they got into
their stride when the Hereros rebellion broke out. This was an
unexpected development, and as the natives had been recruited in large
numbers to build the permanent way, the engineers were faced with a
grave situation. At the first signs of the insurrection the greater
majority of the natives threw down their tools and stampeded from the
line to their towns and villages to take up arms. The Governor of the
colony strove to arrest this wholesale desertion by recourse to drastic
measures--he seized as many men working on the grade as he could and
placed them safely under lock and key. The result was that the little
band of white engineers was left with scarcely a navvy to assist them.
However, they struggled on as best they could, but progress was
painfully slow. At first the insurrection was belittled--regarded as a
flash in the pan--and the engineers anticipated confidently the early
return of their workmen. But these illusions were dispelled rudely when
it became realised at last that the country was up in arms from end to
end. There was only one way out of the desperate situation, and that
was to import labour from Europe. Such a step upset the preliminary
estimates for the undertaking to a pronounced degree, for the native
labour had been taken into the calculation when framing the cost of the
work. To bring white labour from Europe increased the capital outlay
very appreciably. However, there was no alternative, and accordingly
an Italian contractor arrived on the scene with a small army of 300
Italians, and work resumed its former busy aspect.
However, peace did not reign for long. The Italian workmen saw
that they held the advantage over the engineers, that there was no
competitive labour, and accordingly they struck for higher pay. The
engineers, caught on the horns of a dilemma, had to surrender, and the
Italians picked up their tools. Then another cause of dissatisfaction
manifested itself. The workmen concluded that they were being driven
too hard, so they declined to perform a full day’s labour. They
held the whip-hand and emphasised its potency so frequently, and
the friction between employers and employed became so keen, that it
appeared more than once as if the contract would have to be suspended
until the rebellion was quelled.
While these disputes and continual bickerings were at their height
further complication was provoked. The German military authorities,
finding the subjugation of the Hereros a far heavier task than they
had anticipated, wished to penetrate into the heart of the country
so as to strike a supreme blow upon the enemy’s stronghold. They had
their own line extending from Swakopmund to Windhuk, but owing to its
heavy grades and light construction it had broken down completely
under the strain of the heavy military traffic. The authorities strove
to alleviate this situation by utilising bullock-carts to transport
troops and commissariat up-country, but this alternative failed
lamentably. This service was so slow, and the absence of water by the
wayside was felt to a serious degree. In their extremity the German
Government appealed to the engineers of the Otavi line. They besought
them to spare no effort to drive the railway forward speedily, first
to Ouguati, 109¾ miles from the coast, and then to Omaruru, 145 miles
beyond the former point. As an inducement the builders were offered a
heavy premium.
The engineers agreed to meet official demands, and to expedite the
constructional work a further army of 750 Italians and 500 Ovambo
coolies was sent to reinforce the forces on the grade. To tempt the
Italian workmen to strive their utmost they offered a fixed minimum
wage as an incentive. However, it was not long before trouble arose
once more. The new arrivals fraternised with their compatriots already
on the scene, and learned how the engineers had been forced to pay
higher and higher wages by recourse to strikes. The Italians came
to the conclusion that concerted action would be highly successful
because several weeks would elapse before their places could be taken
by other imported labour, while they regarded the Ovambo coolies, who
proved industrious workmen, with supreme contempt. Every conceivable
obstacle was thrown in the way of the engineers. Work was stopped upon
the slightest provocation, and apparent grievances were aired with
monotonous frequency.
When at last they were placated and the workmen did settle down to
their tasks they proceeded in a lackadaisical manner, and the day’s
work was only a quarter of what might have been accomplished. Under
ordinary circumstances each Italian could have coped with 10 cubic
yards of earthwork per day, but they handled only about 2¾ cubic yards!
This rendered them distinctly inferior to the Ovambos, who, though not
comparable with the Europeans from the physical point of view, plodded
along steadily, and handled on the average from 3½ to 4 cubic yards per
day. The Italians had no complaint concerning their scale of payment,
for they received from 5_s._ to 10_s._--$1.25 to $2.00--per day, while
the coolies, who did twice the work, received but 2_s._ 6_d._ or 60
cents a day, together with food and housing accommodation.
One day matters reached a climax. The white workmen struck in a body,
and declined to move a hand unless they received another increase in
wages. The engineers, who had been groaning under the extortionate
demands of the blackmailing Italians for several weeks past, now took
a firm stand. They declined point-blank to entertain the proposal.
Moreover, they commenced to take the law into their own hands and
to adopt stern measures. Several of the leading recalcitrants were
straightway dismissed for breach of contract. This situation lasted for
eight weeks, and at times the outlook became extremely threatening,
for the Italians chafed under the unexpected opposition they had
encountered. Suddenly the dispute collapsed and the Italians sullenly
returned to their work.
Coupled with this distressing condition of affairs at the railhead,
the engineers experienced grave difficulties at Swakopmund. They could
not get the constructional and other material unloaded from their
ships. This harbour is notoriously a bad one, and being congested with
military traffic, method and order had given way to complete chaos.
Weeks elapsed before an incoming ship could discharge its cargo for
the railway, and then the engineers only secured their requirements by
building a special mole because the anchorage was silting up with sand.
In the spring of 1905 matters took a more hopeful turn. The sullen
Italians were spurred on by the granting of premiums, and under this
inducement more rapid progress was effected. The white workmen were
forced to their tasks by the appearance of severe competition. Many of
the Hereros grew tired of fighting and surrendered to the authorities.
When asked if they would be content to work upon the railway they
accepted the offer with alacrity, and the Italians saw that they were
in serious danger of being displaced entirely. The fair treatment that
was meted out to the natives who had surrendered became noised far
and wide through the country, with the result that large numbers of
Hereros, who had grasped the hopelessness of their opposition, made
their way to the railhead and threw down their arms and offered to take
up the pick and shovel. It was a curious sight, for here were large
numbers of the natives, against whom war was being waged, voluntarily
assisting in the advance of the very force that was being driven
forward to bring about the complete subjugation of their race. Curious
to relate, moreover, the engineers found that their former implacable
foes, when properly treated, developed into splendid conscientious
workmen, and far easier to control than the much-vaunted white labour.
After leaving the coast the railway makes practically a continuous and
steady climb to a maximum height of some 5,218 feet in the course of
its 360 miles. Notwithstanding this extreme difference in altitude, it
was found possible to keep the banks easy, the sharpest gradient being
1 in 50. The country traversed is most inhospitable, the first 145
miles being through a wild desert, and wide stretches of scrub-covered
country broken with kopjes. Extensive bridging was found necessary
to carry the track across gullies and rivulets, there being in all
110 of these structures. They are built throughout of steel, the
deckplate girder type being the most generally favoured, and the most
important work of this class has a length of 333 feet, built up in five
spans. The curves were kept as easy as possible, the standard radius
being about 500 feet. Here and there, however, owing to the cramped
conditions of the route open to the track, it was found requisite
to reduce the radius to some 270 feet in order to avoid heavy and
expensive cutting through rocks and hills.
Some idea of the extent to which the engineers were delayed by their
repeated differences with the Italian workmen may be gathered from
the fact that although 23 months were occupied in carrying the rails
from Swakopmund to Omaruru, a matter of 145 miles, the second section,
from the latter point to Tsumeb, the present terminus, a matter of
215 miles, required but another year. When the railway was rushed
onwards from Omaruru, although the country to be crossed was somewhat
easier from the physical point of view, and lent itself to more rapid
construction, acceleration was attributable in the main to the ample
supply of labour available and absence of trouble with the workmen
engaged.
Another grave difficulty against which the builders had to struggle
was water. In fact, it might be said that the scarcity of this
commodity was more perplexing than those governing the labour, strikes
notwithstanding. It was not merely securing sufficient supplies for
the workmen’s needs, but also for constructional purposes, such as for
the locomotive boilers, mixing of concrete for masonry, and so forth.
On the first section every pint of drinking water had to be brought
up from the base on the coast to the railhead, and as this advanced
the difficulties concerned with its transportation increased. In some
instances bullock-carts were the only vehicles that could be pressed
into service for its conveyance over 30 or 40 miles. Throughout the
first 85 miles from Swakopmund to Usakos not a drop could be drawn
from the earth. Innumerable borings in search of the liquid were made
alongside the line as it progressed, but they were rewarded with no
material success. Occasionally small quantities were found, but it was
too brackish and quite unfit for drinking purposes. When Usakos was
gained the situation was eased somewhat by a local discovery, but the
water had to be softened before it could be used by the engines, and
accordingly a plant for treating the water in this manner had to be
brought up country and erected. This, however, was useless for domestic
purposes, and when the line was pushed on from Omaruru, special water
trains had to be run for the convenience of the workmen. Huge tanks
were laden on the cars and were carried from the coast to the railhead,
the journey occupying several hours. The trouble and expense involved
in connection with this vital requisite influenced the cost and time
occupied in building the line very unfavourably, so much so indeed,
that the preliminary estimates of the cost were exceeded very markedly.
This question has not been solved satisfactorily yet, and it
will remain to puzzle the administration of the line until some
conveniently-situated subterranean water supply is tapped on the
barren veldt. The load of every train has to be increased by a special
tank-tender coupled behind the engine containing 2,200 gallons of
water, which represents so much unremunerative load.
The rolling-stock is quite in keeping with this diminutive railway.
The tiny engines have driving-wheels 24 inches in diameter, while the
cylinders have a diameter of 12 inches and a stroke of 17¾ inches. Yet
they can haul a load of 100 tons at a speed of 25 miles an hour on the
level and at 9½ miles an hour on the steepest banks of 1 in 50.
This appears to be a mere crawl in comparison with the speeds with
which we are familiar on the standard railways. But when one recalls
the manner in which this little “toy” line has changed conditions of
travel in a lonely corner of the African continent, and the former
rate of progress possible by bullock-cart, even 9½ miles an hour
appears to be an amazing speed. Before the iron horse appeared in
German South-West Africa, to travel from Swakopmund to Omaruru, a mere
145 miles, was a heroic achievement, entailing a laborious slow tramp
through lonely sterile wastes of boulders and scrub. A pace of 7 or 10
miles a day was considered fast travelling, and one who covered the
journey in a fortnight was considered to have driven hard. To-day the
same distance can be reeled off in about 12 hours.
CHAPTER VII
THE WONDERS OF THE TYROL
Probably there is no country in Europe wherein are compressed so many
and such varied marvels of engineering executed in connection with the
building of the iron road as in Austria. As is well known, the country
is a sea of towering rugged mountains, with steep slopes, knotted by
crags and scarred by deep gullies, intersected by broad sylvan valleys.
Such topographical conditions impose a severe tax upon the skill
and resources of the engineer. Consequently this territory has been
the scene of many grim grapples with Nature--some in which the odds
have been overwhelmingly against the engineers, and in which success
has been achieved only by dogged perseverance. Conspicuous in this
direction are the wonderful tunnels.
It was the successful piercing of the Mont Cenis and St. Gotthard
tunnels that first spurred the Austrian engineers to work of this
character. Their first attempt, the boring of the Arlberg, was such
a conspicuous success that they did not hesitate afterwards to have
recourse to such methods when all other means appeared impracticable.
To-day the country can point to four huge Alpine tunnels which stand
among the foremost achievements of their class in the world. Such ways
and means for forcing the iron road from one point to another are
highly expensive, but in each instance the ends have justified the
means. By their provision, points only a few miles apart as the crow
flies, and which with surface railways could have been connected only
by wearying, devious routes, have been brought into close communication.
When the Arlberg chain was taken in hand, the preliminary surveys
showed that it would approximate seven miles in length, and that about
the centre of the tunnel a solid mass of rock, 1,600 feet in thickness,
would extend from the roof and track to the storm-swept mountain pass
overhead.
At this time the two previous projects of this character had proved so
costly, had occupied such a long time, and had entailed the grappling
with technical difficulties such as never had been encountered
before, that the idea of tunnelling the Arlberg was entertained with
mixed feelings. But Julius Lott, the engineer-in-chief, was not to
be dissuaded from his enterprise. He maintained that it could be
accomplished far more quickly and cheaply than had been the Cenis
or Gotthard works. True, it was not to be quite so long as either
of the latter undertakings, but similar difficulties, if not others
more perplexing, might lurk buried there in the heart of the crest.
The engineer was urged in his decision by the perfection of a new
boring implement which had been evolved during the final stages of
the Gotthard tunnel. Although the circumstances there did not enable
the new invention to demonstrate its possibilities to the full, yet
what had been done sufficed to show that the new tool was destined to
revolutionise the methods adopted in such huge boring operations.
This was the Brandt rock-drill, a wonderful appliance which in one
stroke displaced incalculable manual labour. The tool is operated by
water pressure, and the drill ploughs its way into the rock under a
rotary movement in much the same manner as an auger forces its way
through a piece of wood. The water pressure brought to bear upon the
drill is tremendous, ranging from 1,400 to 1,680 pounds per square
inch, and even the hardest rock scarcely can resist its attack.
But, as may be supposed, at times the hard texture of the rock played
sad havoc with the cutting edge of the drill. Occasionally three or
four drills were put out of service with every yard of advance, and
even then progress was painfully slow. When, however, soft rock was
encountered the tool cleaved its way through very rapidly, the cutter
biting half-an-inch or more into the material with every revolution.
Then it was found possible to speed up the rotations to as many as
seven or eight per minute, with proportionate increase of life for the
cutting edge.
Precisely what this Brandt drill signified to the engineers in
connection with this tunnel may be gathered from the fact that from
the time drilling commenced, in 1880, only four years elapsed before
communication was established between Bluden on the one and Innsbruck
on the other side of the range. In this short period a passage 26 feet
high by 23 feet wide was cut through solid rock for a distance of 6⅜
miles at a total cost of £1,500,000, or $7,500,000. In comparison
with the two previous enterprises of the same character this was a
magnificent achievement. The Cenis tunnel, 7½ miles in length, occupied
some 13 years to complete, while some 8 years were required to drive
9¼ miles through the St. Gotthard. This was an achievement of which
those engaged in the task were justly proud. Indeed, the Austrians
hold a unique position in the rapidity with which they can drive these
gigantic undertakings through the most formidable mountain chains.
The section of railway upon which this tunnel is situated sorely
tried the ingenuity of the engineers up to the Paznaun valley. The
line clings to the mountain-side, which is broken up by precipitous
crags, and these either had to be pierced or blasted right away to
provide a path for the railway. Gushing torrents pour madly down these
slopes, and had to be spanned by noble and lofty viaducts or bridges.
At some places the boiling waters are deflected from their bed into
an artificial channel built of concrete; at others there are massive
retaining walls to prevent the waterways from breaking bounds and
sweeping the embankment away. One wide gorge is bridged by a single
iron span 393 feet 8 inches in length. This is the Trisanna viaduct,
below which the glacial brook tumbles over the boulders at a depth of
some 262 feet. Elaborate precautions also had to be adopted to protect
the line from the ravages of avalanches and landslides.
Years before the Arlberg line was contemplated, however, some
distinctly noteworthy achievements in engineering had been placed on
record by the establishment of railway communication between Vienna
and Trieste on the Adriatic Sea. Certainly the line did not follow
the shortest route between these two points, but it must be borne in
mind that it was undertaken in the early ’forties, when Great Britain,
“the home of the railway,” only possessed some 840 miles of line, and
railway engineering was quite in its infancy. It is little wonder,
therefore, that the engineers of the project in this wild corner of
Europe followed a circuitous path, to avoid fearsome obstacles as far
as practicable. They resorted to sharp curves and heavy banks, and the
line doubled and redoubled in the most amazing manner. Bridges and
tunnels were introduced very freely, some of the viaducts spanning deep
clefts on the mountain flanks being very lofty.
By the most direct route of this system the journey from the Austrian
capital to Trieste occupies nine hours. In that journey, comparatively
no longer than that entailed in speeding over the greater distance
separating London from Edinburgh, one passes through four distinct
expanses of scenery. Vienna nestles in a broad valley flanked on all
sides by the towering snow-topped Alps. The line, upon leaving the
capital, first traverses the undulating foot-hills, then wends its way
through the mountains to gain the richly wooded, verdant and beautiful
country of Styria, and finally passes over a vast stretch of wilderness
to descend abruptly to the coast.
In forging this link in the railway chain the engineers had to overcome
the Semmering range, which is amongst the most tumbled in the whole
of the Austrian Alps. How did they do it? By following the natural
facilities open to them: a ledge here, a gallery there; passing from
this slope to that by a viaduct or bridge; zigzagging up the mountain
slopes; tunnelling through rocky eminences; following winding paths
for miles merely to gain points only a mile or two apart in a straight
line. No doubt if that line were built to-day it would have its length
cut in half, for railway engineering has advanced by leaps and bounds
since 1848, when this pioneer project was taken in hand.
In carrying their scheme to fulfilment these early engineers
unconsciously achieved one notable distinction: they built the first
mountain railway. What matter if banks did assume a rise of 132 feet or
so per mile, and the line did wander in apparent aimlessness among the
peaks? Speed then was not the vital consideration it is to-day, while
traffic was comparatively light, so that the haulage facilities were
not taxed severely.
This mountain climb on the main line occurs between Gloggnitz and
Murzzuschlag, the famous winter sporting centre in the Tyrol. The
mountain crest is 4,577 feet above the sea-level, but the railway does
not rise to that height; its summit is at 2,940 feet in the middle of a
tunnel three-quarters of a mile in length beneath the Semmering Pass.
But to gain that altitude from either side of the mountain entailed
prodigious work. Pick, shovel, and gunpowder made heavy cuttings
through projecting spurs, raised lofty embankments, filled gaping
fissures, and cleaved galleries out of the solid rock. The two points
on either side of the mountain are only fourteen miles apart in a
straight line; by the railway it is more than twice the distance, the
outstanding features which were necessary to render the undertaking
_un fait accompli_ being fifteen tunnels, and a score of viaducts and
bridges. To construct the thirty miles over the Semmering cost a round
£2,000,000, or $10,000,000, in money, and occupied between three and
four years to complete.
[Illustration: THE WORKMEN CUTTING AND BLASTING A NARROW PATH ON THE
STEEP MOUNTAIN SLOPES FOR THE KARAWANKEN RAILWAY]
With the march of time, however, the traffic over this railway
increased, hand in hand with the expansion of Trieste, to such an
extent that it proved inadequate. A more direct route between the
capital and the port, as well as accelerated communication with the
great centres of Europe, was demanded by the commercial community. This
agitation became so insistent that at last the government was compelled
to move, and the engineer of the Imperial Railways was commissioned
to survey the country for the purpose of devising some scheme which
would satisfy the public outcry.
[Illustration: THE MASSIVE STEEL BRIDGE WHICH CARRIES THE RAILWAY
ACROSS THE DRAVE RIVER TO APPROACH THE TUNNEL THROUGH THE KARAWANKEN
RANGE IN THE BACKGROUND.]
[Illustration: THE NORTHERN ENTRANCE TO THE KARAWANKEN TUNNEL.
Five miles in length, through the Karawanken mountain chain.]
This was no easy task. Innumerable knots of mountains break up the
country between Vienna and the Adriatic, and they are compressed so
tightly together that the narrow valleys between offered but slight
assistance towards the solution of the problem. Then, again, those
three well-known mountain ranges, the Tauern, Karawanken, and Julian
Alps, stood right in the way, disputing any possibly shorter route than
that already in existence.
The prospect before the surveyors was not very promising. However, they
braved the elements among the inhospitable peaks, suffered extreme
privations and fatigue as they toiled up and down the rugged, wild
mountain slopes with their instruments, for month after month. At
last they succeeded in formulating a project which was submitted to
Parliament. In this it was proposed to make avail of any favourable
stretches of existing railways which intersected the valleys in
all directions, and to connect them together, so that in the end a
tolerably direct route might be obtained. At any rate this proposal
would reduce the journey between the Adriatic and Munich by at least
eleven hours. The scheme was divided into four broad sections. It was
discussed thoroughly in Parliament, but in the end it was decided
to carry out in the first instance the most essential parts of the
project, because embarkation upon the undertakings as set forth by the
engineers would have entailed the expenditure of a gigantic sum of
money. Even that which was sanctioned represented a total financial
commitment of about £30,000,000, or $150,000,000, for 211¼ miles of
line.
The accepted enterprise was memorable because it entailed the piercing
of three mountain ranges by tunnels 5¼, 5, and 4 miles in length
respectively. Of the total mileage only 41¼ miles were to be level! The
remaining 170 miles represented banks, with grades running as high as
132 feet to the mile.
The project as sanctioned was divided into three sections for
constructional purposes. The first section is that known as the Pyrhn
railway, which connects the main line between Vienna and Switzerland
via the Arlberg tunnel at Linz. From this point a short branch line
ran directly southwards through the Krems valley to Klaus, having been
built for tourist purposes. It was decided to overhaul this spur to
bring it into conformity with the conditions of a main line, and to
build the new line onwards from Klaus.
From Auspoint, which is at an altitude of 1,563 feet, the line makes
one continual climb, climb, to the Selzthal terminus, nearly 40
miles distant. The average rise ranges from 70 to 132 feet per mile
to overcome the Pyrhn Pass, beneath which a tunnel nearly 3 miles
in length was bored. This tunnel, however, is only one of many, for
there are numerous short burrows through shoulders and crags. Nor are
the bridges a whit less majestic. The Steyr River is crossed by a
lofty single masonry arch, and again lower down by an iron suspension
structure, while the Teichl is spanned by a single-span lattice
steel bridge. The loftiness of these structures is an outstanding
characteristic. The rivers at the points in question have cut their
beds at a great depth below the banks which constitute the railway
level. Swerving bends are also conspicuous, for the railway continually
swings from one side of the valley to the other.
The construction of the Pyrhn railway, however, was simple in
comparison with the other links of this chain of communication. At
Klagenfurt, south-east of Vienna, commences the Karawanken railway, so
named because it pierces the difficult mountain range of that name. The
stretch is only 19 miles in length, but the country proved to be so
broken that only 4 miles of level track could be introduced, and those
in the vicinity of the stations! Throughout the remaining 15 miles the
railway is really a gigantic switchback.
The line hugs the hill-sides, and has to make the rough descent of the
broken Hollenburger in order to gain the level of the Drave River, to
pass between the Stattnitz on the northern and the Karawanken chains
on the southern side of the depression. The mountain-side is steep and
broken in the extreme. In all directions gullies extended, where the
soft earth had been washed away by the violence of the snow freshets.
These had to be filled in with solid, heavy embankments, the debris for
which was torn from deep cuttings through projecting humps of rock.
Some of the gaps were too wide and deep to be overcome in this summary
manner, and had to be bridged. The Hollenburger viaduct stands out
prominently among works of this kind. From end to end it measures 262½
feet in length, and in the centre the rift is 92 feet below the level
of the rails. The mountains sheer up precipitously on the one, and the
beautiful valley of the Rosenbach falls away on the other, side of the
track.
Gaining the river-bank, the line sweeps across the waterway by a
majestic lofty iron bridge 656 feet in length. Gaining the opposite
bank, it plunges among the well-wooded slopes of the Karawanken belt
of mountains, effecting a good climb up and down towards the Rosenbach
valley, which is crossed by means of a long viaduct, consisting of four
arched masonry spans each 24 feet and three steel spans of 177 feet
apiece, at a height of 170 feet.
The ascent is heavy, as the objective is the northern entrance to the
Karawanken tunnel, which burrows through the range for a distance
of five miles. The piercing of this subterranean passage excited
considerable attention. The Austrian engineers who had achieved such a
triumph in the rapid boring of the Arlberg upheld their reputation as
accomplished masters in this phase of railway-building, notwithstanding
the fact that the rocky mass was found to be of such unstable character
that the tunnel had to be lined from end to end.
The task was taken in hand shortly after the Austrian Government
sanctioned these railways in 1901. Boring was carried out
simultaneously from each end. The ground around each portal was quickly
cleared, and when the work was in full swing 6000 men found employment.
The first step was to secure power to furnish the energy to operate
the variety of mechanical appliances that were necessary to dislodge
and transport the rock, as well as to dispel the Cimmerian gloom in
the heart of the mountain. There was a small waterfall six miles from
the proposed southern mouth of the tunnel, with a drop of 35 feet, and
capable of furnishing some 900 horse-power. This picturesque Alpine
cascade was harnessed and compelled to drive turbines and dynamos to
generate electricity, which was transmitted by overhead wires for six
miles to the boring works at the tunnel entrance. Here the current was
pressed into a multitude of services, not the least important of which
was the driving of the huge fans, whereby a great volume of clean,
pure, cool air was swept in a steady stream through the shaft to strike
against the wall of rock upon which the drillers were concentrating
their energies, displacing the atmosphere contaminated by the fumes of
the dynamite blasting, grime and dust. Moreover, the temperature, which
rapidly rose as the heart of the mountain was penetrated, was tempered
pleasantly by the incoming currents, so that the fatigue of toiling in
the blackness and confined space was reduced.
[Illustration: THE TAUERN RAILWAY, SHOWING WINDING CHARACTER OF THE
LINE]
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TO THE TAUERN TUNNEL,
Five and a quarter miles in length, which occupied five years to bore
through the range
RAILWAY BUILDING IN THE TYROL]
On the northern side of the tunnel similar arrangements were laid down.
In this instance, however, the electricity, obtained by harnessing
two small waterfalls, had to operate wonderful electric drills which
were used at this end for boring into the rock--on the southern side
hydraulic and pneumatic drills were employed. The working face in the
tunnel was illuminated brilliantly by electric light, so that the
drillers laboured under conditions vastly dissimilar to those which
prevailed when the first Alpine tunnel was driven. As the top of the
tunnel was cut out the roof was shored up with heavy timbering, and
hard on the tracks of the excavators came the stonemasons, cutting,
trimming, and setting the masonry lining into position. The work was
so planned that the actual progress per day should be thirteen lineal
feet, and although at times the calculations were somewhat upset by
something unforeseen being encountered, yet, taken on the whole, the
average was well maintained. Commenced in June 1902, the mountain chain
was pierced and ready for the double line of rails by November 1905, so
that the work had been carried out very smartly indeed.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE HUGE LOOPS ON THE TAUERN RAILWAY
Showing heavy character of earth cutting and masonry work.]
Emerging from the tunnel, the line once more becomes a single track,
and issues into the Wurzner Save valley, the descent continuing until
Assling, the terminus of the Karawanken railway, is reached, this
point being 151 feet below the southern mouth of the tunnel. Here
a connection is formed with the next link in the chain, this being
the “Wochenier” section, which runs to the shores of the Adriatic at
Trieste.
But before the latter terminal is gained another mountain mass has
to be penetrated--the Julian Alps. It is a meandering line in very
truth, for the configuration of the country prevented more than short
pieces of straight track being sandwiched here and there between
sweeping curves, elaborate winds, stiff ascents and descents--in
fact, the longest piece of straight line is only of 6,600 feet in the
first 55 miles. In running from Assling to the seaboard 28 tunnels
are threaded, exclusive of the Wochenier, which is 4 miles long, 15
bridges and 30 viaducts are crossed, while the cuttings and embankments
are innumerable. The railway traverses some of the most romantic and
wildest scenery in the whole Alpine chain, especially as it approaches
the southernmost clump of these mountains.
On this section the engineers accomplished an unparalleled engineering
feat. The narrow Isonzo gorge had to be crossed, and it was effected
by throwing a single span from one bank to the other, a matter of 733
feet. This is the longest single-arch masonry bridge in the world, and
the rail-level is 120 feet above the level of the water. As the coast
is approached the windings of the line become more tortuous, while
the bridging, owing to the numerous rivers, is terrific. When at last
Opcina tunnel is penetrated, the Adriatic is seen spread out in a vast
panorama 1000 feet below.
To descend the mountain slopes with an easy grade for a distance of ten
miles was a stiff problem. In order to do so the engineers had to carry
the track in the form of elaborate saw-like loops. Heavy gradients
could not be avoided, and this part of the line is one of the steepest
and most trying to the locomotives.
Though these sections of the railway had proved difficult to carry out,
it was the Tauern link in the chain that tried the energy and ingenuity
of the engineers to the supreme degree, for on this stretch of railway
the mighty Tauern group of mountains had to be negotiated. Surveys
showed that to pierce this clump involved the boring of a tunnel for
a distance of five miles at least. They proved the hardest five miles
in the whole undertaking; the piercing of the Karawanken and Wochenier
tunnels sank into insignificance by comparison, for this knot of the
Alps was found to be formed of much sterner rock. Granite gneiss,
one of the hardest substances against which it is possible to bring
the edge of a drill, made progress provokingly slow. At times, when
the hand drills had to be used, an advance of two feet in the course
of twenty-four hours was considered excellent. The Brandt hydraulic
drills, however, with the enormous energy behind them, made the task
somewhat lighter, for they moved through the hardest rock at a rate of
about seventeen feet every day, with occasional spurts of a foot per
hour.
In this undertaking, however, many misfortunes served to delay
progress. The task had barely commenced, when a flood destroyed part of
the works at the northern end. The river whose water had been harnessed
had been deviated from its accustomed path, because it flowed over
the roof of the tunnel. As the engineers had no desire to invite an
inundation by tapping the bed of the river waterway, they had provided
it with a new channel. Heavy snows and rains, however, so swelled the
volume of the diverted river that it broke through its artificial bonds
to resume its original course. The result was that, owing to the crust
of earth between the old bed and the roof of the tunnel being so thin,
the water crashed through, and poured into the tunnel in an immense
cascade.
The men abandoned everything hurriedly, and rushed madly for their
lives from the incoming avalanche of water. For days the tunnel was
absolutely inaccessible. Not content with flooding the workings, the
impetuous torrent completed its devastation by sweeping away many of
the supports to the line conveying the water to the drills under a
pressure of 1,500 pounds per square inch, leaving the slender conduit
of this great force hanging in graceful festoons in mid-air. Some
of these gaps were as much as 260 feet in width, and had a break in
the pipe occurred widespread damage would have been caused. But the
engineers set to work, and reconstructed the temporary dam that had
thus been torn roughly away and rebuilt the river’s new channel. At
the same time they adopted such precautions as would preclude the
possibility of the waterway again inundating the tunnel in times of the
most severe floods.
Such incidents, however, are inherent to works of this character. The
inundation was but one means adopted by Nature to thwart the advance of
the iron road. Work had scarcely been resumed, when another disaster
occurred. The drills were whirring merrily against the rock face in
the tunnel, and the drillers were light-heartedly conversing with one
another as they fed the boring giant in its rock-penetrating task.
Suddenly there was a cry of alarm. Water was trickling rapidly from
a bore-hole; it rapidly increased in volume. The drillers hurriedly
withdrew their tools and backed down the cavern. There was a roar,
and a limpid stream burst from the rock face. The drillers stampeded;
they had tapped a subterranean spring, and it was now rushing forth
with fiendish violence. The engineers hastened to the front. Such a
contingency had been expected, for such incidents are inseparable from
tunnelling tasks of this magnitude. The rushing stream was turned
into one of the conduits at the side to carry it to the tunnel mouth,
where it expended its energy harmlessly by tumbling wildly among the
rocks. When pockets of water and springs are tapped in this manner, the
question is to control the water so encountered in such a manner that
it does not interfere with the drilling work or flood the workings.
As a matter of fact, when the Simplon tunnel was in progress these
underground springs were harnessed and compelled to perform useful
work; they were thrown against the rock face to keep down the internal
temperature.
Work continued incessantly day and night; but it was hard and
exhausting the farther the men advanced. The drills scarcely could bite
into the rock, as it was so tough. At one time the question became
so acute that the engineers brought up the electric drills used in
the Karawanken undertaking in order to see if matters could not be
expedited, but they failed to make as much headway as the hydraulic
tools. Another handicapping factor was the heat, which rose very
rapidly, and although it did not attain that degree experienced in the
boring of the Simplon, yet it caused considerable fatigue among the
workmen engaged in such a confined space. The elaborate ventilating
system sufficed to keep the air as sweet and cool as possible, but it
did not solve the problem completely. The workmen, cramped as they were
in the confined space--the area available for manipulating the tools
only measured a few feet in each direction--often betrayed painful
signs of physical distress.
But at last there was a wild cheer, which echoed and re-echoed through
the caverns to the tunnel’s mouths. Those outside realised that
something untoward had occurred, and in a few seconds the news came
through the gloomy depths that the drills had pierced the last 72
inches of rock separating the two headings, and that the Tauern was
conquered. That was on July 21, 1907, some five years after the first
boulder was torn from the mountain-side. Once this last barrier was
broken down the finishing touches were soon applied, and the double
track laid from end to end.
Though the Tauern tunnel constitutes the outstanding features on
the section stretching from Schwarzach St. Veit to Villach, there
are innumerable other subsidiary works which in themselves are of
importance. One of more than passing interest is a clever piece of
construction in order to overcome a difference of 2,975 feet in level
between the Tauern tunnel and Ober Villach by means of a huge “S” loop
four and a half miles in length.
The fulfilment of this undertaking constitutes one of the most
remarkable railway engineering feats in Europe. Certainly it ranks
among the most expensive enterprises that ever have been attempted west
of the Urals. To the travelling and commercial community its value
is incalculable, for Munich, which was formerly a tedious journey of
twenty-three hours from Trieste, is now within twelve hours’ run, while
the other great centres of Europe have been brought proportionately
nearer the Adriatic by this new and more direct route.
CHAPTER VIII
THE RECLAMATION OF ALASKA
Until a few years ago the popular conception of Alaska was a vast
country sealed against the efforts of civilisation by impenetrable
barriers of snow and ice, presenting such a dismal outlook as to daunt
the most intrepid spirits. But to-day quite a different impression
prevails. Alaska is considered a coming country, although it rests on
either side of the invisible line denoting the Arctic circle. It is a
vast mineral storehouse, the lofty mountains containing rich deposits
of all the valuable minerals of commerce, while the dales nestling
among the peaks have been found to be of wonderful fertility and
capable of producing a wealth of agricultural produce. One might regard
the possibility of raising wheat and hay in that northern clime as a
mere phantasy, but I have seen cereals and hay cut in those valleys
which compare very favourably in quality with the similar products
grown in the great agricultural belts of the United States and Canada.
The fact is that the interior, far from being locked the whole year
round in a temperature hovering around, or many degrees below, zero,
has extremes of heat and cold. In the winter the snow envelops the
ground to a depth of several feet, and the mercury descends to 40 or
50 degrees below zero, but in the summer the thermometer registers
temperatures of 80 and 90 degrees. While the winter grips the country
for nearly two-thirds of the year, the summer barely lasts 100 days.
But what a summer it is! The sun shines from a cloudless sky the whole
time, and for some twenty hours throughout the day. Consequently it is
possible to sow and to harvest the crops within 80 days.
Along the coast extremely cold weather scarcely ever is experienced.
The conditions, in fact, are very similar to those prevailing in
Scandinavia. The coast-line of the latter country is bathed by the warm
waters of the Gulf Stream: the coast-line of Alaska is swept by the
warm breezes of the Japanese chinook wind blowing off the Pacific.
Yet popular fallacy resulted in the country being regarded as a closed
book, and the possibility of a railway ever securing sufficient traffic
to justify its existence was ridiculed to scorn twenty years ago. But
the past two decades have witnessed strange developments. The railway
engineer has penetrated the country, and to-day there is a scene of
great activity to connect the remarkable discoveries of metals among
the mountains with convenient points of shipment along the coast.
It was the discovery of gold, and the subsequent rush to the
“Klondike,” that brought about the unlocking of Alaska, and which was
responsible for bringing a country of 591,000 square miles within the
purview of the railway-builder. A rude collection of timber shacks and
tents sprung up like mushrooms on a little indent on the seashore, and
to-day is a healthy, prosperous town and port--Skaguay. From this point
the daring spirits infected with the “yellow fever” pushed inland over
the gaunt, snow-clad mountains to the “fields,” enduring privations
untold and experiences that make the blood run cold in order to gain
the new Eldorado. The trail was blazed with the bleached bones of
animals and pioneers eager to be first on the spot. Of roads there were
none--there was not even a rough path. Those early seekers had to tread
one with their own feet.
No sooner had the first reports concerning the discoveries of gold
at Dawson trickled through, to be substantiated by subsequent
investigations, than the possibility of building a railway from the
coast to the gold-fields, in order to lift the men over the most
difficult and hazardous part of the journey, was discussed. Indeed,
among one of the earliest bands which trailed across the Chilkoot
Pass in a thick black line were one or two surveyors spying out the
general characteristics of the country. Less than two years after the
excitement first flared up the plans for a line 112 miles in length,
extending practically through unknown country, had been prepared.
One end of the line rested on the seashore at Skaguay, while the
other reposed at White Horse, near Lake Lebarge, where communication
was effected with the wonderful inland waterway of the country, the
river Yukon. It was not a long railway in comparison with other great
systems of the world, but it was a highly ambitious enterprise, for
it was destined to lift man and freight over the most terrible part
of the country, the coast range which had been the grave of scores of
fortune-hunters.
The prime mover in this undertaking was an accomplished engineer who
is quite at home in such inhospitable territory. He was sanguine of
its financial success, but when he approached American financiers for
support he was laughed to scorn. But this man was not to be cast down
so easily. Foiled in his efforts to enlist the practical sympathy of
his own countrymen, he came to London and sought British assistance,
for in the matter of railway pioneering the British financier is
probably the greatest plunger. He required roughly £1,000,000, or
$5,000,000, and what was more, he secured it. The firmness and
boldness with which the capitalists of London supported what was
regarded as a hare-brained scheme astonished the American financial
world. The ultimate success of the enterprise, however, was even more
surprising to them, and they more than regretted their refusal to
support the undertaking when it was originally laid before them. One
eminent authority belaboured his compatriots soundly for their lack of
foresight and initiative, and aptly remarked, “As long as the British
know how to grasp the trade of the world, when and where it is most
profitable, they have no immediate cause to worry about German and
American competition.”
Armed with the requisite cash resources, the projector lost no time.
He hurried back to Alaska and commenced his attack upon the towering
mountain chain. His arrival in “shack-town” with an efficient staff
and materials signalised the transition of Skaguay from a tumbledown,
disreputable collection of shanties into an important, well-built port.
The engineer realised only too well that he had a desperate task
confronting him. The maps and reports of the territory he intended
to traverse were found to be absolutely unreliable. He discarded the
whole lot and advised his own survey expeditions to prepare their own
cartographical guides. Five surveys were run, and five alternate routes
for the line between the coast and White Horse were completed before
selection was made definitely.
Then the rock and earth commenced to fly. There was a call for 5000
men. Skaguay was the starting-point, the first spadeful of earth being
turned near the water’s edge. A narrow gauge--three feet--was adopted
as being more economical to build, while from the traffic point of
view it was considered to be more than adequate. As the small gangs of
men armed with pick-axes and shovels advanced up the main street of
the town in embryo, defining the grade, the enthusiasm knew no bounds.
It was an occasion for a frantic outburst of revelry. The conquest of
the dreaded White Pass had commenced: the most northerly railway on
the American continent was under way; and the time was not far distant
when the miners would be able to pass from coast to gold-fields with no
more danger or discomfort than attends one who travels from London to
Scotland or from New York to Chicago.
For the first five miles the going was easy, as the line was plotted
through practically level country with only a slight ascent in order to
strike the mountains at a convenient point. Two months after the first
sod was turned down by the waterside this section was completed and
opened for traffic, an event which was not permitted to pass by without
another outbreak of jubilation.
The feature that most astonished the inhabitants, however, was the
vigour with which the presiding genius pushed his enterprise forward.
The gold rush was at its height, and hundreds of new arrivals poured
into Skaguay from every arriving boat. One and all were bound for the
diggings, and they proceeded as far as possible over the railway, to
continue a wearisome toil afoot from the railhead. To these men the
completion of the line meant more than one can realise from a distance.
That plod over the mountain crest through a pass which is so steep that
it appeared to lean back was heroic.
As the engineer penetrated the mountains his task became more exacting,
perilous, and the pace of the advance eased up appreciably. There was
no dearth of labour, for new arrivals, not having the wherewithal to
gain the gold region, or others who, having ventured there to meet
only with misfortune and ill-luck, were only too glad to seize the
opportunity to earn a good day’s pay on the building of the White Pass
& Yukon railway, as it is called.
[Illustration: THE FIRST HOUR’S WORK: NAVVIES PREPARING THE GRADE ALONG
THE MAIN STREET OF SKAGUAY]
[Illustration:
_Photos, Draper, Skaguay_]
BY RAILWAY TO THE KLONDIKE--THE WHITE PASS AND YUKON LINE UNDER
CONSTRUCTION
Laying the metals at the head of Lake Bennett, showing construction
camp.]
The engineer decided to keep his grades as easy as possible, but during
the course of 15 miles through the mountains he found very quickly
that this was no easy matter. He had to gain the summit of the pass,
an altitude of 2,888 feet, in this distance, and it was found quite
hopeless without a climb of 1 in 15. Much of the country lying in his
path never had been trodden by man. Below the snow-line it was covered
thickly with virgin forest, tangled undergrowth and dead-fall piled up
to a tremendous height, through which the men had to axe their way at
a snail’s pace. Above the line where timber ceased to thrive cliffs
rose up sheer, with their faces so polished by the Arctic gales and
weather as to be as slippery as ice and affording no foothold whatever.
In order that the workmen might gain a purchase for the wielding of
their tools, huge logs were slung down from convenient heights, held in
position by massive chains attached to iron dogs driven into the rock,
and on this flimsy foothold the men were compelled to prosecute
their tasks as best they could.
[Illustration: THE DISMAL TRACT OF SWAMP AND RIVER THROUGH WHICH THE
ALASKAN CENTRAL RAILWAY MAKES ITS WAY]
One of the most complex difficulties was in regard to the bringing
up of provisions and stores for the men, and the requisite material
for the railway. The base of supplies was over 1000 miles away, every
ounce of necessities having to be brought up by water from Seattle or
Vancouver. The little army was cut off entirely from the outside world,
news of which could be gleaned only when a boat called at Skaguay. The
absence of telegraphic communication was a deficiency which was felt
the most sorely. The post, intermittent and uncertain, as there was no
regular service, was the sole vehicle of communication. Consequently
extreme care had to be observed to preserve a continuous stream of the
material required. The omission of this or that entailed a delay of
anything from ten days upwards.
At one point a lofty granite tooth 70 feet wide and 20 feet thick
sheered up in front of the engineer to a height of 120 feet. He neither
attempted to go round nor through the obstacle. He brought up a squad
of expert drillers, and soon they were engaged in honeycombing the base
of the cliff with deep holes. Charges of explosives were rammed home,
and when detonated the whole crag, a crumbling mass of rock, rattled
down into the ravine. The pedestal of this cliff was then smoothed off,
and thereon the sleepers and metals were laid.
By dint of prodigious effort, continued without intermission both day
and night the whole week through, without even a respite for Sundays,
the engineer succeeded in carrying the railway forward for a distance
of 40 miles and over the summit of the pass in a single season. Such an
achievement in the face of the abnormal difficulties encountered, in
such a short space of time, was indeed memorable.
Satisfied with this result, the engineer called a halt. His men were
in dire need of rest, and as there was no object in exposing them
unduly to the rigours of the terrible winter now that the back of the
task had been broken, constructional work was suspended for a few
months. But it was not a period of complete inactivity. He had planned
his work for the following summer, and during the winter months he
pressed the snow-covered country into service for the erection of his
constructional camps, the disposition of building material, provisions
and stores at convenient points over a long distance ahead.
One cannot help admiring the perspicacity of the man identified with
this peculiar enterprise. When he sought financial assistance to
further his scheme he argued that directly the railway had negotiated
the summit, remunerative traffic would develop. So it proved. Confident
in these anticipations, the guiding hand had ordered considerable
rolling-stock to be hurried to Skaguay while his graders were forcing
their way to the summit, and when the pass was overcome a service was
inaugurated.
Yet it is doubtful if the engineer scarcely expected the results that
were experienced. The adequacy of his rolling-stock over the first 40
miles was tested to breaking point. The pack-trail over the pass was
abandoned as quickly as a candle is extinguished by a gust of wind when
the first train was announced. The miners braved the elements, pitiless
cold and dazzling snow, no longer. From the railway to-day one can
still see decaying evidences of a bygone bustle and activity attending
the trek of the first prospectors and pioneers to the Klondike in the
falling shacks and huts scattered along the trail, which before the
advent of the iron horse were centres of life and revelry, but which
to-day are wrapped in forlorn desolation. Scarcely a person enters or
even passes their doors now.
So soon as the winter broke, the engineer brought his forces to the
front once more. The line skirts Lake Bennett. White Horse, on the
head waters of the Yukon, some 72 miles ahead, was the objective, and
the engineer was determined to reach that inland terminus that season
by hook or by crook. As the line skirts Lake Bennett, and this sheet
of water is navigable, he decided to use it temporarily until White
Horse was reached, the railway consequently being resumed from the head
of the lake. This was a justifiable course, inasmuch as the building
of the line along the waterside would have occupied considerable time
owing to physical characteristics, while it was imperative that White
Horse should be reached without delay.
The coming of spring saw the graders regirding themselves for another
wrestle with the rock and gravel. Before they had gone very far the
edge of a lake was gained. Its banks were precipitous and did not lend
themselves to a feasible track. An ingenious solution of the problem
was essayed. The engineer decided to lower the level of this sheet of
water by some 14 feet and to build his grade on a shelf which surveys
showed there would be exposed. To this end he cut a small outlet. But
as the vent was driven through soft soil and totally inadequate to
resist the pent-up force of the escaping water, the latter widened the
breach into such a deep and wide channel that the lake was lowered by
no less than 70 feet! This result opened up a new difficulty, escape
from which was only practicable by the erection of two large bridges
spanning the rift left by the receding waters. As a result, the line
does not run round the lake as planned originally, but cuts directly
across its bed.
When at last the metals were laid into White Horse and the Yukon River
was gained, the engineer retraced his footsteps to push ahead with the
last link around Lake Bennett, so that through rail connection between
the coast and the Yukon River might be possible that year. This was a
heavy piece of work owing to the indentation of the lake-shore and the
number of crags that dropped into the water. But by blasting away the
faces of the promontories to fashion a narrow gallery upon which to lay
the track, and by dumping the rock shivered by the explosives into the
bays to form embankments, an easy alignment was secured.
Although the railway overcomes mountains running up to a height of
7000 feet, only one tunnel was found to be necessary. Curves are
numerous and sharp, so that the line describes a sinuous route among
the peaks. Although on the ascent of the mountains from a point 5
miles out of Skaguay grades of 1 in 25 were found unavoidable to gain
the summit, the descent on the opposite side is much easier, for the
difference in level of the White Pass summit and White Horse summit,
91 miles beyond, is only 808 feet. However, the line between these two
levels is built for the most part on forced grades.
Bearing in mind the character of the country traversed, where lofty
peaks and steep precipices alternate with deep gorges and wide clefts,
it is obvious that such a railway as this could not be completed
without recourse to heavy bridging. In all there are 11,450 lineal feet
of such structures. There are seven steel bridges, one of which, just
before the summit is gained, is 400 feet in length, with the centre 215
feet above the bottom of the gorge.
Taken on the whole, labour was not so difficult a problem in
Alaska then as it is to-day, despite the remote situation of the
constructional work, for reasons already explained. The enterprise
found employment for about 35,000 men, and it speaks volumes for the
care exercised in regard to their comfort and welfare, that only 35 men
met their deaths through accident and disease, notwithstanding the high
pressure with which work was maintained. The men for the most part were
far more intelligent than those generally identified with such work.
To illustrate the extreme fascination that gold exercises over these
prospector-navvies, one incident is worth relating. The men were
driving the grade with great zest, quite contented with their lot,
because the majority had tasted the bitterness of ill-luck at the
Klondike. One day news trickled into the camp of the discovery of a
new goldstrike not far distant in British Columbia. It galvanised
the labourers like electricity, awoke all slumbering ambitions and
re-erected all the castles in the air which Dawson had dispelled so
ruthlessly. A solid phalanx of 1,500 men threw down their tools and
clamoured round the pay-office of the engineers for their wages due to
them forthwith. Not having received any premonitory warning of this
development, the engineer inquired what was the matter, thinking that
possibly a “strike” was being nursed. As the wages were paid the men
stampeded off to see if Fortune could be wooed any more easily at Atlin
than she could be won at Klondike.
As the railway was pushed through hurriedly while the Klondike
gold fever was at its height, some of the work was of a temporary
character, but once the communication was established the whole line
was overhauled. Timber trestles and bridges were replaced by heavier
substantial metallic structures, and the earthworks were strengthened.
To-day the road compares with any to be found on the continent.
The service is daily, except Sundays, and the line is patrolled
regularly for boulders or avalanches which may have crashed down the
mountain-sides, to come to rest on the track, and which form fearsome
obstructions to a train. In winter it is kept open by means of the
rotary snow-ploughs. This is no easy task, for the blizzards among
mountains of the north are ferocious in their severity. Drifting snow
often fills the cuttings to a depth of 35 feet or so. Two locomotives
harnessed to one of these snow-clearers generally contrive to force a
clean open passage through the fleecy mass, however. It may be pointed
out that this railway possesses the largest type of narrow-gauge
engines in the world, the engine and tender in working order turning
the scale at 106 tons. Travel from our point of view appears somewhat
expensive, since it averages 1_s._ or 25 cents per mile.
The total cost of constructing and building the railway amounted to
£850,000, or $4,250,000. The most expensive section was that from
Skaguay to the White Pass summit, this first twenty miles involving
an expenditure of £400,000, or $2,000,000. In the first season after
completion, however, its gross receipts were £800,000, or $4,000,000,
25 per cent. of which was absorbed by working expense.
One outcome of the remarkable success attending the pioneer Alaskan
railway was the embarkation upon another undertaking in the same
country, this time under United States auspices. This, however, was a
far more ambitious scheme. It involved the building of a standard-gauge
road from Seward, in Resurrection Bay, some miles north of Skaguay, to
the town of Fairbanks, 463 miles inland, the idea being not only to
bring the latter point into touch with the coast, but also to tap rich
coal deposits and vast forests of lumber. Unfortunately this project
has not been attended with that success which marked the White Pass
& Yukon line. After 54 miles were completed its finances became so
entangled as to require the offices of a receiver to straighten matters
out.
However, it must be explained that several unforeseen circumstances
contributed to this chequered career over which the engineers had
no control. Such calamities as floods, arising from the melting
snows swelling the glacial rivers, landslides and avalanches wrought
widespread damage time after time. Moreover, constructional work was
not quite so straightforward as on the road more to the south, for
progress was arrested repeatedly by the necessity of carrying out
heavier work than the surveys contemplated.
Seward is situate on a flat, and the line was driven through a
convenient river valley from this point into the mountains. The absence
of any roads or even trails rendered investigation of the country
fringing the proposed route precarious and trying because large
stretches of swamp occupied the valleys, while the mountains were torn
and broken, rising up steeply on either side.
[Illustration: THE WONDERFUL HORSESHOE TIMBER TRESTLE 1,240 FEET LONG,
VARYING FROM 40 TO 90 FEET HIGH, ON THE CENTRAL ALASKAN RAILWAY
Over 1,000,000 lineal feet of timber was used in its construction.]
The line was to conform in every particular to a first-class trunk
system, with a maximum grade of only 1 in 50, with few and easy curves.
That was the idea on paper, but it proved a terrible task to attempt to
reduce theory to practice. Directly the base of operations at Seward
was left, the engineers found the country in its primeval condition,
the ground being covered with a tall, dense, dank grass between five
and six feet in height, and tangled thick forests. Clearing alone was
a tedious job, and the prevalence of bog rendered movement slow and
exasperating.
[Illustration: A WASH-OUT CAUSED BY THE PLACER RIVER IN FLOOD
Showing-the extensive damage inflicted upon the embankment.]
[Illustration: THE OBLITERATION OF THE LINE BY A LANDSLIDE
Over 1,200 feet of track was torn up and carried 2000 feet down the
mountain-side.
TWO VISITATIONS OF NATURE WHICH OVERWHELM THE CENTRAL ALASKAN RAILWAY
PERIODICALLY.]
As a rule it is mountains which offer a deterring barrier to the
engineer, but in this instance it was the valleys which presented the
most searching difficulties. The practical route for the line lay
through the Placer River Valley, and the negotiation of this depression
in order to preserve the grade and alignment was beset with innumerable
perplexities. After leaving the coast the railway has to climb
gradually until it gains and crosses the summit of the watershed at an
altitude of 1,050 feet and 45 miles out of Seward. Then comes a sharp
drop for 3 miles, followed by a more rapid descent for 200 feet or so.
In times gone by a huge glacier filled this valley. At the head the
ravine narrows sharply and leads into a canyon, where the rocky wall
rises up on either hand almost perpendicularly to a height of some 700
feet. This rift is about three-quarters of a mile in length, and opens
into another valley at the foot of a large glacier which leads to a bay
on the coast known as Turnagain Arm. So sharp is the descent that in
the course of 22 miles some 900 feet has to be overcome.
The drop from the summit at the 48th mile-post out of Seward for a
distance of 6 miles puzzled the engineers sorely. Six surveys had
to be run through this short canyon, and even then a grade of less
than double the 1 in 50 was found impracticable. The configuration of
the rift did not permit official requirements to be carried out with
economy. Even the grade twice that demanded was found unattainable
without six tunnels and seven large curves.
The survey was a perilous undertaking owing to the extreme steepness
of the cliff-sides and the vegetation clinging to the rocky face. The
rodmen working with the survey parties had to be slung in mid-air from
ropes to enable the requisite calculations to be made.
The difficulties of the survey were surpassed by those of construction.
The very first tunnel brought this home with startling vividity. It
is 700 feet in length, and is almost entirely on a curve of about 400
feet radius burrowing through a projecting hump of the main chain.
In order to gain the tunnel a broad sweep of the same radius as that
of the tunnel curve had to be made, and the two works together form
two-thirds of a circle. But one portal of the tunnel opens out on the
brink of a precipice, the mountain-side falling away abruptly at that
point. So in order to carry the line forward a huge artificial work had
to be carried out. This is a timber trestle which constitutes one of
the most outstanding features of the line. From end to end it measures
1,240 feet in length, while it varies in height from 40 to 90 feet,
some of the outside members being no less that 120 feet in length. Over
1,000,000 feet of timber was used in its construction.
As a matter of fact, the extent of timber trestling upon this railway
cannot fail to impress the visitor. In the valleys the line is laid
almost entirely upon a wooden grade, owing to the absence of stable
solid ground upon which to raise embankments, while the rivers are
spanned by steel bridges ranging in span from 80 to 100 feet in the
clear. As the rivers rise and fall considerably according to the
season, the abutments had to be set well back from the low channel,
and, moreover, had to be protected heavily by piling to withstand the
severe scouring that takes place when the waterways are in flood and
they rush along with the speed of a cataract.
More than 50 per cent. of the work through the canyon is tunnelling,
which aggregates 2,800 feet out of 4,800 feet. There was no other
way of overcoming the abrupt cliff-sides, and but for the rifts and
clefts in their flanks its extent would have been greater. This was the
work which occupied so much time and consumed so much money, for the
rock was found to be intensely hard. Steam drilling was attempted at
first, but the temperature within the borings rose so high as to become
intolerable. Therefore this plant had to be discarded in favour of
compressed air drills. With their aid a hole 21 feet in height, by 14
and 16 feet in width, to carry a single track, was hewn and blasted out.
The installation of the power plant to operate the drills was a pretty
problem. It could not be set up on the same side of the canyon as the
borings were being made, so had to be rigged up at a convenient point
on the opposite wall near the upper end of the gorge, the power being
transmitted through piping. In order to carry the latter across the
gulch a temporary suspension bridge 130 feet long was erected, and as
it was also employed for the purpose of conveying materials and men
from one cliff to the other, was made heavier than otherwise.
In addition to perforating the shoulders of the mountains, deep clefts
in the mountain faces had to be spanned or masses of obstructing rock
had to be blown out of the way. In one instance there was a couloir
which required a 90-foot span bridge to cross from one side to the
other, while in another case 300 feet of solid rock, aggregating over
50,000 tons of rock, had to be torn down to enable the grade to proceed
from one tunnel to the other. About thirteen months were required to
carry the line through this stretch of 4,800 feet.
The struggles with the rock were equalled by the wrestles with Nature
in the valleys. These are to all intents and purposes beds of rivers
whose boundaries are the bases of the mountains on either side. As a
result, the whole of the depression is practically a swamp, with the
river cutting a tortuous path apparently through the centre. The word
“apparently” is used because what is the main channel of the river
to-day will be semi-dry land probably next year, because in the flood
season, when the rivers are fed by melting snows, to speed along
with fiendish velocity, they are just as likely as not to cut out an
entirely new path through the soft soil. If the railway embankment
bars its passage the whole obstruction is swept away. Hundreds of feet
of completed line have been demolished in this manner. If the rushing
river is unable to break through the embankment it swirls around the
obstruction, rapidly undermining the foundations, with the result that
a bad cave-in ensues, which is in every way as bad as a clean wash-out,
except that perhaps the railway metals and sleepers can be retrieved.
Even the mountain-sides, solid though they appear, are not free from
Nature’s playful antics. When the spring sun comes round and melts
heavy masses of snow on the higher levels there is trouble looming
below. The snow slips on the crest. Gathering impetus with every
succeeding foot in its descent, the avalanche picks up boulders,
trees and other debris, to hurl them with terrific force against the
handiwork of man, wiping it completely out of existence. One slide
caught the unfortunate railway in this manner, tore up 1,200 feet of
permanent way, and threw it, a twisted mass of iron and splintered
timber, a third of a mile away.
Considering the overwhelming odds against which the engineer was
pitted, it is not surprising that work was brought to a standstill.
The situation was summed up very graphically by one of the engineers
whom I met. “If Nature would only leave us alone once we have built
the line, we should not care what kind of fight she put up against us
to delay our advance. But all the money which could be devoted to new
construction is devoured in rebuilding track which is either washed
away or buried.”
CHAPTER IX
THE HOLY RAILWAY TO MECCA
While the majority of railways are constructed to meet the exigencies
of commerce, and occasionally from considerations of military strategy,
there is one striking instance of a line being built expressly for
religious purposes. This is the Hedjaz railway, which stretches its
sinuous, glittering arm of steel from Damascus for nearly 1000 miles
southwards through the inhospitable deserts of Palestine and Arabia to
Mecca and Medina, the sacred cities of the Moslem faith. The railway
was built entirely by Mahommedans for Mahommedans, every penny required
for the scheme being subscribed by the members of this vast sect.
Every member of the Faithful cherishes one ambition in life--to make
the “Hadj,” or Sacred Journey to the cradle and shrine of the Prophet.
A few years ago this was an undertaking from which all but those
blinded by religious fervour shrank. The journey had to be completed
afoot, by camel or caravan, according to the financial status of the
pilgrim; but whatever method of transit was favoured, the self-same
dangers prevailed, though obviously they were experienced most severely
by those who were compelled to have recourse to Shanks’ Pony.
The route extended through practically uninhabited, sterile plains,
upon which the sun beat down mercilessly, and the heat overhead was
only equalled by that reflected from the glaring sand, which blistered
the feet and imparted a fiery, maddening thirst. Food and water had to
be carried by the pilgrim, because no sustenance could be obtained by
the wayside. Even the welcome oases, with their refreshing, cooling
rills and pools of water beneath the shade of the palms, are few and
far between.
To the dangers of hunger, thirst and physical exhaustion there had to
be included those from the attacks of the marauding Bedouins, who hung
on the sides of the overland route, ever on the look-out to despoil
the traveller. These brigands were most daring and ferocious in their
depredations. They robbed the pilgrim of all he possessed, and if his
poverty resulted in a meagre reward for their attack, they bludgeoned
him mercilessly for not being better provided with this world’s goods,
and left him bleeding and dying in the sun.
Every year hundreds of pilgrims paid the penalty for their zeal. They
set out from Damascus on their mission of duty and faith never to
return. So powerless was the Ottoman Government that these relentless
nomads pursued their life of brigandage and preying on the pilgrims
unchecked and without fear of punishment.
The Hedjaz railway was conceived in order to remove these perils and
privations. When the Sultan published the details of his idea it was
hailed with unalloyed enthusiasm by every Mahommedan throughout the
world, and one and all contributed towards the furtherance of the
scheme.
The fulfilment of this enterprise will always rank as a magnificent
achievement in the romance of railway engineering; the methods by
which the numerous obstacles were broken down as they arose contribute
fascinating incidents to a thrilling story. When it is remembered that
approximately 1000 miles of metals had to be laid through some of
the most sterile and difficult country on the globe; that some 4000
bridges, viaducts and tunnels had to be built to span rushing rivers,
yawning chasms, and to penetrate precipitous bluffs; that sudden drops
had to be made from highlands to valleys, and equally steep ascents
from depressions to plateaus, then a faint idea of the formidable
character of the undertaking may be gathered.
[Illustration:
_Photo, Helladjian_]
A STRIKING PIECE OF RAILWAY BUILDING IN THE YARMUK GORGE
The railway track is hewn out of the cliff, swings round the head of
the gorge and reappears on the opposite side.]
For months the constructional engineers were buried in the midst of the
biting, scorching and driving sand, quite isolated from the outside
world, the clang of the tools being the only sound breaking a silence
so intense that it could be felt. Occasionally the news filtered
through that the implacable nomads roaming the sweltering plains had
swooped down upon the camps and that a desperate hand-to-hand struggle
had been waged. Minute details were not vouchsafed, for such incidents
became so frequent as to become monotonous.
[Illustration: A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF A CHASM IN PALESTINE, THROUGH WHICH
THE LINE FOLLOWS A WINDING PATH ON THE LEFT]
[Illustration:
_Photos, Helladjian_]
A MASONRY BRIDGE ON THE HOLY RAILWAY, SHOWING SOLIDITY OF CONSTRUCTION
AND MOUNTAINOUS CHARACTER OF THE COUNTRY]
Yet the authorities scarcely anticipated that these marauders would
wage such a relentless war against the advance of the railway as did
eventually come to pass. Yet it was not surprising. The Bedouins
realised that the completion of the railway would bring their life of
pillage and murder to an end, and accordingly they challenged every
foot of its advance. Sometimes they won, massacred the encampment, and
destroyed the line for some distance; at others they lost and were
routed right and left. The story of the Mahdi’s opposition to the
British penetration of Egypt was repeated in Palestine and Arabia,
only, if anything, with more determined fury. The soldiers worked with
their arms beside them, and protected by a line of guards thrown out
some distance around the railhead.
The military commandant was given a free hand to keep back the savage
tribes in such a manner as he considered expedient, in order to permit
the engineers to lay the metals as fast as possible, and without fear
of being molested. When the work was inaugurated the Turkish Government
appointed a strong man to the command of the protective troops. It was
a responsible and dangerous position, for the authorities recognised
from bitter experience the implacable fury of these tribesmen when
fully roused. Field-Marshal Kaisim Pasha was appointed to the military
directorship, and he proved the right man in the right place. His
reputation and grim determination to subdue lawlessness were well known
to the bandits, and the Government hoped that his appointment to the
protection of the enterprise would strike terror into the hearts of the
Bedouins. But far from it. It appeared to urge them to greater daring,
and they hung on his flanks relentlessly, cutting off stragglers
ruthlessly, and keeping him constantly on the alert. The Field-Marshal
was kept in a state of perpetual anxiety, because he never knew upon
which side or where he would be attacked next. Brushes were almost of
daily occurrence, and the success of one side or the other fluctuated
like a barometer.
Once the nomads caught Kaisim Pasha at a heavy disadvantage. The
navvies and engineers were busy at work as usual on the permanent
way, with the military outpost thrown well out on all sides. Suddenly
there was a savage, heart-rending yell, and the desert became alive
with the swarthy, active and powerful, infuriated bandits. In an
irresistible wave they swept down upon the railhead. The outposts stood
their ground, but they were overwhelmed in the rush. The Field-Marshal
hurriedly called one and all to arms. The navvies threw down their
hammers, pick-axes, shovels, and other tools, grabbed their rifles, and
supported the soldiers. But there was no stemming that savage, rushing
horde. The tribesmen fanatically threw themselves upon the position,
and to such advantage that the commander was compelled to retire,
leaving 100 dead upon the field.
Construction was arrested completely for a time. The bandits, inspired
with their initial success, hung about, and at the slightest attempt
at a sally, concentrated and bore down, driving the soldiers back. The
situation became so critical that Kaisim Pasha determined to teach the
nomads a severe lesson once and for all. He hurriedly sent home for
reinforcements, together with ten battalions of artillery, which were
despatched post-haste to his assistance.
When his forces were strengthened sufficiently he issued forth, and in
turn caught the nomads by surprise. The soldiers, who had been chafing
under the reverse they had suffered and their prolonged inability to
revenge their fallen comrades, seized the opportunity and carried home
the attack with spirited energy. For a time the bandits stood their
ground, offering a stubborn resistance. The artillery shelled them
out of their entrenchments, and the modern machine-guns and magazine
rifles so swept them down when they ventured into the open, that at
last they broke their ranks and fled in disorder. The Turks pursued
and scattered their enemy to the four winds. The Bedouin losses were
tremendous, and their ranks were cut up so completely, and their
organisation was so crushed, that no further concerted action was taken
to dispute the advance of the line to Mecca. Occasionally raids were
made upon stations and completed sections, but such attacks were found
to be attributable to independent, irresponsible units. Comparative
tranquillity prevailed until the last division connecting the sacred
cities with the Red Sea was taken in hand, and then one day the
tribesmen made another raid, wiping out the whole of the constructional
forces.
When the line was commenced, H. Meissner Pasha, the enterprising German
engineer selected to carry out the scheme, was given simply the two
terminals of the line--Damascus and Mecca--roughly 1000 miles apart,
and instructed to connect them by rail as best he could. It is to
Meissner Pasha, therefore, that the full credit of carrying the line
to success must be extended, for upon his shoulders fell the brunt
of the work. He had to plot its path, had to be at the railhead to
evolve a solution for a problem as it arose, and had to force his way
through, over, or around obstacles as they confronted him. In this task
he displayed considerable ingenuity and resource, while he appeared to
be possessed of tireless energy. The handling of huge corps of men of
varying nationalities--Turks, Montenegrins, Greeks, Cretans, Bedouins,
and so on--was no simple matter in itself, but he possessed the happy
faculty of infusing all who worked under him with his own enthusiasm
and ambition to get the line completed in the shortest possible time.
In addition to these duties of an essentially technical character, he
had to attend to every want of his workmen. Every drop of water, every
ounce of food, of stores, provisions, fuel and so forth had to be
hauled over enormous distances, and in the depths of the desert the
work of maintaining these supplies became stupendous. Owing to his
splendid organisation, however, his most advanced outposts never once
ran short of any of the necessaries of life.
The monumental features of Meissner Pasha’s constructional ingenuity,
however, are illustrated in the remarkable series of tunnels, bridges,
loops and windings by which the railway is carried through the Yarmuk
valley in Palestine between the Jordan and Deraa, and the negotiation
of the escarpment south of Ma’an, where the line, after climbing the
plateau to a height of 3,700 feet above sea-level, drops suddenly into
a yawning ravine.
Damascus was selected as the starting-point for the railway, and the
gauge of the line extending northwards from this terminus was adopted.
Consequently, when the various intermediate links in the railway chain
of northern Asia Minor are connected up, it will be possible to run
from Constantinople to the sacred cities without change of carriage.
The route selected by the engineer is practically the shortest possible
between the two opposite points, and runs roughly parallel with the
famous centuries-old caravan route.
[Illustration:
_Photo, Helladjian_]
A HEAVY STEEL BRIDGE IN COURSE OF ERECTION BETWEEN HAIFA AND DERAA, THE
BRANCH FROM THE MAIN SACRED LINE TO THE SHORES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA]
It was felt, however, although Damascus should be the nominal northern
terminus, that it would be more advantageous from all points of view
to connect the railway with the Mediterranean Sea, so as to secure an
independent outlet, and one more convenient for the handling of the
constructional material than Beirut. The port selected for this purpose
was Haifa, on the Bay of Acre. This sea branch runs inland broadly at
right angles with the main line for a distance of about 100 miles,
the junction being at Deraa. In building this section, however, many
abstruse problems had to be unravelled, especially in the desolate
valley of the Yarmuk. Here the line runs along narrow ledges cut in the
mountain-side, plunges through massive shoulders, compasses precipitous
bluffs, winds from one side of the gorge to the other, and crosses deep
chasms by means of heavy masonry and metal bridges. In this stretch
the River Jordan is crossed by a noble stone bridge of five arches--the
only railway bridge across this sacred river--some distance below its
flow from the Sea of Galilee.
[Illustration:
_Photo, Helladjian_]
THE ENGINEERING WONDER OF THE HEDJAZ RAILWAY--THE SUDDEN DESCENT INTO
“THE DEVIL’S BELLY”]
The substantial character of this railway is a feature that most
impresses the visitor. The bridges and viaducts are permanent
structures wrought in stone or steel. Ample supplies of the former
material were found in the mountain-sides. The steel structures are of
massive and lofty proportions, and for the most part are supported upon
heavy masonry piers carried deeply down into the beds of the rivers,
so that the possibility of the foundations being undermined by the
scouring action of the swiftly-rushing waters is eliminated.
In traversing Palestine, the railway follows practically a straight
line from Deraa to Ma’an, some 250 miles to the south, and runs roughly
parallel with the River Jordan, which is some miles to the west,
while on the east stretches the vast Stoney Plain to the valleys of
the Tigris and Euphrates. Taken on the whole, these 250 miles were
completed very rapidly, as there were no adverse physical difficulties
to be overcome.
It was after leaving Ma’an to penetrate the wild and but little-known
Hedjaz Peninsula that the engineer’s bitterest struggle for mastery
over Nature began. It was as if the mythical Genii of the Lamp,
resenting the unlocking of the door to their kingdom, combined in their
efforts to baffle the railway engineer. Owing to the rugged character
of the country the changes in level are frequent and heavy, varying
from 200 or 300 feet below, to nearly 4000 feet above, the level of the
Red Sea. There are few main lines in any part of the world that rise
and fall so extensively and continuously.
Fortunately, in forcing the band of steel through this wild country,
the engineer was able to proceed where he liked. It is simply a vast,
silent waste of sand, with the rocks and mountains jutting their heads
to the sky as the island eyries of the sea fowl rise from the sea. A
deviation of a few hundred feet to the east or west of the air-line to
avoid a saucer-like depression, with its heavy gradients, was quite
immaterial. Yet even with these advantages it was not possible always
to avoid sharp curves and counter-curves, heavy embankments, or the
blasting of deep cuttings through large clumps of rocks.
The engineer carried his line south of Ma’an steadily upwards along the
longitudinal ridge of a plateau, until at last he gained an altitude of
3,700 feet. Then the bank dropped sheer into a picturesque wild chasm
known as Batn-el-Ghoul, or “the Devil’s Belly.”
The line reached the brink of the precipice. From there it had to be
carried to the bed of the ravine which inclines to Tabuk, the next
important point on the railway. But how was that gorge to be entered?
how could the lower level be gained? A detour so as to avoid the
escarpment was impossible, as the ridge stretched for miles on either
hand.
Meissner Pasha hurried to the railhead. He surveyed every foot of
ground in the vicinity, at one time clinging tenaciously to a crag; at
another being swung over a cliff by a rope; then perched on a jagged
pinnacle eagerly searching for some solution of his difficulty. He
traversed the pilgrim road, which is but a mere trail dropping into
the valley in a series of steep steps, time after time. The railway
could not be carried parallel with the caravan road--that was perfectly
obvious. The line of the overland route, which had for so long been
a reliable guide, now deserted him. But the engineer refused to be
daunted, and after prolonged reconnoitring he finally evolved a
remarkable project, which proved a highly successful solution.
[Illustration:
_Photo, Helladjian_]
THE RAILWAY IN THE DOMAIN OF THE GENII
The line is to the right. The fantastic shapes of the Arabian mountains
are revealed in a striking manner. A railway camp in the foreground.]
As he could not carry the line straight down into the valley, he
devised a kind of spiral, in which the railway effects what may be
best described as a “corkscrew” down the cliff face. From the brink of
the ravine it makes a gentle fall, the line clinging to the precipices
on a gallery cut for the purpose. After descending for some distance,
it suddenly describes a sharp curve and winds back again. Then comes
another loop and another redouble, this meandering being continued
until the bed of the ravine is gained. It is an ingenious piece of
work, and will rank always as one of the most prominent wonders of the
railway, as well as a monument to the engineer’s ingenuity.
[Illustration:
_Photo, Helladjian_]
THE LONELY PATH OF THE PILGRIM’S LINE THROUGH THE SILENT, ROCKY AND
SANDY WASTES OF ARABIA]
Its realisation, however, involved a tremendous struggle. The
mountain-sides are scarred and carved by the elements into most
fantastic shapes, with ugly, projecting spurs. These had to be blasted
away, narrow ledges or shelves in the cliff-face widened or cut to
carry the metallic path, deep rifts filled in or spanned, and isolated
peaks, lifting their jagged nose into the sky like gaunt sentinels,
avoided.
This ravine is a striking and curious specimen of the handiwork of
Nature. There is not a vestige of vegetation, and all life is extinct.
The masses of rock, turned into grotesque shapes by the lathe of
Nature, stand out sharply and boldly defined against the sky-line,
owing to the clearness of the atmosphere. They have a peculiar beauty,
their weird charm being accentuated by the vivid contrasting colourings
of the various geological strata standing out in distinct lines.
Looking down from the brink of the gorge, in the glare of the noonday
sun or the soft light of the sunrise or sunset, the floor of the valley
resembles a huge Persian carpet, with its intense multitudinous hues.
There is a sudden change from this natural Oriental splendour of
Nature after the ravine is left, for the railway passes over a dreary,
sweltering plain until Tabuk, the half-way house between Damascus and
Mecca, is gained. Then comes another steady climb through similar
country until the summit level of the whole line is gained--3,750 feet
above sea-level, which point also records the high-water mark of the
difficulties that had to be overcome.
The 587th mile-post at Medina Saleh indicates the most southerly point
to which the Infidel is permitted to travel over this railway. Even
Meissner Pasha and his staff of engineers who were not in the ranks
of the Faithful did not proceed farther towards Mecca. It was felt
that Mahommedans, and Mahommedans alone, should have the glory of
carrying the metals into the Sacred City. It was also feared that the
presence of infidels in the vicinity of the scene of the Prophet’s
nativity, despite their mission, possibly might inflame religious
prejudices. Consequently, Meissner Pasha handed over the reins to his
first lieutenant, Muktar Bey, the accomplished Turkish engineer who had
assisted him loyally in the operations up to this point. Similarly, all
but Mahommedan workmen were withdrawn from the railhead. The Ottoman
engineer, fired with his former chief’s enthusiasm and energy, pushed
forward at tip-top pressure, and the blast of the railway-whistle was
heard among the mosques and palms of the Sacred City for the first time
early in August, 1908.
The railway is up-to-date in every respect. The carriages are of the
corridor type, and the pilgrim who has suffered the rigours of the
wearisome overland journey can appreciate the luxury, ease and comfort
of the Pullman car. The locomotives are also powerful creations of
the engine-builder’s craft. Owing to the difficulties attending the
supply of water and fuel along the line, the engines are equipped with
abnormal facilities in this direction, the largest and most powerful
types carrying 4000 gallons of water. The stations are substantial in
character, being built of stone, so as to offer defiance to Arabs, who
cannot stifle the desire to raid now and again. At Damascus extensive
works, covering an area of 13,000 square feet, have been laid down for
carrying out repairs to engines and rolling-stock, the workshops being
fitted with the most up-to-date time- and labour-saving machinery.
When Medina was brought into touch with Damascus, and the widespread
advantages presented by the railway became appreciated, it was decided
to push the line to Mecca, 300 miles distant. Muktar Bey was detailed
to control these operations, and, establishing a subsidiary base at
Medina, he proceeded with the extension without delay. Unfortunately,
on this final division the native tribes broke into hostility once
more, and resumed their brigand tactics with renewed courage. On
one occasion they completely overwhelmed the constructional camp,
massacred all the workmen, and delayed construction until troops could
be brought up to force their withdrawal to a safe distance.
Considering the magnitude of this scheme, its completion for about
£3,000,000 ($15,000,000), or approximately £3000 ($15,000) per mile,
is strikingly cheap. This low cost, however, is explicable from the
fact that the Turkish military played a very important part in its
construction, as many as 5000 soldiers being concentrated on the task
at one time. The masonry work, steel bridges and general earthworks
were undertaken by labour recruited from all parts, only one bridge and
one heavy cutting being built by the troops, who for the most part were
occupied in applying the finishing touches to the permanent way and
platelaying.
CHAPTER X
THE HIGHEST LINE IN THE WORLD
While Europe offers the most graphic illustrations of the engineer’s
skill and ingenuity in overcoming rugged mountains by tunnelling
through their bases, one must go to South America to discover the
extraordinary methods he has adopted to negotiate similar obstructions
by traversing their lofty crests. It seems somewhat strange, at first
sight, that the “land of to-morrow” should have been the scene of such
demonstrations of genius, but when the incalculable mineral wealth
buried in the Andes is recalled, much of this surprise disappears.
The majority of the great mountain chains of the world appear puny
in comparison with the mighty serrated backbone of the southern half
of the American continent, which runs from the equator southwards
to tumble abruptly into the sea at Cape Horn. Mont Blanc and other
famous hoary European monarchs are insignificant beside Aconcagua and
many other snow-clad peaks beetling to the skies in its vicinity. The
Cordilleras present a compressed phalanx of pinnacles running in a
fairly straight, even, and narrow line. As the equator is approached
the needle points taper to bluntly rounded and rolling heads, but the
general conformation is the same. The result is that the slopes are
very steep, and to carry a railway through the mass entails tortuous
winding among the cones, with steep gradients and tunnels through
massive obstructions of rock. The cliffs of the Andes are probably
unequalled in mountain topography for steepness and height, the flanks
in places dropping down plumb for several thousand feet.
There is another peculiar characteristic which severely taxes the skill
of the engineer. The range thrusts itself skywards very closely to the
Pacific seaboard, so that the climb commences directly the coast is
left, and the maximum heights have to be gained within comparatively
short distances. For instance, in the case of the Oroya line, which is
the railway wonder of the world, the traveller landing at Callao, in
order to reach Oroya, 138 miles inland, has to toil 15,865 feet towards
the clouds in the course of 107 miles--one of the highest points at
which the piston of a railway engine throbs.
This South American line is not an ordinary mountain railway: it is
an audacious marvel of engineering science. Nor does it merely offer
facilities for sight-seeing among the impressive Cordilleras, but acts
as a traffic highway between the coast and the mines on the high inland
plateau.
As might be supposed, the difficulties which the engineers had to break
down were numerous and stupendous. Moreover, the work was extremely
costly. In the case of the Oroya road it averaged about £60,000, or
$300,000, per mile, and altogether £8,500,000 ($42,500,000) were
sunk in the enterprise--more than the total cost of the St. Gotthard
railway, with its famous tunnel and 172 miles of track.
The first attempt to subjugate this range by the iron road was made
in the ’sixties by a daring Philadelphia engineer, Henry Meiggs. His
idea was ambitious in the extreme. He proposed to start from Callao,
lift the metals over the crests of the mountains, drop down the other
side on to the highlands, and to push across the plateau until he
gained a point on the mighty Amazon which could be reached by steamer
from the Atlantic. By this means the Pacific seaports of South America
would be brought into closer touch with the markets of the Old World,
avoiding the protracted and hazardous journey round Cape Horn. That
the idea was never carried to success was one of the sorry tricks of
Fate. Internecine strife and wars with neighbouring states sapped the
financial strength of Peru to such an extent that there was not enough
money to complete this grand scheme. Possibly some day the steel
thread will be picked up again at Oroya and forced to its original
objective.
For the first 107 miles this railway makes a continual ascent; there is
not a single foot of downhill in the whole distance. Work was commenced
in 1870, and was pushed forward so energetically that in the course
of twelve months Meiggs had completed 20 miles of the line, and had
the earthworks well advanced as far as Chosica, some 33 miles out of
Callao. In order to ease his task as much as possible, the engineer
decided to follow the Rimac River into the mountains. But as the
innermost recesses of the Cordilleras are gained, the river narrows
considerably, until it plunges merely through a slender defile, the
walls of the peaks dropping down precipitously into the water. The
result was that the engineer found it very difficult to find a natural
lane for his metals, so he had to hew and blast galleries, to swing
first from one bank to the other, in order to seize the slightest
foothold.
He had plunged 47 miles into the mountains and had gained an altitude
of about one mile, when he was brought to a dead stop. The mountain
along which he had crawled laboriously broke off abruptly. Further
advance was impossible. To have cut a tunnel would have been a
herculean task, and as the mountain wall dropped straight down below,
and towered to a dizzy height above him, he found himself in a
quandary. A few feet immediately above him, however, he espied a ledge
running parallel with that on which he had laid his track. He resolved
to gain that upper gallery, but the crucial question was, How?
Then he hit upon a brilliant idea. It was something new and untried in
railway engineering, but as he had already tested all existing methods
to gain the point at which he now stood, there was no alternative but
to devise new ways and means of overcoming perplexing situations as
they arose, despite the apparent novelty of the solutions. He resolved
to lift the track from the lower to the upper ledge by a “V-switch.”
[Illustration: MEIGGS’ MASTERPIECE--THE V-SWITCH, BY MEANS OF WHICH
THE RAILWAY IS LIFTED FROM ONE LEVEL TO ANOTHER, SHOWING TURNTABLE AND
METHOD OF OPERATION]
[Illustration: THE INFIERNILLO BRIDGE
It is approached at either end through a tunnel, and owing to the
precipitous cliffs the men had to be slung out from the sides in rope
loops and cradles to set the steel.]
[Illustration: A HORSESHOE CURVE IN A TUNNEL
The train enters the lower mouth, describes a semicircular turn in the
heart of the mountain, and emerges from the upper portal.]
The embankment on the outside of the track at the point he had gained
was levelled off, and a small turntable was erected. From the latter
two short lines were laid down at an angle to the track in the form of
a widely opened “V,” with the turntable at the apex. The main line cuts
across the top of the “V,” forming a triangle, and continues a short
distance beyond. The manner in which the train is lifted from the one
level to the other is as follows. The engine pulls it up the lower line
on to the section crossing the top of the V, and in such a way as to be
between its two angular limbs. The engine is uncoupled, and runs down
one leg of the V on to the turntable, which is then swung round until
the engine faces the other arm of the V, up which it passes until it
gains the main line. It is now at the rear of the train which it was
pulling a few minutes before. The engine is coupled up, and the train is
pushed backwards until it is over the switch connecting with the upper
level. It then proceeds forward in the usual manner. In reality it
makes a zigzag course up the mountain-side.
This ingenious means of overcoming such a difficulty was tried first
at San Bartholomé, and proved so very economical and simple a solution
of a grave difficulty that it was freely introduced by the inventor
whenever similar conditions were encountered. True, the process of
uncoupling and recoupling the engine occasions a little delay, but
the switch was cheaper and quite as effective as a loop, even if the
latter could have been built, for it was found possible to lay the
turntable between two tiers of metals on a gradient not exceeding 1
in 25. Altogether there are 22 of these switches on the system. The
majority of them are of the simple type as we have described above, but
in some cases there is a double zigzag when the difference in level was
extreme, and did not permit of the connecting bank line being raised
at an easy grade. The adoption of the “Meiggs V-switch,” as it is
popularly called, saved the engineer thousands of pounds.
In one case the switch is set in a very precarious situation, for the
climbing line winds along a perilous ledge blasted out of the solid
flank of the peak, and the traveller’s heart thumps every time the
train lurches as he looks down upon the curling river far, far below
on the one, and the mountain wall combing some 2000 feet above him on
the other, hand. The Oroya line has been described as a railway of
sensations, and it is an apt description. During the process of “V-ing”
a train the voyager has ample opportunity to contemplate his peculiar
situation at leisure.
“Highly ingenious and simple,” was the verdict of the railway world
when they realised Meiggs’ handiwork. “But what is going to happen if
a descending train runs away at one of these switches? Will it make
a bee-line for the bottom of the canyon through the air, or pile up
against the dead-stop?”
Meiggs, however, did not anticipate trains running amok in this manner,
but he guarded against any such contingency, because brakes sometimes
will fail to act on a descending grade. Consequently, at the end of
each line in a V-switch he provided a substantial bank of earth. This
was a fortunate precaution. Some years ago a train, in proceeding from
the upper to the lower level, did run away on the falling bank. It
crashed into the solid embankment at the dead-end, and came to a stop
in an ungainly, heterogeneous mass of twisted ironwork and splintered
wood. Nobody was hurt, the debris was removed, and the runaway engine
was recovered, overhauled, replaced in service, and is running to-day,
little the worse for its misadventure.
Owing to the peaks of the Cordilleras being separated from one another
by yawning ravines, extensive bridging became imperative. Some are
short, insignificant spans; others are lofty, spidery structures, which
were completed at the expenditure of many human lives from disease
and accident. As a matter of fact, the railway earned an unsavoury
reputation owing to the high mortality that attended its realisation.
The Verrugas bridge was the greatest offender in this respect. It was
the greatest undertaking of its type on the line. It is 575 feet in
length, and cleaves the air 225 feet above the bed of the ravine.
There are bigger and loftier bridges in other parts of the world, but
few have been so troublesome to erect. At the time it was undertaken
it was the most remarkable structure of its kind, and by the time it
was completed £12,600, or $63,000, had been expended. It lies at an
altitude of 5,839 feet, and was carried on three masonry piers, the
centre and main support being built up from the bed of the gorge. This
pier measured 50 feet square at the base, and was of solid masonry,
thus forming a substantial plinth for the slender iron superstructure.
All the component parts of this bridge had to be kept within certain
limits of dimension and weight, to enable them to be hauled up from
the coast and set in position on the site. Large gangs of workmen were
crowded upon the work, because, until this bridge was set in position,
material could not be transported to the other side of the gorge for
the continuation of the grade.
But the task was dogged by ill-luck. Work was in full swing, when
a mysterious and malignant disease broke out. So furiously did it
rage that the men were swept off like flies. There was no means of
checking its ravages. It became known far and wide as the “Verrugas
fever.” It resisted diagnosis and treatment, but there was no denying
its deadliness. As a result labour gave the district a wide berth. It
struck down natives and white men indiscriminately. Just how many men
succumbed to the attacks of this epidemic probably never will be known.
Men contracted the malady, died, and were buried all within the space
of a few hours after reaching the site; indeed, it is chronicled that
one man fell a victim after crossing the bridge only once.
This mysterious and terrible scourge threatened to stop the whole
enterprise, though Meiggs spared no effort and money to bring about
its completion. The most attractive inducements were held out to
workmen to come up and risk their lives, but only the more adventurous,
fascinated by the high wages, dared to face death in an uncanny form.
It was mainly through the efforts of such happy-go-lucky spirits that
the gorge was spanned ultimately. Meiggs himself appeared to bear a
charmed life, for he haunted the fated gorge day and night. But the
awful experience seriously undermined his health, his constitution was
wrecked, and he was changed into an old man.
Still he clung tenaciously to his enterprise. The gorge crossed, he
found himself among the wildest fastnesses of the Andes. The mountains
became steeper, the intervening gulches deeper and more difficult
to cross. Landslides were of such frequent occurrence that they
might well have struck terror into his heart. Yet he fought his way
forward. Blasting became heavier and heavier, wide sweeping curves
more frequent, the ascent steeper and steeper, and tunnelling through
projecting spurs more frequent.
In these upper reaches the trains play a gigantic game of
hide-and-seek, darting in and out among the labyrinth of tunnels. In
a distance of 50 miles he had to drive his path through no less than
57 of these obstructions, while altogether there are 65 tunnels in
the 138 miles of the railway’s length. The line doubles and redoubles
upon itself in the most bewildering manner in order to gain points on
the mountain-sides. In the course of 11 miles between Matucana and
Tamboraque this scaling by means of the zigzag was exceedingly heavy.
Standing at the latter station and looking down, one can see tier after
tier of the gleaming metals, until they are lost to sight far below.
[Illustration: THE FIRST VERRUGAS VIADUCT, WHICH WAS DESTROYED BY A
CLOUDBURST AND ROCK-SLIDE
Men died like flies while building this bridge, owing to the outbreak
of an obscure disease known as “Verrugas fever.”]
Five miles beyond Tamboraque another remarkable achievement had to be
accomplished. The line tunnels a peak, to emerge upon the brink of a
drop into the river below as straight as a brick wall. On the opposite
side is another towering pinnacle. To span the gulf a heavy bridge
was necessary. It is called Infiernillo Bridge, and never was a name
more fittingly bestowed. Its erection by false work or scaffolding
was out of the question, as in this region not a tree exists. It had
to be built out from the sides, the men being suspended in cradles
and loops dangling from ropes attached to brackets driven into the
solid rock above. The builders found swinging the tools from such crazy
footholds to be perilous in the extreme, but there were no other means
by which the bridge could be erected. It is a frail link between two
dark yawning mouths in opposite towering crests, and the traveller as
he rattles across scarcely can quell a shudder.
[Illustration: THE HIGHEST TUNNEL IN THE WORLD UNDER CONSTRUCTION
The Galera tunnel, 3,855 feet in length and 15,665 feet above the level
of the Pacific Ocean, on the Oroya railway.]
So energetically did Meiggs pursue his self-appointed task that in six
years he had carried the line 88½ miles into the Andes, and had gained
an altitude of 12,215½ feet. All the men that he could possibly procure
were pressed into service; at one time the railway gave employment
to 8000 labourers. The amount of blasting necessary to prepare the
road-bed for this single line of standard track was enormous, something
like 500,000 pounds of explosives being used every month. The strain
inseparable from such an enterprise told its tale at last upon the bold
engineer, whose iron constitution could not withstand the anxieties
and worries of the Verrugas fever, and the exposure to a rarefied
atmosphere, without receiving an indelible mark. The first signs of a
complete breakdown appeared as the railway was approaching Chicla, and
when this point was gained in 1877 he succumbed.
The removal of the guiding spirit brought the whole undertaking to
a stop. Meiggs had completed two-thirds of the undertaking, and had
broken the back of the difficulties. For fourteen years not another
foot of line was graded. At last the Peruvian Corporation of London,
which had taken over the railway, settled a contract for its completion
with William Thorndike, who also hailed from Philadelphia.
The new engineer carried the line a further 3,450 feet above the sea,
following the surveys of Meiggs, and then became confronted with his
greatest obstacle--the piercing of the summit crest. Thorndike had
to hew his way through the bosom of a pinnacle for over 3,855 feet
at an altitude at which such work never had been attempted before.
The trying character of the situation was augmented by the rarity
of the atmosphere, and the fact that he had to force his way through
the region of the terrible mountain sickness, with a low prevailing
temperature such as is encountered in the region of eternal snow and
ice. Such conditions retarded the boring of the Galera tunnel, as it
is called, more than the stern resistance of the rock. The workmen
invariably fell victims to the sickness, though the undertaking was
not accompanied with the heavy mortality that characterised the
building of the Verrugas bridge far below. Mountain drilling, blasting,
excavating, and the removal of the heavy spoil proved exacting and
fatiguing, and a man could work only for a few hours at a stretch. By
skilful organisation and careful husbanding of his forces, however, the
engineer succeeded in forcing the metal track through the mountain at
record speed.
The Galera tunnel is the crowning point of a magnificent achievement.
In the centre you stand on the Great Divide of the South Americas,
nearly 16,000 feet above the ocean. When a bucket of water is upset,
one half of the liquid runs eastward towards the Atlantic, while
the other flows westward to the Pacific. Oroya is 31½ miles distant
from the eastern portal of the tunnel on the great inland plateau of
the continent, and only a little less than 3,500 feet below it. On
this section construction was very rapid, as there were no untoward
difficulties to be overcome.
[Illustration: A BRITISH LOCOMOTIVE IN THE REALM OF PERPETUAL ANDEAN
SNOW, 15,865 FEET ABOVE SEA-LEVEL, ON THE OROYA RAILWAY]
About the same time as the Oroya railway was commenced another great
line was undertaken some miles to the south. In this instance the
port of Mollendo was the Pacific terminus, the inland objective
being Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca, that remarkable inland
sea nestling among the crests of the Alps some 14,660 feet above the
Pacific. The total length of this line is 332 miles, and it divides
with the Antofagasta railway to the south the traffic between La Paz
and the seaboard. Though it does not compare with the Oroya or Central
railway of Peru as an engineering achievement, yet it possesses certain
individual characteristics, the tumbled mountain country experienced
farther north giving way to open expanses of bleak, dismal desert.
[Illustration: LOOKING THROUGH THE TUNNELS ON THE OROYA RAILWAY
An exhilarating coast at 45 miles an hour for 107 miles can be made
from Galera tunnel to Callao upon the small hand-car shown in the
photograph.]
This line in its ascent of the Andes skirts the base of that most
majestic of mountains, the smoking El Misti, whose snow-topped crater
rises like a grim sentinel far above the other visible points of the
mountain chain. Here the mountains are nobler and wider apart, so that
one can grasp better their magnificent proportions, while their flanks
are not so scarred, and there is an absence of those fearsome, yawning
ravines. In making the ascent the line describes broad sweeping curves
to avoid projecting peaks, and throughout the whole distance there is a
notable relief from the zigzags and switches so frequent on the sister
line.
On this road, however, the moving sand threatened to be an implacable
enemy. In the higher altitudes the sand is piled up into quaint little
cones ranging from ten to twenty feet in height, and from the distance
their incalculable number and regular lines present the appearance of
a vast army of men grimed and covered with the dust, which illusion
becomes emphasised when they are seen moving across the plains in a
steady, rhythmic manner under the influence of the wind. When the
railway was built it was anticipated that elaborate precautions would
be requisite to keep the track clear of this encumbrance, but it was
found that the trains could plough their way through the mass with
little difficulty.
In the higher levels the sand gives way to a country of broken rock--a
land absolutely void of any sign of life. This monotonous waste
continues to the shores of the lake, where the dank water-grass and
limpid water offer a welcome relief to the aridity experienced for so
many hours. This railway was constructed with remarkable rapidity for
the Land of Paradoxes, as the whole 332 miles were built in five years,
and thus the isolated waters of Titicaca were linked with the Pacific
by the iron road.
Not only was this railway much cheaper to construct than the Central
or Oroya line, but its maintenance is not so harassing as the former
system. The engineers of the Oroya road are engaged in a constant war
with the elements. The landslide is the most relentless foe that has
to be combated. A big slip on a slope, an avalanche of snow, huge
boulders, and miscellaneous debris rattle down the mountain-sides with
terrific fury, blotting out the track and sweeping bridges away in
their mad career.
The Verrugas bridge was dogged by ill-fortune after its completion,
for in one of these visitations the whole structure was demolished
through the main central pier being knocked away. The tangled and
twisted metal was left rusting in the ravine, for the bridge-builders’
art had advanced considerably since the old bridge was designed, and
in reconstruction it was found possible to span the gorge on the
cantilever principle without the central support. All the other bridges
on the railway are being rebuilt gradually on these lines, and when
this task is completed the engineer will have one danger the less to
fear--the collapse of the slender link of communication across the
gulches.
One can enjoy a most exhilarating experience on this railway. This
is the descent from Galera tunnel to Callao on a small hand-car. It
is a glorious coast downhill for no less than 107 miles. One rushes
down inclines, swings round curves, threads tunnels, and whisks across
gorges at the exhilarating speed of 45 miles an hour. It is a unique
sensation--one of the many marvels associated with this remarkable
railway, which is not merely a striking evidence of civilisation, but a
perpetual monument to the 7000 lives devoted to its construction.
CHAPTER XI
CECIL RHODES’ DREAM--FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO
I.--_Northwards from Cape Town_
Few phrases have become so familiar to the ear as from the “Cape to
Cairo.” It is a phrase that has made history, though perhaps not so
rapidly as its creator anticipated. When Cecil Rhodes first cast
his eyes from north to south, and conceived the idea of binding the
two extreme points of the African continent together, there is no
indication that he experienced great difficulty in finding a title for
his undertaking. There was Cairo in the north, and Cape Town in the
south. He aspired to join the two by rail. Consequently, from the “Cape
to Cairo” was obvious. Probably the alliteration caught his fancy, and
conveyed his complete thought so forcibly in three words, and in a
manner that could not fail to impress the public, that it inadvertently
flew through his mind.
When the materialisation of this vision commenced, the general
knowledge of the interior of the continent had not been widened very
appreciably since the travels of Livingstone and Stanley. It was “Dark”
in the truest sense of the word, and conquest either by the mysteries
of peace or the arts of war was necessary before the steel rail could
be driven either northward or southward. However, it was determined
to carry the idea to fulfilment--the question of the penetration of
the hostile country could be taken in hand when the railway was within
measurable distance of its borders so far as Rhodes was concerned,
while in the north the English Government had decided to settle terms
with the Mahdi.
There was one benefit accruing from the empire-builder’s dream--he gave
the engineers of South Africa elbow-room in which to display their
ability within certain limits. It might be said that he inaugurated a
new railway-construction policy so far as South Africa was concerned.
The railway-builders had an extensive territory to cover, and they
appeared to cherish the belief that the best means by which this
conquest could be achieved was upon the most expensive lines possible.
Thus, for instance, the railway network in Natal, the Transvaal and
Orange Free State cost about £15,000, or $75,000, per mile, and those
of Cape Colony about £10,000, or $50,000, per mile--sums out of all
proportion to the railway needs of the time, and which served to commit
the countries to a heavy capital outlay and interest charges. When
Cecil Rhodes outlined his project he set himself to a limit of about
£5,000, or $25,000, per mile.
Such a line was a pioneer road in the fullest sense of the word, but
it would suffice to meet the demands of the country for many years
to come, and could be improved as circumstances demanded. The time
will come, doubtless, when a standard-gauge road from the waters of
the Mediterranean to the southern end of the continent will become
imperative, but a few decades will have to pass before the line of 3
feet 6 inches gauge becomes inadequate.
The Cape to Cairo is remarkable in many respects: in fact, it might be
described as a string of record-breaking feats in railway engineering.
In the first place it was the first trans-continental road ever to be
driven longitudinally through a continent--the coast to coast lines in
other parts of the world cut across the continent from east to west.
When completed it will be the longest continuous trunk iron road ever
built. In its length are comprised both the highest and longest bridges
in Africa, in its realisation the highest speed in track-laying has
been recorded, and it has been driven steadily forward under conditions
such as never have attended the realisation of any comparative
project--war, plague and famine.
When the scheme was commenced the railways of the southern colony
had penetrated 647 miles up-country from Cape Town to the diamond
mines at Kimberley. Consequently, Diamondopolis was selected as the
starting-point for the northward advance, through the hinterland now
known as Rhodesia. The first rail out of Kimberley was laid in 1889,
and by October, 1894, it had gained Mafeking, 223 miles beyond.
While this part of the work was under way the colonisation of
Mashonaland had proceeded, and had progressed so favourably that
the railway’s advance became an urgent necessity, especially as the
Matabele under Lobengula were giving signs of trouble, and it was
essential that the latter should be subdued. So in 1896 the dull, grey
snake resumed its tortuous crawl to the north. Further trouble was
experienced at this juncture, and retarded operations to a material
degree. The deadly rinderpest broke out, and swept off the settlers’
cattle like flies. Transport was paralysed, and the engineers were
called upon to perform a superhuman task to pour supplies and material
forward. As animals were unavailable, traction engines had to be
brought up-country to ply between the point where the locomotive
stopped and the construction camps strung out ahead.
However, Rhodes decided that the rails must reach Buluwayo before
the end of 1897. Seeing that 492 miles divided the railhead from the
latter point, this was no mean order; but Messrs. Pauling & Co., the
contractors, promised that his wishes should be fulfilled. Large forces
of natives were whipped up, and by superhuman effort the apparently
impossible was achieved, the 492 miles of metals being laid in 500
working days.
As might be supposed from the low cost of the line (£4,500 or $22,500,
per mile), the engineering work was not of an elaborate character.
Rapidity of construction, combined with low cost, were the two
governing considerations that had to be borne in mind, for the sooner
railway transportation was provided, the earlier settlement would take
place. The terms governing construction demanded that the line should
be of such a character as “would be capable of effectually conveying
traffic at a speed of twelve miles an hour on completion, and that
grades and curves were not to be sharper and heavier than generally
prevailed upon a line of this gauge.” Ballasting was only to be used on
such portions of the line as was necessary to ensure the safe running
of the trains during the rainy season.
In laying the road very little regard was paid to formation, and
wherever the surface of the ground was even it was followed, the steel
sleepers being packed with the minimum of ballast to give a moderately
smooth running top. The shallower streams and rivers were not bridged,
but the railway was carried across over a ford. If the water rose above
the track a few inches, a thrilling spectacle was offered when a train
crossed. It would creep carefully down the bank and crash full tilt
into the water, sending up a column of spray which entirely obliterated
the front of the engine from view. Later, the line was overhauled and
brought into conformity with modern requirements, bridges of steel
being introduced to span all obstructions of this character. Timber was
impossible, owing to the ravages of white ants, though creosoted wood
was found to offer a substitute for the metal for a short period, and
was adopted sparingly.
Buluwayo lies at an altitude of 4,400 feet, and from this point the
line falls steadily until it gains the Gwaai River, 1,200 feet lower.
Crossing this waterway, the line makes a straight cut across the flat,
sandy and wooded country for 71 miles as the crow flies, to enter the
Wankie coalfield.
In this district the surface run could not be continued, and
consequently heavy cuttings and embankments had to be carried out over
a distance of 59 miles.
Beyond the Wankie coal territory, and 282 miles north of Buluwayo, the
line ran up against the first serious physical difficulty, but one
of such proportions as to make amends on the part of Nature for the
easiness of the grading hitherto. This was the Victoria Falls on the
Zambesi River, and the location of the line compelled a crossing of
this magnificent waterway just below the cataract, where the water,
after tumbling over the ledge, is forced through a deep, narrow gorge
400 feet in depth.
The situation demanded the consummation of some monumental piece of
work. The Niagara gorge had been bridged, but the task of spanning that
chasm was mere child’s play in comparison with that confronting the
engineers below the Victoria Falls. The cliffs are sheer practically,
for the canyon through which the water rushes for some 20 miles is but
a fissure in the earth’s crust.
The surveys, which were carried out with great difficulty, showed that
the break would have to be bridged in a single span about 500 feet in
length from brink to brink, with the rails over 420 feet above low
water. For purposes of comparison, it may be mentioned that, although
the structure of the same type thrown across the Niagara gorge to carry
the Grand Trunk railway from Canadian to American soil has a main
span 50 feet wider, while the bridge itself is almost twice as long,
the rails are laid only a little more than half the height above the
water--226, as compared with 420 feet.
One early difficulty was the establishment of communication with the
opposite bank, to avoid a long detour of about ten miles in order to
cross the river. First, in order to bring the camps perched on each
cliff closer together, a telephone wire was thrown across the ravine.
This frail connection was completed in an ingenious manner. A thin
string was tied to the stick of a rocket which was fired across the
gorge. The opposite party secured the stick and end of the stout twine,
and by its means hauled across a thicker length of string, which in
turn was followed by one still stouter, with which the telephone wire
was hauled across. In this way the opposite camps were brought as
closely into touch with one another as if they were side by side on the
same bank. Previously, attempts had been made to fly a string across by
means of a kite, but the upward rush of eddying air from the vortex of
the water caused the kite to become the sport of the wind and to play
sorry pranks, without gaining the opposite bank. The complete success
of the rocket caused a similar cycle of operations to be repeated, only
in this case, instead of hauling a telephone wire across the gorge, a
marked wire was handled, the idea being to measure accurately the width
of the gap, a spring balance being introduced at one end to compute the
extent of the “sag” of the wire for the purposes of calculations.
The result of these investigations served to countercheck the surveys,
which were found to be strikingly correct, and the design of the bridge
was taken in hand immediately by Mr. G. A. Hobson.
Actual construction was commenced without delay, the task being
undertaken by the Cleveland Engineering & Bridge Building Company
of Darlington, who, by the successful completion of this task, once
more emphasised the predominance of the British bridge-building
engineer. The main span is a graceful curve of steel springing from the
cliff-face on either side, the latter being excavated for the purpose
of securing the foundations. As construction was possible only on the
cantilever principle from either side, facilities had to be provided
for the transportation of material as it was brought up by the railway,
from the south to the opposite cliff, and for this purpose an overhead
cableway was slung across the gorge. This vehicle of transport was
employed not only for the building of the bridge, but also for the
conveyance of other necessities for the railway, as the latter was
pushed ahead from the north bank while the bridge was being erected.
Workmen were also slung across the gorge by this means in a little
cage, and occasionally visitors who were anxious to experience a new
sensation made the trip at a cost of 10_s._, or $2.50 per head.
[Illustration:
_Photo by courtesy of Cleveland Engineering & Bridge-Building
Co., Darlington_]
THE GREATEST BRIDGE IN THE WORLD
The steel link springing in a single span of 500 feet from one cliff
to the other over the Zambesi River just below the Victoria Falls. The
trains pass across the gorge 420 feet above low water. Observe the net
which was suspended below to catch falling tools and workmen.]
One feature of the undertaking was the extreme care taken to protect
the workmen from certain death in the river below if they slipped from
their precarious perches in mid-air. A heavy, strong net was slung
across the chasm beneath the actual working point to catch “boys and
tools should they inadvertently drop.” The two ribs of steel were
pushed outwards from either bank, and finally met in the centre, where
the final bolts, securing first the two sections of the bottom members
together, were slipped in without any untoward incident. At the point
where the maze of steel springs from the cliff-face the bridge measures
105 feet from the bottom to the top member, while at the crown of the
arch the depth is 15 feet. The width at the rail-level is 30 feet,
while the bottom curved steel ribs, at the point where they are secured
to the rock, are about 54 feet apart.
[Illustration: SETTING UP THE WORLD’S RAILWAY BUILDING RECORD IN AFRICA
Natives laying 5¾ miles of track in 10 hours, on the Cape to Cairo
Railway.]
Notwithstanding the difficulties, attending the erection of such a
massive bridge upon such a site, construction was carried out so
rapidly that the first train was enabled to cross the structure within
about eighteen months of work being commenced. The celerity with which
this task was completed was striking, bearing in mind that native
labour was employed for the most part, under the supervision of English
foremen and engineers.
At the time it was built it ranked as the loftiest bridge in the
world, but it has been deposed since from that premier position by the
wonderful Fades viaduct which spans the Sioule River in the French
province of Puy de Dôme, where the train crosses the water at a height
of 434½ feet.
By the time the Victoria bridge was able to permit trains to pass from
bank to bank, the end of steel had been hurried towards Kalomo, the
capital of North-Western Rhodesia, 1,733 miles from Cape Town. On this
section another remarkable record was established. The engineer, Sir
Charles Metcalfe, Bart., was in the field on one of his periodical
visits, and was accompanied by an interested French engineer, who had
built railways in French West Africa. The latter was greatly interested
in the progress of the Cape to Cairo line, but observing the methods of
the native workmen, ventured to ask how many miles of track could be
laid per day.
“Well, what do you think we can lay?” asked Sir Charles Metcalfe.
“Oh, I don’t think you can lay more than half-a-mile. That seems to me
a fair estimate,” remarked the French railway-builder.
The English engineer had a brief conversation with his lieutenant in
charge of the rail-laying operations, and the latter in a few brief
words galvanised the whole of the crew into electric movement. In
twenty minutes the track had advanced a quarter of a mile before the
astonished French engineer’s eyes. He scarcely could credit what he had
seen, and left the spot with a high regard for the English engineer’s
organisation and methods of handling the natives to be able to wrest
such a spurt at a moment’s notice.
This incident impressed Sir Charles Metcalfe, and, after a chat with
the English overseers, foremen and engineers surveying the placing of
the 33-feet lengths of steel upon the ground, it was decided to make an
experiment just to see what could be accomplished under an emergency
with native labour. The black men were marshalled up for a full day’s
work, and were urged to let themselves go, the desire of establishing a
record being communicated to the more enterprising spirits. The natives
love a contest, and they girdled into the work with astonishing zest.
They did not seem to tire, and they spurned the heat. The result was
that when the ten hours’ labour was completed for the day the steel had
crept forward no less that 5¾ miles--a world’s record. Yet everything
proceeded so smoothly that it appeared, from the stranger’s point of
view, as if work were being carried out at the normal rate of a mile a
day.
This result, with native labour, was remarkable. The engineers in
charge of the wonderful track-layer used in America point to the speed
with which the metals can be laid with its aid. Yet it comes somewhat
as a shock to their pride to learn that their best performances of 3 to
4½ miles a day can be exceeded by unskilled black men, with no tools
whatever.
From Kalomo the engineers pushed north-eastwards to Broken Hill,
280 miles beyond. In this stretch, however, another obstacle had to
be overcome. This was the Kafue River, which is the most important
tributary to the Zambesi River, and indeed forms one leg of this great
waterway. The great width of the Kafue River, 1,300 feet, called for a
lengthy bridge. Although the waters are shallow during the dry season,
the average depth being 9 feet, in the wet season, however, the river
rises to 17 feet or so. It is a comparatively sluggish waterway, the
speed of the current being about 3 miles an hour.
Mr. G. A. Hobson was responsible for the design of this bridge also,
and he decided that a light structure, divided into 13 spans each of
100 feet, would meet the case. The actual construction was carried
out by Mr. A. L. Lawley as supervising engineer on behalf of the
railway-builders. The bridge is of the lattice girder type, the trains
running through the bridge. The whole of the steel-work was prepared
in England, shipped to Cape Town, and then transported 2000 miles up
country by railway to a yard improvised on the river bank, where the
ribs of steel were assembled to form the spans. In addition, a pontoon,
likewise of steel, was sent up in pieces in a similar manner, assembled
on the bank and launched. This pontoon was utilised to float the spans
into position, and also to convey material across the river to enable
the grade to be pushed ahead while the waterway was being spanned. The
pontoon was pulled from bank to bank by means of an endless wire cable,
driven by a steam engine.
The spans are supported on masonry piers, each 18 feet wide by 8
feet thick. Mr. Lawley found the river-bed to be composed of rock
and gravel, which gave a first-class foundation, and favoured the
expeditious erection of the piers. Consequently he concluded, if the
piers were pushed forward at low water, that it would be possible to
set the steel-work directly the river once more gained flood-level,
and arrangements to this end were carried out. Timber coffer-dams were
built around the sites for the piers, and by the aid of pumps the
interior was kept clear of water to permit the workmen to achieve
their stone-setting task within under the most favourable conditions.
While the piers were progressing other gangs of natives were hard at
work in the improvised shipyard riveting the steel-work together. Each
span measured 100 feet long, 14 feet in width, 20 feet in height, and
weighed 56 tons. The pontoon itself measured 95 feet long by 45 feet
wide.
Work continued so favourably that by the time the masonry work on the
piers was completed the spans had been assembled, and all was ready
for transhipping them from the yard to their respective positions on
the piers. Novel means for transporting the weighty and bulky masses
of steel were adopted. The pontoon was brought endwise against the
river bank and made fast. A length of railway track was laid from end
to end along the deck of the pontoon, and was brought against the ends
of another short track running down the river bank, thereby making a
continuous length of railway line. As the completed spans were ranged
side by side in the yard at right angles to the river, they had to be
hauled sideways for some distance. Rails were laid under each end of
the spans at right angles to the railway and were well greased so as
to become a kind of “ways” such as are used to launch a vessel. Gangs
of natives tugged at the span to haul it broadside until it rested on
the railway line, which also was lubricated. Then two locomotives were
brought up to the rear end of the span, and by sheer steam force pushed
it down the bank railway on to the pontoon, where it rested fairly and
squarely, and overhanging equally each end of the pontoon, which was
five feet shorter than the span.
The pontoon was then released from its moorings and was hauled out
into the stream by means of the endless cable, until it came centrally
between the two piers on which the span was to be placed. From each
pier a hawser was passed to stanchions on either end of the pontoon.
The endless cable was slackened, and the pontoon, with its novel cargo,
was permitted to drift slowly down-stream towards the space between
the two piers, being guided in its course by manipulation of one or
the other of the two hawsers. In this manner the craft was steered
delicately into position and was made fast. The actual transference
of the span from the pontoon to the masonry bed was carried out by
hydraulic jacks, which lifted the whole mass of steel. When the jacks
were released, the ends of the span rested firmly on the two piers. By
hauling on to the endless cable the pontoon now was drawn clear of the
bridge to return for another load.
This novel method proved so completely successful that the 13 spans
were transferred from the bank and set in position within the short
space of 8 days!--half the time the engineer had computed as being
requisite for the operation. The whole undertaking was accomplished in
record time, bearing in mind the peculiar conditions prevailing in the
heart of Africa, and the use of native labour; for, from the time the
first move towards the erection of the piers was made, to the setting
of the last span, only five months elapsed. The total cost of this mass
of steel, weighing 728 tons and stretching in an unbroken line for
1,300 feet across the river, was £50,000, or $250,000.
When Broken Hill was gained, 2,013 miles from Cape Town, construction
was brought to a stop. The mastermind had passed away some time before,
and the colleague who had assisted Rhodes when other financial magnates
turned a deaf ear to the project, had also joined the great majority.
By the time Broken Hill was gained, £8,000,000 (or $40,000,000) had
been sunk in the enterprise. For months the stack of 2000 tons of
steel for the resumption northwards remained untouched, through lack
of funds, though Mr. Alfred Beit had left £1,500,000 (or $7,500,000)
towards the continuation of the work. Then the mineral wealth around
Katanga in the Congo Free State, which was under exploitation, demanded
transportation to the coast. Accordingly, the line was pushed on to the
border of the adjacent country. Rhodes’ objective was Kituta, at the
southern end of Lake Tanganyika, 450 miles north of Broken Hill, which
point marks the limit of British sway in South Africa, a distance of
about 2,700 miles by rail from Cape Town.
When Rhodes’ vision presented the railway stretching in an unbroken
thread from north to south, the knowledge of the country lying between
the Zambesi and the Nile was somewhat scanty. As the scheme progressed
it became known that Lake Tanganyika was hemmed in by precipitous
mountains, where railway-building would soar to an enormous figure
per mile. On the other hand, the lake is a splendid sheet of water,
offering excellent navigation throughout its length of 400 miles.
Therefore, there should be no reason why the example of the Russian
Government, in regard to the use of ferry steamers on Lake Baikal,
should not be emulated to transport trains intact from Kituta at the
southern, to Usamburu at the northern, end of Lake Tanganyika.
Ninety miles north of Usamburu is Lake Kivu, and the dividing neck of
land offers no great difficulties to construction beyond a gradual
rise of 2000 feet. Reaching Lake Kivu, which is also surrounded by
lofty ridges, the railway would once more take to the water for
some 60 miles. Continuing northwards, there is another stretch of
rising country to be crossed, where the track would be lifted to its
greatest height, or summit level, between Cape Town and Cairo, to
gain the head of Lake Edward, which is 75 miles in length. Owing to
the flat character of the country around this sheet of water lending
itself to cheap railway construction, probably it would be found
preferable to keep to the land, especially as the country is healthy,
thickly populated, and offers great promise of becoming wealthy under
commercial development.
But the line, after leaving Lake Kivu, has to pass through Belgian
territory, and as this location is inevitable unless it were decided
to swing somewhat to the east to pass through German East Africa, an
easier route has been offered through the Congo. The railway has been
taken from Broken Hill to Elizabethville. The Belgian authorities
are anxious that it should be extended from that point to Bukana on
the Congo River. Boats could be used between this point and Congolo,
where communication by rail would extend to Kindu, to be followed by
another stretch of river as far as Ponthierville. The existing railway
to Stanleyville would then be pressed into service, and from the
last-named point the line would debouch to the north-east to gain the
Albert Nyanza, and there link up with the railway that has been driven
southwards from Cairo.
CHAPTER XII
CECIL RHODES’ DREAM--FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO
II.--_Southwards from Cairo._
While the southern arm of the great line has been pushed on
energetically northwards from Cape Town, the northern limb has
descended almost as rapidly down the Valley of the Nile to the great
interior, so that the heart of the continent is being eaten into
spiritedly from both ends. The two branches have been built under
totally different auspices. Whereas the southern section was carried
out by private enterprise, the northern division is the work of
Government effort.
In the north the railway has made history rapidly, and its conquest has
been of a complex character. It placed a unique weapon in the hands
of the Government, and it wrested a vast track of Africa, aggregating
950,000 square miles, from barbarity and religious fanaticism in the
form of Mahdism.
Owing to the impoverished condition of the country, the railway in
Egypt has experienced a very chequered career. It commenced its pacific
invasion promisingly enough, but it was found to be a highly expensive
settling influence for a land whose coffers had been depleted almost to
the extent of emptiness.
The early lines, when laid, were neglected, and consequently fell into
a sorry condition. The majority of people who had regard for their
lives and limbs preferred other vehicles of transport. Everything in
connection with the iron road was conducted in a haphazard manner.
Trains started without any one having the faintest idea as to where
they were going or what time they would reach some destination. Lord
Cromer relates that when he first went to the Land of the Pharaohs all
the lines were single track. No staff or block system of any kind was
in vogue, and there were no signals. A train started from a station
on the off-chance that another train was not coming in the opposite
direction. Needless to say, as he tersely remarks, “he avoided those
lines.”
In the Sudan matters were even worse. The Khedive embarked upon
a laudable enterprise when he decided to carry the iron highway
southwards from Wadi Haifa. Khartoum was the objective, but nearly
half a century passed before the iron horse appeared at the latter
point, for when the Khedive’s railway got so far as Sarras, 33 miles
south, funds became exhausted and the scheme was abandoned. Another
attempt was made in 1885–6, on the occasion of the Nile Expedition,
to resuscitate the scheme, and by great effort another 53 miles were
tacked on from Sarras to Akasha. The life of the second section was
short, for when the British forces retired the track was pulled up by
the dervishes, and Sarras reverted to its position as the southern
terminus.
When Lord Kitchener was deputed to crush the Mahdi for once and for
all, he found 1,200 miles of sandy desert between him in the north
and the seat of the fanatic’s power. The river was available for the
movement of troops as in the previous campaign, but the latter had
emphasised the disadvantages of that highway through hostile territory.
He foresaw that only one agency would enable him to accomplish the
desired end, and that was the railway. Among his officers was a
Canadian engineer, Sir Percy Girouard, and he discussed the possibility
of building a line across the desert to span that inhospitable gap
in order to pour his troops against the Mahdi forces. The engineer
realised the situation and undertook to carry the line southwards from
Wadi Haifa.
The task was commenced in 1896, and railway construction was
pushed forward with such spirited energy that Kerma, at the head
of the cataracts, was gained in a short time. No great engineering
difficulties were offered because the desert is tolerably level, and
the sand provided a good foundation for the steel sleepers, or ties,
with the minimum of ballasting. The greater question was to maintain
the steady supply of requisite material southwards from Alexandria.
Yet an average speed of two miles per day was maintained, the rails
being laid for the most part by natives, assisted by both British and
Egyptians, under the military engineers.
The objective was Abu Hamed, where the Nile describes a big elbow, and
at that time this point was in the hands of the enemy. Its capture,
however, by the Anglo-Egyptian troops resulted in a speeding-up in
constructional work on the advancing railway, and the 80 miles of line
into this town were laid in about two months. Clinging to the east bank
of the river, it was driven southwards to Atbara, where a halt was
called, and where the headquarters were established for the Omdurman
campaign. Curiously enough, although the railway has reached the
capital of the Sudan, Atbara has not yet lost its importance from the
railway point of view, being the administration centre for the whole
Sudan Government railway system.
At this place the Nile is swelled by the waters of the Atbara River,
which flows in from the east. While the campaign was in progress
communication between the opposite banks was maintained by means
of a wooden bridge. As the river, however, is tempestuous when in
flood, during which period it rises to a high level, a more permanent
structure was demanded for the iron horse. The width of the waterway
called for the erection of over 1000 feet of steel bridging. When the
advance of the railhead was determined, it was decided to rush the
railway across the river before it once more rose in flood. Tenders
were invited, only to be received with dismay, because it was found
that the structure required was of such an elaborate character that no
English firm would undertake to complete it within two years.
[Illustration: CONSTRUCTION TRAIN ON THE WAY TO THE RAILHEAD CROSSING A
TEMPORARY TIMBER BRIDGE]
[Illustration:
_Photos by courtesy of A. L. Lawley, Esq._]
THE LONGEST BRIDGE IN AFRICA, 1,300 FEET IN LENGTH, ACROSS THE KAFUE
RIVER
THE CAPE TO CAIRO RAILWAY]
This upset official calculations severely, and accordingly fresh
tenders for a simpler type of bridge were called. The task was
thrown open to the world, and celerity of construction was the
primordial condition. The British firms re-tendered, but to their
disgust they were beaten hopelessly both in regard to the cost of the
structure and the time in which it could be erected by the American
engineers. The result was that the contract went to a Philadelphia
firm. Five weeks after the receipt of the order the steel-work left New
York, and within a further few weeks communication across the river was
provided by 7 spans of steel, each 147 feet long, resting on cast-iron
cylinders.
[Illustration:
[_See page 164_
THE “HANGING BRIDGE,” ONE OF THE RAILWAY ENGINEERING WONDERS OF THE
DENVER AND RIO GRANDE, IN THE ROYAL GORGE OF COLORADO]
The most remarkable feature about this contract was the public outcry
that ensued. British methods were held up in comparison with American
hustle, much to the disparity of the former. British builders were
assailed as lethargic, wedded to obsolete methods, and consequently had
suffered the penalty of such conservatism by being beaten in a most
hollow manner. The same critics, however, failed to shriek so loudly
in acclamation a year later in appreciation of a British firm which
accomplished a feat which even startled the Americans. This was in
connection with a bridge of five spans, each 105 feet long, which was
turned out of a Midland shop to replace the structure which had been
destroyed by the Boers across the Tugela River in Natal. Both British
and American engineers were invited to tender, and the American firms,
despite their wonderful organisation, hustling methods, and their
remarkable facilities for accomplishing quick work, were dismayed to
find that they had been beaten by their British rivals as hollow as
the latter had been vanquished some months before. The successful firm
rolled 100 tons of steel, had it inspected, tested and passed by the
Natal Government engineer in eight hours. It had undertaken to deliver
the first span within six weeks of the receipt of the order--as a
matter of fact, it was completed within nineteen days. The Americans
themselves admitted that the British performance was wonderful, and
that complete revenge had been taken for the Atbara contract.
As the railway pushed its way towards Khartoum, the ranks of the
labourers were swelled by large numbers of dervishes, who had grown
disheartened at the result of their resistance to the British advance
on the northern borders of the Mahdi’s stronghold, had realised the
impotency of their efforts, and consequently had decided to throw in
their lot on the railway. The increased labour enabled the work to be
prosecuted even more energetically, though a certain amount of time was
lost in drilling this raw material into the mysteries of wielding the
white man’s tools.
When the dervishes first saw the locomotive they marvelled. Steam was
beyond their comprehension. They believed stoutly that the engine’s
boiler was packed with animals, and when the driver blew his whistle
many fled in complete terror. To them the agonising shriek of the
animal on wheels was more terrifying than the hail of lead from a Maxim
gun. Indeed, it is reported that one chief, when he saw a locomotive
puffing along slowly and laboriously with its load of cars, went so far
as to assail the British officers for their callous cruelty in making
so small a beast pull such a heavy, long load!
The Atbara bridge, after fulfilling all requirements for eleven years,
had to be reconstructed. It was not found strong enough to withstand
the heavy loads of to-day, for on the Sudan railway weights, lengths
and speeds of trains have increased strikingly during a decade. When
overhaul became imperative, an English firm secured the commission to
rebuild the American structure, and to-day there is nothing left of the
bridge which provoked such acrimonious discussion at the time of its
erection. Owing to the elaborate nature of the building operations a
temporary bridge had to be thrown across the river to carry the railway
traffic.
When Khartoum was gained another pause was unavoidable owing to the
necessity to cross the Blue Nile in order to continue southwards to
Sennar. This arm of the great Egyptian river is fickle, for in times
of flood it rushes along at some 11 miles an hour. The contract for
carrying the railway to the opposite bank was secured by the firm
entrusted with the overhauling of the Atbara bridge, and it is a noble
work of its class. The river being navigable, facilities had to be
provided to permit vessels to pass up and down. This end was met by
introducing an electrically operated rolling lift span working like
a drawbridge. To enable railway construction to be carried on while
the river was being negotiated a temporary timber bridge was thrown
across the waterway. While this was in progress the power of the waters
rushing through this tributary when in flood was emphasised in no
uncertain manner. A considerable quantity of scaffolding intended for
the support of the steel bridge during erection was torn up and hurried
down-stream.
When Sennar was gained, a deviation directly eastward was made in order
to gain El Obeid, which is the centre of the gum trade, one of the most
prosperous and expanding industries of the Upper Sudan. Owing to its
more convenient situation on the main river, Omdurman always has been
the market for this article, the supplies being conveyed across country
by camel caravan. It is generally considered that now El Obeid has
been gained by the railway, that the decadence of Omdurman is certain,
but though this may be inevitable up to a point, the town is always
bound to command a certain position of importance inasmuch as it is the
centre of a considerable pilgrim traffic.
On the advance to El Obeid the bridging of the White Nile had to be
carried out, and here again British engineering triumphed, for the
contract was awarded to the builders of the Khartoum bridge. This
firm, with these two Nile bridges and the Victoria Bridge across the
Zambesi, may be said to have imprinted their name indelibly in Africa
in connection with bridge-engineering. The point of crossing is Goz Abu
Guma, and owing to the erratic character of the White Nile its design
occupied considerable deliberation. This river is sluggish both in time
of flood and in the dry season. Indeed, it might be described as a
huge ditch. When low the water occupies a channel about 1,500 feet in
width, but in the wet season it sprawls across the country for a matter
of three miles or so.
It was decided, however, that the bridging of the normal channel would
suffice, the line being carried over the part subject to periodical
inundation upon well-built embankments. The over-water structure
comprises 9 steel spans each 146 feet in length, and one swing-bridge
span 245½ feet in length to permit navigation up- and down-river,
because the Sudan Development & Exploration Company maintain a
steamship service between Khartoum and Gondoroko, the head of
navigation on the Nile, 1,081 miles from Gordon’s city. The spans are 6
feet above the level of High Nile, and are supported on masonry piers
sunk in steel caissons, or cylinders, under the agency of compressed
air, to a depth ranging between 30 to 50 feet below low water.
Although the iron link has stretched beyond Khartoum to the south,
Alexandria and Cairo are not in through railway communication with the
capital of Sudan, 1,480 miles away. The Egyptian railways have their
most southerly outpost at Shellal, just below Assuan, which is about 24
hours’ journey from the Mediterranean seaboard by the White _de luxe_
express. The terminal of the Sudan system is at Haifa, just south of
the border between the two countries. The river Nile constitutes the
artery of communication between these two railway points, the steamer
occupying about 40 hours. This break in the iron chain possesses
distinct drawbacks, the most serious of which is transhipment between
steamer and railway. The expense and inconvenience of this route,
with its breaking bulk, reacted severely upon the Upper Sudan, and
accordingly the latter Government decided to secure an independent
outlet to the coast. There was only one means of accomplishing this
end, and that was to strike eastwards across country to gain the Red
Sea.
This was not a simple enterprise, especially under conditions which
did not lend themselves to the expenditure of a large sum of money.
An easy graded line was imperative, and the surveyors had to search
diligently for such a route, because a range of hills breaks away from
the northern edge of the Abyssinian plateau, to run parallel with the
coast-line of the Red Sea to the Gulf of Suez. Investigations along the
coast resulted in Suakin, 305 miles distant from Atbara, being selected
as the sea terminus, and the surveyors succeeded in securing a location
giving no banks heavier than one per cent., and with no curves of a
sharper radius than 1,155 feet.
As the constructional engineers were confronted with some heavy work
shortly after leaving Suakin, in order to overcome the coast range,
building was commenced from both ends of the line simultaneously. This
procedure, however, did not prove entirely satisfactory, owing to the
cost and delay in bringing material down from Alexandria to Atbara,
so when the engineers at the Suakin end had subjugated their obstacle
and the material could be landed easily from vessels and hurried to
the railhead, operations were suspended from Atbara. The remoteness of
Suakin, however, produced individual handicaps, the greatest of which
was in regard to labour. The scattered natives were given employment,
but as they were unfamiliar with the tools and methods they did not
prove successful, and large numbers of Egyptians who had toiled on the
other lines were shipped to the Red Sea terminus. They were housed in
military tents, and a stranger happening suddenly upon a railway camp
might have been pardoned for labouring under the impression that he had
alighted upon an invading army under canvas, because the tents were
pitched in such regular rows as to indicate military occupation.
The mountains occasioned some little anxiety owing to the damage that
was caused by wash-outs due to the heavy rain, but these were soon
mastered. This abundance of water later on gave place to extreme
scarcity, for when the constructional forces had penetrated the heart
of the desert, this commodity was found only with great difficulty and
by infinite labour.
Despite these drawbacks, however, the 305 miles of line were laid and
opened for traffic within the short space of 14 months, which testifies
to the high standard of the constructional organisation and the energy
with which the undertaking was pushed forward. The significance of
this branch from the Nile to the sea was revealed instantly, but
unfortunately it was realised that the terminal point on the coast
left much to be desired. Further investigation revealed a better site
for a harbour 50 miles north of Suakin, and this point, now known as
Port Sudan, is the terminus of the line, the harbour being equipped
with modern facilities for handling traffic between ship and railway.
The new port is connected by rail with Suakin, however, which is being
retained as an outlet.
The railway will creep gradually southwards along the bank of the White
Nile in all probability, but in the meantime the river will constitute
the artery of communication. The waterway abounds with sand-bars and
other obstructions to navigation which provide very little depth of
water in some places, but the Sudan Development & Exploration Company
have met this situation by the utilisation of steamers which draw
extremely little water and are able to pass through the shallows
in perfect safety. The Sudan Government also maintains a steamship
connection between Khartoum and Gondoroko. This water link is about
1000 miles in length, and the round trip occupies about 23 days. A few
years ago the possibility of being able to proceed so far up the river
under steam was feared to be impracticable, owing to the dense masses
of floating tangled masses of vegetation, or “sudd,” which blocked the
river. But this has been broken up and a clear fairway is maintained.
As a result, Uganda now has an outlet to the Mediterranean which can be
developed considerably as the northern extremities of that country are
opened up.
Unfortunately, beyond Gondoroko the river cannot be used, because for
about 100 miles--from Rejaf to Dufile--there is a continuous chain
of rapids. These two points therefore will be connected by railway
probably. When Dufile is gained the river can be used once more so far
as Lake Albert Nyanza, where the line from Cape Town would be met,
although there is a belief that the Sudan Government intends to push
the railway to a far more southern point.
It will be seen that although Rhodes’ great scheme was for a continuous
steel road from north to south, this idea has had to be modified in
order to meet unexpected conditions, which at the time of the railway’s
inception were not apparent. In reality one will travel from the “Cape
to Cairo” over a combined rail and water route longitudinally through
the continent. At the present moment one can cover the whole journey
by rail and water, except for a distance of about 600 miles, and this
gap is being closed rapidly. As the settlement of the country along
the line of communication becomes effected, and the heavy drawbacks
incidental to transhipment become more and more emphasised, there is
no doubt but that the water route will be superseded gradually by the
railway, so that in time the original idea will be consummated, and
trains will pass right through from the Cape to Cairo over a continuous
path of steel some 6000 miles in length.
CHAPTER XIII
GRIDIRONING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS
If one consults a map of the North American continent, it will be
observed that the rolling plains, stretching westwards from the shores
of the Great Lakes, are fringed on their western edge by a massive,
tumbled and lofty wall--the Rocky Mountains. This is the backbone of
the New World, stretching from Mexico in the south to far-away Alaska
in the north, on the slopes of which rise the mighty rivers to flow
east and west to swell the waters of the Atlantic and the Pacific.
Their successful conquest by the iron horse on its way from coast to
coast contributes some of the most thrilling incidents to railway
history.
If the map is consulted closely it will be seen that this range assumes
its most broken character in the State of Colorado. Here Nature became
unduly playful in her process of moulding, and left her handiwork in a
badly-finished condition. Beetling peaks crowned with eternal snow are
separated by yawning ravines--mere cracks in the earth’s crust--where
the walls are half-a-mile or more in height, and through which rivers
foam and tear along tumultuously. Yet the dishevelled mass of rock is
intersected by steel threads which comprise the respective systems
of the famous Denver & Rio Grande, and the Chicago & North-Western
railways, the latter being known popularly as the “Moffatt” road, after
its originator.
To grasp some idea of the exceptionally mountainous character of
Colorado, a comparison with Switzerland may not be amiss. This State
is so vast that the playground of Europe might be stowed within its
borders six times over, and then there would be several hundred square
miles to spare. Among the Alps the number of peaks which jut their
pinnacles over 13,000 feet towards the clouds may be counted on the
fingers of the hands; on the other hand, in Colorado there are no less
than 120 such monarchs, 35 of which rise to an altitude of more than
14,000 feet. In other words, there are compressed about ten times as
many lofty summits in the 193,925 square miles comprising this State as
are to be found scattered throughout the whole of Europe.
The village having the loftiest situation in Europe is Avers Platz
in Switzerland, which nestles among the Swiss Alps at an altitude of
7,500 feet above the sea, while the highest inhabited point is the
Hospice of St. Bernard, at 8,200 feet. Contrast either of these with
the flourishing town of Leadville, whose 15,000 inhabitants move, live
and have their being at an elevation of 10,200 feet above the ocean.
Yet this does not mark the uppermost limit of civilisation among these
rocky fastnesses, because there are several prosperous mining camps at
13,000 feet or more.
The highest artery of traffic in Europe is the wonderful Stelvio road
which enables the Tyrol to be crossed at an altitude of 9,042 feet.
This is a zigzagging highway for vehicular and pedestrian traffic. In
Colorado, the Denver & Rio Grande railway crosses the backbone of the
continent through three passes, each over 10,000 feet above the sea,
while at Ibex the station platform is at an altitude of 11,522 feet. On
the Moffatt road, in order to overcome the range, the metals are lifted
still higher at the Rollins Pass--to 11,600 feet, or nearly 2¼ miles
above the Atlantic.
Incalculable mineral wealth lies buried in the hearts of these peaks,
and it was the discovery of this rich storehouse of Nature that led
to the opening up of the country by the iron road. There was a gold
rush in 1859, followed by a silver strike, and Leadville was one of
the first towns to spring into existence in the wild scramble for
sudden wealth. Though this locality nestles in the range some 70 miles
distant, the pioneer miners braved perils and privations untold to gain
this hub, and the town sprang up as if by magic. But the isolation of
the situation, and the lack of transportation facilities soon became
manifest to an acute degree. Every ounce of material had to be carried
to and fro from the outside world by wagon, mule-pack, or manual
effort, involving an exhausting, slow and expensive journey through
deep gulches and over broken mountain trails.
The cry for a railway was raised, but it was difficult to find pockets
sufficiently deep or capitalists so plucky as to finance such an
undertaking. However, constant agitation maintained for years bore
its fruit. A small company was formed, and the Pueblo & Arkansas
railway was commenced. The promoters shrank somewhat from the project,
fearing that construction would run into such a prohibitive figure as
to bring ruination in its wake, so they resolved to spend the minimum
amount of money on the scheme. To this end they decided to follow the
easiest route available, and suggested the course of the Arkansas
River from Pueblo into the mountains, and then at a convenient point
to strike into the range to make the ascent to Leadville. Yet those
half-hearted financiers had visionary dreams, and were spurred on by a
certain amount of ambition. They did not intend to come to a dead-end
at Leadville, but once they had gained the higher level, to push right
across the Continental Divide to Salt Lake City, and thence to the
Pacific Coast. Some thirty years passed by, however, before the latter
part of the project was completed.
Though the course along the Arkansas River was selected as the cheapest
and easiest route, the preliminary surveys sufficed to demonstrate that
even that location would offer difficulties out of the ordinary. The 9½
miles run through the Royal Gorge, one of the natural wonders of North
America, promised a heavy struggle. This defile at places is 2,700 feet
deep, and the walls rise up so perpendicularly as to defy the slightest
foothold to a chamois, let alone a railway. The bottom of the gulch was
found to be occupied by the turbulent waters of the river, which in
times of flood lapped the base of the mountain wall on either side,
though at normal level a narrow shelf was exposed at the foot of one
cliff.
The engineer responsible for the building of the line, Mr. A. A.
Robinson, decided to seize that shelf. It could be made just wide
enough to carry the line and no more, while it could be raised
sufficiently to escape the ravages of high water. The river was kept
within bounds by a wall of rough, heavy masonry carried to a point well
above the highest watermark, and on this the track was laid upon a bed
of rock ballast hewn from the mountain slopes.
However, when the eastern portal of the ravine was gained a serious
obstacle loomed up. The ledge which the engineer had pressed into
service up to this point disappeared abruptly into the water, and did
not reappear for some distance beyond. The two sides of the canyon,
towering up to nearly 3000 feet, come closer together, leaving only
a narrow vent barely 30 feet wide. As a result the river channel is
constricted, and the water thunders over the boulders through the
wedge-shaped defile with the velocity of a cataract.
The engineer was brought to a full-stop. How was he to span that gap?
The character of the torrent absolutely prevented any possibility of
sinking piers in the waterway to carry a bridge across the breach in
the ledge. Nor could a path be carved out of the mountain-side to carry
the line around the obstacle, because the maximum gradient had been
attained already on either approach to the gap.
As Mr. Robinson related, the first solution that occurred to his
mind was to tunnel the shoulder, and thus to avoid the difficulty
completely. But the bogey of expense stood in his way. There were
scarcely sufficient funds available to build a surface line, and,
under these circumstances, tunnelling was quite out of the question.
Moreover, it would have required considerable time, and the public was
clamouring wildly for the completion of the line.
He haunted the gorge for days, and spent much midnight oil in the hope
of discovering some simple, quick and cheap means of solving the
problem. But the quest seemed hopeless. Then suddenly it occurred to
him that, as he could not hope for assistance from the river-bed, why
not force the walls of the ravine to his aid? In short, why not sling a
bridge from the cliff faces on either hand?
Thereupon he evolved a plan to throw heavy iron girders in the manner
of rafters across the gulch, to anchor their ends to the solid rock,
and then to suspend the bridge carrying the metals from this structure
in such a way that one side abutted against the wall. The more he
pondered, the more convinced he became of its practicability, despite
the fact that it was something entirely new to railway engineering.
Being intimately acquainted with the late Mr. C. Shaler Smith, who at
that time was one of the foremost consulting bridge-engineers in the
country, he communicated his plans to him. The consulting engineer
was interested, and arranged to accompany the designer to the site
to judge the feasibility of the scheme at first hand, and after
acquainting himself with the prevailing conditions. As a result of this
investigation, Mr. Smith concurred in the method of spanning the gap,
and there and then the arrangements for carrying out the work were
commenced.
It was realised that the task was somewhat delicate, and Mr. Robinson
accordingly entrusted the preliminary operations to Mr. J. O. Osgood,
who was appointed Division Engineer on this section of the railway. Mr.
Osgood carried out the whole of the surveys for his chief personally to
facilitate the accurate design and details of the whole structure.
[Illustration: THE RAILWAY TWO MILES ABOVE THE SEA
The Denver and Rio Grande at the summit of Marshall Pass. The sinuous
route of the line may be followed for miles.]
The surveyor related to me that when he first entered the canyon no
one had ever traversed the gorge at that point, except on the ice, for
the simple reason that it was impassable. Nor could one get across by
clambering along the rock face where the line was to go, as it was too
steep. The situation was first reconnoitred from all practicable points
of vantage. Then, in order to complete the essential preliminary work,
he caused a narrow pathway--nothing more than a ledge, from 12 to 18
inches in width--to be hewn in the cliff above the site, from which he
made his final surveys.
[Illustration: A “DOUBLE-HEADER,” CLIMBING THE CLIFF OF ANIMAS CANYON
ON THE DENVER AND RIO GRANDE RAILWAY]
The cutting of this path in itself was a tedious task, and gave some
idea of the labour that would have been involved in tunnelling the
rock. This narrow shelf, however, proved of inestimable value in
handling the heavy overhead members of metal and setting them into
position. The dimensions and weight of the latter had to be kept as
low as possible to facilitate handling under the peculiarly cramped
conditions. Actual erection was exciting and hazardous. The men had
to be lowered by ropes and had to ply their tools while swinging in
mid-air or when clinging to precarious footholds. However, the cumbrous
overhead pieces were successfully set in position, the ends were bolted
to brackets sunk deeply into the cliff faces, and from these girders
the track floor was suspended, the ends resting on the solid edges of
the rocky ledge, while one side was bedded against the wall.
Such is the story, as communicated to me by the engineers, of the
origin and erection of what ranks as an unparalleled novelty in
engineering. The “Hanging Bridge” was built in the Royal Gorge nearly
30 years ago, and although the first structure has been replaced by
one of larger and heavier dimensions to accommodate weightier trains,
the fundamental principle is precisely the same as conceived by Mr.
Robinson.
Yet the “Hanging Bridge” is but one of many engineering wonders to
be found on this railway. Go where one will over its 1,800 miles of
track among the Rockies, and some striking and daring work confronts
one at every turn. Here the railway threads its way through a winding
abyss, there it passes over the crown of a towering peak, or toils
laboriously up the side of a sheering cliff. No two miles are alike.
In all it traverses five yawning canyons, each possessing a strange
individuality, and crosses the mountain backbone by which the continent
is split in twain by three different passes. Level sections are
practically unknown. It is one continuous up-hill pull up the one,
with a long coast down-hill with steam shut off, on the other, side--a
switchback upon a stupendous scale.
Let us take the route over the Marshall Pass. At Poncha, on the
Atlantic side, the line is at an altitude of 7,480 feet. The summit is
six miles away by the iron road, but in that distance the train has to
climb steadily at 211 feet to the mile over an extremely meandering
route. The mountains become wilder and more broken as the summit is
approached. The engineer took advantage of every natural facility that
opened up to him. In turn the rail crawls along ledges cut in the
mountain flanks, over lofty embankments, spidery trestles, doubling
and redoubling upon itself in the most amazing manner. The occasional
presence of snow-sheds draws attention to the fact that the metals are
above the snow-line, and the many terrible dangers to which the track
is exposed from avalanches and landslides.
Two huge engines are required to negotiate the heavy ascent, and at
last, when the top is attained, the train is 276 feet in excess of two
miles above the Atlantic on the eastern, and the Pacific on the western
side, respectively. The tortuous path of the iron road is revealed
below in a graphic manner. It may be seen in no less than four separate
terraces, rising in steps one above the other, the lowest being almost
invisible, connected by huge loops, until it finally winds away and is
lost in the dim haze of the horizon. The descent is a replica of the
ascent--the same gradient prevailing, viz. 211 feet to the mile. No
steam power whatever is needed to drive the train. It is travel by mere
gravitation alone, held in check by the powerful air-brakes.
Yet the railway is crossing the Divide at another point some miles to
the north rises twice to an altitude exceeding 10,000 feet. This is on
the extension of the original line from Pueblo to Leadville, where,
after leaving the mining town, there is a tedious climb to Fremont
Pass, where the track is laid 11,330 feet above the sea. A few miles to
one side the line attains its maximum altitude, with 11,522 feet, at
Ibex station, on a short branch road. After negotiating the Pass there
is a sharp descent to Leadville junction, where another locomotive
has to be hitched on to haul the train up a bank, rising 211 feet to
the mile, to the summit of Tennessee Pass, lying at 10,240 feet, the
highest point being gained in a tunnel, one mile in length, bored
through the mountain peak.
On the southern section of the system the line passes through
some of the wildest and most impressive country it is possible to
conceive, and time after time the constructional engineer was puzzled
sorely as to the best route for the road. It overcomes the Divide
through the Cumbres Pass. On the up-hill pull the railway skirts a
towering mountain spur, making a detour of four miles to circumvent
the obstacle, and then bursts suddenly into a strange country.
Strange monoliths rear up on all sides their fantastically wind- and
weather-carved sides, glistening weirdly in the sunlight. The line
swings round these grotesque evidences of Nature’s handiwork in a
sharp bend known appropriately as “Phantom Curve,” and then disappears
into the depths of the Toltec tunnel, which is carved through solid
granitic rock for some 600 feet. The peculiarity of this work is that
it is carried through the crest, and not the base of the peak, for the
opposite portal of the tunnel stands on the brink of a precipice which
drops plumb a quarter of a mile into the valley.
This gulf is spanned by a solid masonry bridge almost as wonderful
as the Hanging Bridge. It recalls a swallow’s nest built under the
eaves of a roof, for it is thrown across the gap to the opposite
mountain ledge in the form of a balcony. Sudden emergence from the
inky blackness of the mountain’s heart to this frail-looking link with
the frowning wall opposite, and the depth of the fissure is decidedly
startling. If the Eiffel Tower were planted in this gorge it would be
dwarfed into insignificance, for its topmost platform would be over 500
feet below the railway track. To throw the bridge across this rift the
men had to be slung out from derricks, manipulating their trowels from
an unsteady platform--the snap of a rope, a missed footing, and certain
death on the splintering crags below awaited the unlucky.
It is upon this same section that one traverses the wonderful Ophir
Loop, by means of which the Divide at Dallas is negotiated. The
towering Ophir mountain stands directly in the path of the line. A
detour was impossible; the mountain had to be ascended, but in so doing
the engineer imposed a fearful task upon the locomotives.
The rise is 4 per cent. In other words, for every 25 feet the train
advances, it has to rise 12 inches. The line skirts the base of the
mountain, describes a sharp semicircular curve, and then runs directly
backwards, the track being parallel with that a few feet below. The
Stelvio road over the Alps is a wonderful zigzag climb, but it does not
double and re-double more than this ascent up Ophir mountain. Terrace
after terrace of track is left below, extending through cutting, over
embankment and high trestles, until the top is gained.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE CONTINENTAL “DIVIDE” ON THE “MOFFATT” ROAD
The train has climbed from the track at the bottom of the picture to
the top of the cliff.]
Though the ascent and descent of the passes are impressive, they are
equalled in their daring by the winding through the rugged canyons
bathed in everlasting shadows cast by the mountains. The Royal Gorge
is only one out of five that are threaded. The others are equally
awe-inspiring, but each has a totally different aspect. There is Animas
canyon. The name of the gorge is musical--“Rio de las animas perdidas,”
and trips readily off the tongue, but the Spaniards were adept in
christening Nature’s wonders. “The River of Lost Souls” is melancholy,
but how strikingly suitable! The whole bed of the canyon is occupied by
the river. There was no convenient shelf by the water’s side to carry
the track. The walls rise vertically on either side, and the foam of
the water as it tumbles through the gulch is scattered high on either
wall. The engineer, deprived of a natural pathway, cut one for himself.
And it does not cling to the river’s side. It is high up on one wall,
and was blasted foot by foot out of the solid rock. At one point it
is 1000 feet above the water, and the grade is necessarily steep as the
river-bed rises very abruptly towards its upper end, where the line
emerges but a few feet above the water.
[Illustration:
_Photo, C. L. McClure, Denver_]
THE MOFFATT RAILWAY PLAYING “HIDE-AND-SEEK” AMONG THE TUNNELS IN GORE
CANYON]
When the pioneer engineers laid this remarkable railway the exigencies
of the present were their sole concern. As years rolled by the narrow
gauge proved a handicap, so it was converted to the 4 feet 8½ inches
gauge. But as there was still a considerable amount of narrow-gauge
traffic, the line is adapted for both classes of working, there being
three rails laid, so that it is as easily available for the narrow-
as the standard-gauge vehicles. Then the necessity arose for doubling
the track to give an up-and-down main line through Eagle River canyon.
The surveys soon convinced the engineer that it was absolutely
impracticable to parallel the original line, as the earthworks along
the tortuous river could not be widened to carry the second pair of
metals. Consequently, they had to be laid on the opposite side of the
water, at a cost of £20,000, or $100,000, per mile for 5 miles. The
result is that now the river has a canal appearance, its limits being
bounded on either side by solid masonry.
A few years ago a well-known banker and prominent citizen of the city
of Denver, the late David H. M. Moffatt, the Silver King, created
a sensation by suggesting that the time was opportune to give the
important trade centre in which he resided more direct communication
with the Pacific coast. He pointed out that before setting directly
westwards, one had either to travel 107 miles to the north to join the
Union Pacific, or 110 miles south-east to Pueblo. Why should not this
mileage be saved and the journey accelerated by following the bird’s
course towards Salt Lake City?
Notwithstanding the severely broken character of the Rockies, he
decided to drive his railway almost in an air-line. The surveyors
pointed out that approximately 75 per cent. of the track could be laid
along river banks threading the mountains where grades and curves could
be kept tolerably easy. The greatest and costliest features of the
scheme was the double toil over the Great Divide.
The mountain ramparts practically lock Denver in upon its western side,
and the railway makes a direct plunge into the mass. The South Boulder
canyon affords the causeway for the railway through the first clump.
Certainly the gorge is well named, for its sides are ragged in the
extreme, precipitous, and strewn with ugly, projecting masses of rock.
Being unhampered financially, the engineers were enjoined to carry
their work out upon the most solid lines. Timber trestling across
clefts on the hill-side was to be avoided; the line was to be carried
well above the river, and in such a manner that easy alignment was
secured. This involved keeping well into the side of the mountains,
only to meet obstacles in the form of massive humps of rock projecting
from the slopes. They could not be blasted away--the only solution
was tunnelling. Consequently, the train plays a game of hide-and-seek
as it darts in and out a chain of tunnels. In the course of 13 miles
there are no less than 30 tunnels through these spurs, ranging from 73
to 1,720 feet in length, and aggregating 16,000 feet in all. It was
the constant recurrence of these tunnels that provoked a querulous
traveller to ask why the engineers did not “tunnel the range the same
as they do in the Alps and have done with it?”
In order to fulfil the demand of the “Silver King,” heavy excavation
was inevitable. The rock thus removed was put to useful account to fill
crevices and rifts to avoid trestling. It was expensive construction,
but at the same time it ensured an excellent permanent way--permanent
in the fullest sense of the word.
[Illustration:
_Photo by courtesy of American Locomotive Co._]
THE GIGANTIC SNOWPLOUGH, THE LARGEST YET BUILT, WHICH KEEPS THE HIGHER
LEVELS OF THE “MOFFATT” LINE THROUGH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS FREE FROM THE
HEAVY FALLS OF SNOW]
When Boulder River canyon was threaded the rise to the Continental
Divide commenced. The precise point at which this should be effected
demanded repeated surveying, and some time passed before the engineers
found the shortest and easiest path through the range. This was by
means of a tunnel through the summit. A heavy piece of work was
advocated--2½ miles in length--but as considerable time would be
required for its completion, it was decided to take the metals right
over the crests, with a temporary line of 28 miles, in order to proceed
with the grade and to open up the country beyond, leaving the boring
of the tunnel till a later date. Consequently, the track was carried
through Rollins Pass, 11,600 feet above the level of the sea, through a
world of perpetual snow.
[Illustration: A DEEP CUTTING]
[Illustration:
[_See page 180_
BORING ONE OF THE TEN TUNNELS
Cutting out the “Great Zigzag” on the New South Wales Government
Railway.]
To lift the line over that summit proved a tremendous task: it involved
the laying out of tremendous curves and wide, sweeping loops. When
built, it was quite as difficult to keep open during the winter months,
when the Rockies are swept with terrific blizzards, which bury the
steel highway deeply beneath hills of snow. Yet arrangements were
completed to meet this emergency. A rotary snow-plough, the biggest and
most powerful of its type that ever had been designed, was acquired.
With this huge machine the snow-gangs were out from morning to night,
but they kept that narrow channel of communication clear, though it was
almost a hopeless task at times.
While the railway was being pushed on from the western side of the
range, the boring of the tunnel was taken in hand. It was urgent, for
it reduced the summit, 2,200 feet below Rollins Pass, the portals
of the tunnel being 9,930 feet above the sea on either side, rising
therefrom at 1 in 400 to the tunnel’s centre line.
Although the tunnel takes the bulk of the traffic both summer and
winter, the route over Rollins Pass has not been abandoned entirely.
The excursion traffic mounts to the 11,600 feet, for from that
tremendous altitude the panorama of glistening snow and glacier caps is
magnificent. What such a summit means may be grasped better, perhaps,
by comparison with the maximum altitudes attained on British railways.
The Scottish Highlands railway rises to 1,484 feet above sea-level
between Dalwhinnie and Dalnaspiel, while the Great Western climbs to
1,373 feet at Princeton, Dartmoor. Such altitudes are trivial beside
the dizzy summits attained on the American continent. Yet the tunnel
under the Rollins Pass brought its own benefits. By its provision
the town of Vasquez on the western slopes of the Divide was brought
25 miles nearer Denver, the distance being 81 miles by the temporary
line over the Pass, and only 56 miles via the tunnel. Such reductions
of distances, with easing of grades, count materially in questions of
traffic nowadays.
CHAPTER XIV
THE IRON HORSE IN AUSTRALASIA
I
Probably owing to its somewhat remote geographical situation in
relation to the busy centres of the northern hemisphere but a hazy
conception prevails of the great activity that has been, and still is
being, maintained in regard to railway conquests in the far southern
continent. Although large expanses of its territory still rank as
_terra incognita_, the iron horse is tearing the veil from the unknown
with amazing rapidity; it is fulfilling the dual role of exploring and
colonising force simultaneously. Several imposing feats of engineering
have been consummated in the task of wresting the interior stretches of
the country from oblivion.
As is well known, the island continent is divided into five States,
and each has worked out its own salvation by means of an independent
railway system, though the practice has been the same in each instance.
The early lines were laid through the fringe of settled territory along
the coast, and some time passed before the rails ventured inland. As
the agricultural, forest and mineralogical wealth of the country became
known, however, and attracted large flocks of settlers, the map was
rolled back by the railway in the various states. Up to the year 1870
railway expansion developed very leisurely. Then there came a sudden
awakening. Railway development went forward with a tremendous rush, and
this feverish expansion has been maintained steadily ever since.
The fact, however, that there was no general plan of campaign has in
a certain measure produced confusion. Each State had to consider its
individual purse and to calculate carefully how much it could afford
in the work of railway colonisation. The result is that there is a
sad lack of uniformity among the gauges. Indeed, Australia is worse
in this respect to-day than was the United States thirty years ago.
In the latter country three gauges struggled hard for supremacy, viz.
the narrow 3 feet 6 inches gauge, the standard gauge of 4 feet 8½
inches, and the wide gauge of 5 feet 6 inches. In Australia the gauges
vary from 2 feet 6 inches to 5 feet 3 inches. For instance, New South
Wales is threaded entirely by the standard gauge of the world--4 feet
8½ inches--for some 4000 miles. Its neighbour to the south, Victoria,
favours both the gauge of 5 feet 3 inches and that of 2 feet 6 inches;
its western neighbour, Western Australia, has the wide gauge and the
intermediate gauge of 3 feet 6 inches; Queensland adopted this gauge
also. With such a variegated system each State becomes isolated so
far as through railway communication is concerned; change of carriage
at the borders is inevitable. This disadvantage is experienced
emphatically when it comes to the transportation of merchandise.
The locomotive made its debut in Australia in 1885, in which year the
first length of railway from Sydney to Paramatta in the oldest colony
was opened. From that small beginning extension did not proceed very
rapidly, for while the population of New South Wales remained small
and scattered, the outlook from the financial point of view was not
promising. Consequently the network only extended over 473 miles 20
years later. Since 1875, however, the iron tentacles have grown with
tremendous speed, no less than 2,995 miles of track having been laid in
the course of 32 years.
In the early days, while money was scarce, the cost of construction had
to be kept down very severely. The coast of New South Wales is hemmed
in by a high mountain range, set from 20 to 70 miles back from the
water’s edge. This barrier forms the rim of a tableland some 200 miles
in width, extending from the extreme northern to the southern border
of the State, and runs roughly parallel with the shore. Consequently
it was obvious that whatever direction the railways might take to tap
inland territory, the mountains had to be crossed. The State railway
system is divided into three divisions, the main northern, southern and
western lines respectively, and the range accordingly is crossed at
three points.
The first subjugation of this rugged, frowning barrier was brought
about by the urgent necessity to connect Bathurst with the coast at
Sydney. Years before gold had been discovered on the highlands a
flourishing little community had sprung up and had founded a promising
town. But the inhabitants felt their isolation keenly, and they
petitioned the Government relentlessly for railway communication. At
that time the line had gained a point known as Penrith, about 22 miles
from Sydney, lying at the foot of the mountains, and heavy expensive
work confronted the engineers anxious to proceed farther inland.
Moreover, owing to the steepness with which the edge of the plateau rim
dropped into the valley, it was realised that the metals would have to
be lifted quickly to a great height. As the engineer was handicapped by
financial stringency he was compelled to resort to heroic measures.
He set to work and succeeded in reducing the costliness of the
earthwork by adopting grades of 1 in 33, introducing what is known as
a “zigzag.” The track, instead of climbing the bank continuously in
terraces, with curves connecting the successive tiers, makes a diagonal
cut up the cliff face to a dead-end. From this point another stretch of
line cuts similarly up the flank, to terminate in another dead-end, to
lead to another diagonal rise, and so on until the upper desired level
is gained. Meiggs introduced a similar system when he built the Oroya
railway to overcome the Andes, and in the days the “zigzag” was carried
out it was considered the only means of solving the situation with the
minimum of expense. The grades on the “zigzag” were as heavy as 1 in
30, but their introduction served to lift the track to the summit of
the tableland 3,500 feet above sea-level at a distance of 28 miles from
the capital.
Some twenty years ago this “Small Zigzag,” as it was called to
distinguish it from the similar and more imposing work of the same
class on the opposite side of the range, was cut out. A direct descent
was provided by driving a tunnel through the spur which the zigzag
followed, and the curves were eased. The re-alignment cost about
£50,000, or $250,000, but the interest on this capital expenditure is
less than the saving in the expense of working the trains over this
section.
Gaining the top of the spur, the railway continues a gentle ascent
until it notches an altitude of 3,658 feet, when the descent of the
western slope commences. The Lithgow valley is the objective, and the
precipice tumbles down suddenly for 600 feet. To carry the line down
the mountain-side appeared impossible, and when the engineer-in-chief,
the late Mr. John Whitton, surveyed the scene, to say that he was
perturbed fails to express his thoughts adequately. He could overcome
the descent fairly easily if he were permitted to carry out tunnelling
operations, whereby he would secure both easy grades and curves. But he
was overruled. Tunnelling was considered too expensive and could not be
countenanced; in fact, the whole conquest of the mountains provoked a
long-drawn-out and bitter controversy.
The general attitude towards railways, and the slight knowledge
concerning their construction and operation in those early days,
is afforded from the engineer-in-chief’s struggle with the
Governor-General for permission to follow his own inclinations, which,
as he pointed out, might entail heavy initial expenditure, but would
pay in the long run. When the scheme was unfolded and the engineer
admitted that the work, however accomplished, must prove costly, the
Governor-General pointed out that a highroad had been built over the
mountains for pedestrian and wagon traffic. Consequently he suggested
that this channel should be used, that the lines should be laid in the
middle of the road, and that the trains should be hauled by horses! The
engineer had considerable difficulty, and had to resort to prolonged
communications and lengthy explanations, to impress upon the official
mind that the locomotive was the best means of hauling trains. He
became so insistent, and persecuted his demands so relentlessly that
the Governor-General, probably sick at heart over the whole thing, gave
way at last to the engineer’s importunities, but stipulated that the
constructional cost should not exceed £20,000, or $100,000, per mile.
By imposing this financial drag the official possibly thought
that he had discomfited the engineer. But this was by no means
the case. Certainly it ruled tunnelling out of consideration as a
means of overcoming difficulty, but it only served to stimulate the
engineer-in-chief to something more startling. As he could not make his
way from the summit to the lower level by the direct route he decided
to saw his way down the precipice. The rocky wall rose up for about 470
feet so steeply as to defy a mountain goat to secure a foothold. The
surveyors had to be lowered from the top by means of ropes and chains
to carry out their tasks with the transit and level to plot the path
for the line. Here and there were wide, deep V-shaped rifts breaking
the profile of the precipice. Massive arches in masonry were thrown
across these obstructions, and a path was cut in the side of the cliff
to carry the track.
The line struck along the face for about a mile, descending steadily 1
in 42 feet. It then came to a dead-end. Another mile of track with the
same falling grade wound backward to terminate in a second dead-end,
and lower down came another mile of descent in the reverse direction
to gain the valley. It required 3 miles of line to carry the track
downwards 600 feet. When one stood at the top of the “Great Zigzag” one
saw the three tiers of track sawing the slope, to disappear finally in
the depths of the valley. The engine in the descent pulled the train
down the top side of the serrated road to the dead-end, pushed it
backwards along the second gallery to the second dead-end, and finally
hauled it to enter the depression.
The “Great Zigzag” for years stood as a striking monument to the
ingenuity responsible for the work, for it is even more daring than
Meiggs’ famous V-switches. As time passed and the railway traffic of
the State increased, the heaviness of the grades, the sharpness of the
curves and the time occupied in negotiating the zigzag, reacted more
and more adversely upon the economical operation of the line. Moreover,
it constituted a serious menace to safety, although fortunately it
never was the scene of an accident. Still, a proposal for its abolition
was advanced so far back as 1885, although it was realised that heavy
and costly reconstruction was the only alternative.
The proposed deviation was discussed more or less for several years,
but was deferred from motives of expense. But when the traffic had
gained the respectable proportions of some 2,585,000 tons in 1908, it
was recognised that the inevitable could be postponed no longer. It was
pointed out that if there were no zigzag the number of goods trains
using this part of the line could be cut down by over 30 per cent.,
since a single locomotive would be able to handle a heavier load and
longer train than was possible at that time, while so far as passenger
traffic was concerned, no less than 686 hours could be saved every
year, and operating expenses could be reduced 50 per cent, upon this
division.
[Illustration: BEFORE THE EXPLOSION
THE BLAST
THE CLIFF-FACE DISLODGED
THE CLIFF-FACE BROKEN UP
A HUGE BLAST
35,000 tons of rock were dislodged by 10,125 lb. of explosives.]
Accordingly the deviation was commenced. The surveys for the new
line had been prepared by Mr. Henry Deane, M.INST.C.E., while
engineer-in-chief for railway construction. He proposed a series
of tunnels built on a gradient of 1 in 90 running through a number
of spurs projecting from the main range, and although these were
intercepted by gulches the latter could be filled with the rock
excavated from the tunnel borings. The line in many places hugs steep
precipices where the land falls away vertically for a distance of
1000 feet or so into the Kinambla Valley.
[Illustration: THE PUTTAPA GAP BRIDGE, 200 FEET IN LENGTH]
[Illustration: THE HOOKINA CREEK BRIDGE
In the summer the watercourse is dry. Note the measures adopted to
protect the piers from the force of the flood waters.
TWO VIEWS ON THE SOUTH AUSTRALIAN GOVERNMENT RAILWAYS]
The task was commenced in July 1908 under the guidance of Mr. James
Fraser, M.INST.C.E., the engineer-in-chief for existing lines, to whom
I am indebted for this information, and in a short time 1000 men were
engaged in boring the tunnels and making the deep, heavy cuts through
the sandstone rock. All tunnels were attacked simultaneously, and
the blasting assumed heavy proportions. In one case a shaft was sunk
practically to formation-level. When completed it was charged with
about 10,000 pounds of blasting powder and 125 pounds of gelignite.
It was fired electrically, and the splitting force of the explosives
dislodged 35,000 tons of rock. In another case 1000 pounds of blasting
powder were tamped home in the face of a cliff, and 10,000 tons of rock
were shivered to be used for embanking purposes.
In order to rush the work through at tip-top speed, special
arrangements were made to facilitate the handling of the necessary
supplies and men, as well as the operation of the tools. As the new
line passed 350 feet below the old line, connection between the two at
this crossing was effected by means of a funicular railway with a grade
of 1 in 1.87. The material was brought by rail to the upper end of this
temporary line, and from a special siding was dispatched direct on to
the works. A small electric generating station was set up, and wires
for the transmission of current for power and lighting were strung
along the route from end to end to compress the air to drive the rock
drills, for the motors actuating the ventilating fans and also the
water-pumps.
The scheme as originally planned provided for the building of 6 miles
858 yards of new double track, which represented a saving of 22 yards
upon the line that was being displaced, though the curves and grades
were easier. It was estimated that the earthworks would involve the
handling of 466,000 cubic yards apart from the tunnel borings. Eleven
tunnels were planned, representing a total length of 2,991 yards,
but during the work it was decided to cut out one tunnel as the rock
was found to be shattered. Consequently it was converted into an open
cutting, the sides of which are 132 feet high. Some idea of the speed
with which the task was pushed forward may be gauged from the fact that
in 11 months 410,000 cubic yards of excavation were completed, 1¼ miles
of permanent way were laid with a single line, and 1,430 yards of the
tunnelling were completed. The total cost of the work was estimated at
£256,000, or $1,280,000. Its recent completion, although it relegates
an imposing engineering achievement to the limbo of things that were,
has resulted in the creation of another achievement equally as notable.
In building the north coast line which connects Sydney with the
Queensland border, a feat of a totally different character from the
zigzag was completed. This is the massive bridge, 3000 feet in length,
which carries the track across the Hawkesbury River, 36 miles distant
from the capital. It is divided into seven spans, each of which
measures 416 feet in length, supported on substantial masonry piers.
The erection of this structure, which still ranks as the largest work
of its type in Australia, occasioned considerable difficulty, both in
regard to the piers and the setting of the steel-work into position.
Indeed, it is doubtful as to which section of the work provoked the
greater anxiety. The difficulty with the piers was the great depth to
which the engineers had to descend to secure a foundation, because in
mid-stream the 40 feet of water flows over a bed of mud ranging up to
120 feet in thickness.
The only practicable means by which this essential subaqueous work
could be carried out was by sinking a huge steel cylinder filled
with concrete. The bottom section of this huge tub, or caisson, as
it is called, was closed, and after it was completed on shore it
was towed out to the site where the pier was to be erected and sunk
by the introduction of the concrete. The under side of the caisson
was fitted with a knife edge, by means of which it could cut its way
through the soft soil, the driving force for this purpose being the
weight of the superimposed concrete. The mud over the area representing
the superficies of the cylinder bottom was removed from the inside
to enable the mass to settle down. The steel shell was built up
continually from the water-level in rings, until a solid foundation
was gained. When this was reached and deemed satisfactory the spaces
through which the spoil from below had been withdrawn were likewise
filled with concrete, so that the contents of the cylinder really form
a huge pillar of concrete homogeneous from end to end.
The conditions prevailing also compelled each span to be completed
near the bank upon a pontoon, the steel-work being supported upon a
heavy scaffolding. The pontoon was somewhat shorter than the span of
steel which projected an equal distance over either end of the former.
When all was ready, and when the tide was approaching its highest
point, the pontoon, with its ungainly load, was towed and was warped
gently between two adjacent piers, in such a way that the ends of the
span were brought into their relative positions upon the masonry. The
pontoon was then made fast, and the actual settling of the steel-work
was left to the movement of the tide. As the river fell, carrying the
pontoon with it, the span descended until in due course the ends rested
on the masonry. The water still falling, the scaffolding presently
dropped below the steel-work, leaving the latter clear in position.
Finally, when the tide had fallen still more, the pontoon was cast off
and drawn away, leaving the two piers connected by the steel.
Such methods demand extreme care, unerring judgment, and a readiness
to meet any emergency on the part of the engineers. The American
bridge-builders who carried out this undertaking had several exciting
incidents. The most thrilling and anxious was when one of the pontoons
got out of control with its precious freight and became stranded on the
bank, where it had to remain in a dangerous listing condition until
the tide rose again, to enable it to be floated off and towed to its
destination.
In comparison with the New South Wales railways, the lines of the other
States lack outstanding features, yet their work has been attended
with peculiar difficulties. In South Australia, where settlement has
not proceeded so rapidly as in the adjacent State, the policy is to
build the lines with the minimum of cost to meet the demands for cheap
railways to connect communities scattered over a large area. That
this is a remunerative practice is borne out by results. Although
the wide gauge of 5 feet 3 inches is adopted on what may be called
the trunk lines extending from Adelaide to the eastern border, to
effect junction with the Victorian railways, thereby securing through
railway communication between Adelaide and Melbourne without change of
carriage, the greater part of the railway system is the narrow gauge of
3½ feet.
The railway thus acts as a pioneering campaigner in the fullest sense
of the word, and in this way it has been possible to push the iron road
towards the heart of the rich inland country so far as Oodnadatta.
Queensland is practising the same principle, three lines having been
forced slowly towards the eastern boundary of that State in three
roughly parallel lines from three different points on the coast--though
the latter in turn are connected. In due course the inland ends of
these lines will be joined up, and there will be a complete circle from
which spurs can be driven to meet development.
Railway construction in South Australia is noticeable because of the
cheapness with which it is carried out in the first place, with an
accompanying economy in maintenance. The whole of the work is effected
for the most part by the Government department, small contracts for
construction only being let on rare occasions. This policy, combined
with the application of every modern appliance which can establish
reason for its utilisation, has been eminently satisfactory from every
point of view.
At the present time the tendency is to anticipate the settler, and
thus, by the provision of transportation facilities, to attract
the farmer into the district. The reverse is generally the method
adopted--the farmer establishes himself on the land, and then when
there is an agitation for transport the railway is advanced. In
this State, however, the railway creates the situation, and in this
manner a large area of good agricultural land has been opened up for
cultivation. This is the policy which Mr. James J. Hill followed in
the western United States, and its soundness in the course of time is
demonstrated conclusively from the enormous traffic which flows over
his systems.
In order that this pioneering may not saddle the South Australian
Government with an unremunerative heavy debt, the line in the first
instance is of the lightest possible description. As the country
traversed develops and more traffic accrues to the road, rendering
improvement advisable, the track is overhauled and relaid with heavier
metals, the lighter rails being shipped to another point to enable the
pioneering process to be continued.
This is an elastic system eminently adapted to such a country as South
Australia, which is still in its infancy, and where the demand for
railway communication is confined almost entirely to agricultural
requirements and to the transportation of farming produce, especially
in the more remote up-country districts.
CHAPTER XV
THE IRON HORSE IN AUSTRALASIA
II
Whereas the Southern Australian and Queensland railways are called upon
to meet the demands of agriculture, the roads of Western Australia,
on the other hand, have been laid out to satisfy the extensive mining
movements along the western shore of the island continent. The
engineers, however, have not been called upon to face particularly
stern grapples with Nature, owing to the country traversed being, for
the most part, of a give-and-take character, and to there being an
entire absence of high mountains and wide, rushing rivers. There is
only one chain of hills of any magnitude that has to be crossed by the
lines. This is the Darling range, which runs parallel with the coast
from near Geraldton to the southern extremity of the country.
In order to gain the gold-fields around Coolgardie, as well as
the eastern and southern stretches of the State, the difficulties
confronting the engineer in connection with this low ridge were not so
great as those prevailing in New South Wales. For instance, only one
tunnel, 1,096 feet in length, has had to be bored. Indeed, the engineer
seized the opportunity to build the line cheaply to such an extent that
the lowest watermark in this respect, bearing in mind the configuration
of the country, may be said to have been attained. True, the grades and
curvature are heavy, the former running up to as high as 1 in 50 (2
per cent.), while the curves are of 266 feet radius. Some of the most
difficult spurs in this range are traversed by the line which taps the
extensive coal-fields in the Collie district--the bulk of the coal used
in the State is obtained here--where sharp curves of 176 feet radius,
and banks rising 1 in 40, have been introduced.
The first railway built in Western Australia was a short line from the
coast to Northampton. This was completed in 1879. In those early days
the finances of the country were at a very low ebb, and the engineer
was forced to carry his track through the hilly country with the
minimum of earthwork. The result was that curves so sharp as 88 feet
radius were adopted.
The Upper Darling Range railway also deserves more than passing
notice. It leaves Midland junction at the foot of the hills, and 10
miles from Perth. The precipitous character of the spurs so puzzled
the engineer that he was driven to imitate the method of extrication
from a difficulty of this description practised in New South Wales.
He had to “zigzag” the line up the face of the bluff. Another feature
of interest is on the spur from the eastern railway, known as the
Smith’s Mill branch. A deep cut had to be driven through a hill, which
the excavators, when they set to work, found to be a solid mass of
pipe-clay!
Though the engineering trials on the railways in this State may not
compare in calibre with those in other countries, there is one other
difficulty which is far more significant from the railway’s point of
view. I refer to the question of water supply. On the coast, where
the rainfall varies between 15 and 40 inches per annum, this does not
occasion any apprehension, but rain becomes scarcer and scarcer as the
great interior deserts are approached. This condition prevails along
a belt 150 miles or so wide, extending from Albany to Geraldton. When
the discovery of gold at Coolgardie, some twenty years ago, sent a wave
of excitement round the world, the miners and others who rushed to
the El Dorado suffered terribly from the dearth of this indispensable
commodity, and when the mines were set to work it hampered operations
to a very pronounced degree. In the gold country the rainfall does not
exceed six inches per annum, and consequently water had to be husbanded
carefully.
The mining activity, however, brought about a remarkable expansion
in the iron road, which pushed inland for nearly 600 miles. Then the
water question became one of vital importance, because the locomotives
required copious and frequent drinks to slake their tremendous thirsts.
To bring this article up from the coast was costly. The scanty rainfall
was collected so far as possible by impounding, but the water thus
secured was found to be useless for the railway’s purposes. It became
so heavily charged with deleterious substances, as it flowed over a
salt-impregnated soil, that it set up heavy incrustation in the boilers.
This was a serious drawback, because it reduced the life of the
engine’s internal organs very materially, and militated against the
iron horse’s efficiency. To remedy this state of affairs, the earthen
dams constructed at various points along the route, which formed
small reservoirs, were supplemented by condensing plants. The most
notable installation of this description was completed at Coolgardie.
This plant was designed primarily to utilise the salt water from the
adjacent mines. The Coolgardie condenser was capable of supplying
about 60,000 gallons of fresh water per day, at a cost of 37_s._
6_d._, or say $9 per 1000 gallons, and to furnish this requirement
entailed an expenditure of £15,000, or $75,000, on the apparatus. A
large distilling apparatus was set up also at Geraldton to supply the
Northern railway running into the Murchison gold-fields, where the
water question was also a serious factor.
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TO THE TUNNEL, 1,096 FEET LONG, THROUGH THE
DARLING RANGE
This is the only tunnel on the West Australian Government Railways.]
While this palliative met the situation up to a certain point, it was
far from satisfactory. Consequently, a few years ago a huge project
was evolved to supply the Coolgardie gold-fields with unlimited
quantities of excellent water. A large dam was thrown across a rift
on the western slope of the Darling range about 20 miles from Perth,
whereby 4,600,000,000 gallons of water are banked up. The water is
dispatched from this reservoir to the gold-fields 350 miles away
through a pipe 30 inches in diameter, which is sufficient to ensure the
inhabitants in the gold country receiving a steady and continuous
supply of 5,000,000 gallons per day. At intervals along the line large
intermediate tanks are provided, together with pumping plants. As the
pipe-line runs alongside, and the pumping stations are situate beside
the railway, the latter can now secure ample supplies of pure water,
so that the Eastern Gold-fields railway is concerned no longer with
troubles in this direction.
[Illustration: THE DEARTH OF SUITABLE WATER WAS THE SERIOUS PROBLEM IN
THE EARLY DAYS OF THE COOLGARDIE GOLDFIELDS. AS THE RAILWAY COULD NOT
HAUL SUPPLIES FROM THE COAST, THIS NOVEL CONDENSING PLANT WAS ERECTED
The above photograph shows one-half of the installation. In this way
60,000 gallons of fresh water were supplied per day at a cost of 37_s._
6_d._, or $9, per 1000 gallons.]
Great activity is being displayed now in opening up the country in
suitable districts alongside the main line, where fruit-growing can be
practised with distinct success. These agricultural roads are built
lightly in the first instance to reduce capital outlay, the average
cost being about £1,200, or $6,000, per mile, but these lines will be
replaced by heavier metals as the land becomes settled.
The Western Australian railways now extend for about 2,500 miles
through the State, and, in addition, private enterprise is represented
by the Midland Railway Company, which runs from a point 10 miles out of
Perth northwards for 276 miles to Walkaway, whence Geraldton is reached
by a Government line. In addition, there are numerous short roads
belonging to companies working the resources of the country, especially
of timber, but one and all have adopted the narrow 3½ feet gauge so
as to secure uniformity and intercommunication. Bearing in mind the
undulating and easy nature of the country, railway constructional costs
have not been heavy. On the trunk lines outside the Darling range the
cost has varied from £3,000 to £4,000--$15,000 to $20,000--per mile,
according to the distance from the coast. The heaviest expenditure was
incurred in traversing the Darling Mountains, where the expenditure
ranged between £4,000 and £7,500--$20,000 and $37,500--per mile.
During the past few years the question of building an Australian
trans-continental railway has been brought to the fore, the idea being
to link up the railways on the eastern, with those on the western,
sides of the continent. Such a railway would be of far-reaching
strategical importance, and Lord Kitchener, during his visit to the
Antipodes, urged its necessity. The proposal comprises the connection
of Kalgoorlie in the Coolgardie district with Fort Augusta in the
neighbouring State of South Australia, whence Adelaide, Melbourne,
Sydney and Rockhampton on the Queensland coast could be reached by rail
from Perth. To complete such a scheme would entail the crossing of
the edge of the Victoria desert, but as the physical character of the
country does not offer any great difficulties, it is estimated that the
1,070 miles of line could be built for £5,000,000, or $25,000,000.
When the States were federated, Western Australia, feeling that
it was cut off from its sister States, concluded that if it
co-operated to form a homogeneous commonwealth, the construction of
a trans-continental highway would follow as a matter of course. This
anticipation caused the western state to throw in its lot with the
other territories. Western Australia for a long time previous had
cherished the idea of connecting itself physically with the east by
means of the iron road, but it was not financially in the position
to undertake the project unaided. Still it authorised one of its
engineers, Mr. John Muir, to run through the country it was intended to
traverse, and to report generally upon the feasibility of the scheme.
The journey undertaken by this engineer gives an interesting sidelight
as to the task of surveying a new road in Australia, especially in the
lesser-known hinterland. Mr. Muir organised a small party, with camels
as the vehicles of transport. The beasts numbered twelve in all, five
being utilised for riding purposes and the remainder as pack-animals,
carrying the restricted requirements for the little party. They set out
from the most easterly point to which the Western Australian railways
had penetrated in the requisite direction. Leaving the gold-field
country, they entered the great Victoria Desert. Water was the one
difficulty they apprehended, for they knew from the experiences of
various explorers in this arid belt that this commodity could be found
only here and there. The camels, consequently, were restricted to
short rations--one drink every five days, the party carrying sufficient
of the liquid to meet its own needs during the intervals. The animals
evidently did not appreciate these strict regulations, because the
party, whenever they left a water-hole, had the greatest difficulty
in persuading the camels to continue the journey, and even when they
did resume the trail the beasts frequently stopped to turn their heads
longingly in the direction of the last water station.
This small party covered 1000 miles, collecting valuable data,
which, upon return, was investigated searchingly and compared with
the information that other travellers had gathered when piercing the
country at different times. As a result a comprehensive scheme was
drawn up, and the possibilities of such through communication were
revealed in no uncertain manner.
Some years later the Commonwealth sanctioned the completion of
a more exhaustive survey, Mr. H. Deane, M.INST.C.E., formerly
engineer-in-chief to the New South Wales railways, being placed in
charge of the whole undertaking. The enterprise was divided into two
sections, the Federal Government undertaking to complete the task from
Coolgardie to the eastern frontier of Western Australia, while South
Australia decided to complete the work so far as it affected its own
territory. Mr. John Muir, who had been through the country previously
for the Western Australian Government, was selected by the chief
engineer as first lieutenant on the former division, and he enrolled
four other surveyors.
For this task no less than 91 camels were acquired. Of this total 36
animals were deputed to haul three team-wagons, a like number were
subdivided into three strings of pack-animals, three carried stakes for
locating the line, while the others were used for various purposes.
An important task was the distribution of stores to the extent of 18
tons along the route for the survey party, together with ample supplies
of water for both man and beast, the water stations being spaced at
intervals of 7 miles.
To plot the route the chief surveyor set out ahead of the main party.
He ran the line by the aid of a compass, and checked his work by means
of stellar observations. The last camel in his train was required to
haul a heavy bullock-chain, the free extremity of which was knotted,
and as this dragged over the ground it left a trail which could be
picked up and followed easily by the main party following in the rear.
The latter measured the distance by chains and took levels at frequent
points, and these were checked constantly. This survey party moved
forward at the rate of 6 miles per day, and it covered the Western
Australian section of 455 miles in 89 days.
The South Australian Government engineers experienced greater
difficulty in completing their part of the work, for on their section,
extending over 608 miles, the scarcity of water was felt acutely. They
were caught by the intensely hot summer, which dried up all available
founts of supply speedily, and consequently the men and the 80 camels
could not advance very rapidly, their daily movement averaging about 3
miles. In due course they gained the inter-state boundary and picked
up the last stake indicating the route left by the party which had
advanced westwards from Kalgoorlie.
A sum of £20,000, or $100,000, was expended upon this preliminary work.
In addition to location, other valuable details were secured, the most
important of which was in regard to the economic possibilities of the
territory traversed. Far from much of the country being sterile, as
previous reports had indicated, it was ascertained that, under proper
scientific farming, it could be brought to a high standard of fertility
and productiveness. There is one long doubtful stretch of 107 miles
through a waterless plain, but if it were possible to adopt irrigation,
there are great hopes that this country might be found excellent for
grazing purposes.
The standard gauge was advocated for the trans-continental highway,
and it was pointed out that if this connection were forged, not only
would the line prove of distinct military value, but that it would
possess great commercial attractions as well. For instance, there is a
considerable and increasing trade between the Coolgardie gold-fields
country and the eastern States, which has to be carried out by steamer
at present, involving a long, tedious journey, whereas by rail the
two centres would be brought within direct and accelerated connection
of one another. Another feature was emphasised also, and that was the
great saving in time possible by dispatching the European mails and
passenger traffic overland from east to west, instead of by sea as at
present.
The Commonwealth appears resolved to carry the scheme to fulfilment,
especially in view of Lord Kitchener’s strong advocacy of the project,
and when this is accomplished passengers landing at Fremantle will be
able to travel by rail so far as Rockhampton in Queensland, a distance
of 3,800 miles. Owing to the varying gauges in Australia, such a
journey would involve no less than five changes of carriages at least,
and this is the one great disadvantage connected with the scheme.
In order to observe railway engineering in its most spectacular form
in the Antipodes one must cross the Tasman Sea into New Zealand. The
England of the South is provided with a backbone of lofty and extremely
broken ridges. Indeed, the advance of the railway-builder through
this country has been beset with abnormal obstacles which recall the
conquests of the Rocky and Cascade mountains in North America. The
most outstanding feature on the whole network of railways operated by
the Government is the amazing number of bridges, the cost of which
must represent a huge sum. In the early days chasms and gorges which
the railway was forced to cross were spanned by wooden structures, but
these have since been replaced by substantial and often lofty steel
structures. Whenever the engineer has essayed to leave the coast on
either side of the island, the mountains have reared up to dispute his
advance, and it has been only by dint of great effort that the metals
have been carried over these great barriers.
At the present time the country has one gigantic project in hand
which is without a parallel south of the Equator. This is the Otira
tunnel, which is being driven for 5½ miles under the gorge of the same
name. This great work occurs on the line which is destined to connect
Christchurch on the east, with Greymouth on the west, coast of the
South Island. The two points are separated by the Southern Alps, many
peaks of which jut 12,000 feet into the clouds. This undertaking was
commenced by private enterprise, but when 35 miles of the line had
been completed, the physical difficulties to be overcome were found
to be so great that the company shrank from attempting the apparently
impossible, and accordingly the ambitious idea was abandoned.
The result was that the Government took the railway over and determined
to penetrate the mountain chain at all hazards. The Otira tunnel,
though the most notable feature, is but one of many notable works,
for the bridges and smaller tunnels compel just as much attention. To
give some idea of their frequency and character it may be mentioned
that, in a short length of 9 miles, there are 4 high steel viaducts,
one of which carries the rails 236 feet above the floor of the gorge,
and no less than 17 short tunnels, the longest of which is about 2000
feet, while there is scarcely a mile of level line! The grades on this
railway in some cases are very severe, that through the Otira tunnel
itself being 2 per cent., or 1 in 50.
[Illustration: HOW THE WESTERN AUSTRALIAN EASTERN RAILWAY CUTS THROUGH
THE DARLING RANGE]
From the earliest days one dream had occupied the attention of, all
concerned in New Zealand’s welfare and progress. This was a trunk
railway from Wellington to Auckland. The fact that only some 450
miles separated the two cities by a feasible route was hammered home
vehemently by enthusiasts, but it was some time before the requisite
courage and determination to effect the connection could be summed
up. Pessimists pointed out the great mountains and deep, wide gorges
that would have to be conquered, and the enormous expenditure their
subjugation by the steel highway would entail. To-day, however, the
North Island Trunk railway connects the two points, but it proved a
prodigious undertaking, calling for the display of remarkable ingenuity.
[Illustration:
[_See page 214_
THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY IS A MAZE OF CURVES, TWISTS AND BENDS, OWING TO
THE RUGGED CHARACTER OF THE COUNTRY TRAVERSED
This photograph shows a sharp loop.]
The early surveyors pointed out that Mount Ruapehu would demand much
hard and heavy thinking on the part of the engineers. So it proved. The
railway skirts the base of this peak, but has to make a stiff ascent in
a short distance. The engineer did not resort to a zigzag to overcome
the difficulty, but profited from the example of Hellwag on the St.
Gotthard, who had to extricate that line from a similar tight corner.
Recourse was made to a spiral. The result is that the railway emerges
from a tunnel burrowed through a crest, and shortly after sweeps round
in a graceful curve to cross the tunnel through the same obstruction;
the railway overcomes the steep ascent by means of a stretch of
corkscrew track.
Near the base of the same mountain there is a deep gorge over which
the line was forced to pass. From the point at which the track gained
the brink it was about 800 feet to the opposite cliff edge, and the
precipice delved down to nearly 300 feet. This is the famous Makatote
Gorge, and the engineer decided to spring across the gap.
The contract was secured by Messrs. J. & A. Anderson of Christchurch,
and they lost no time in attacking the task. When they appeared on the
scene there was no road to the site of the viaduct, and the railway was
still 20 miles distant, so the prospect was not inviting. The sides of
the mountain were covered with dense primeval jungle-like bush, which
had to be hacked back to permit of investigations of the situation, and
six months passed before the wagon road for the purposes of the railway
was driven through the district. This constituted the only channel over
which the requisite steel material could be transported.
The constructional engineers concluded that the best means of meeting
the situation was to erect a workshop on the spot where the necessary
steel-work could be prepared. Electricity was generated to operate the
various tools demanded. The rainfall averaged about 96 inches per year,
and at times the insignificant stream flowing through the V-shaped
fissure was nothing but a foaming torrent, sweeping everything away in
its mad rush.
The constructional engineers were faced with the erection of one
tower springing from the bank of the waterway beneath to a height of
270 feet, while other towers of 249, 208, 175 and 110 feet in height
respectively were demanded. The spans were of equal length, viz. 100
feet, flanked on either side by approaches, and the undertaking called
for the use of about 1000 tons of steel.
The foundations comprise concrete pedestals which were sunk into the
ground, and these carry steel towers somewhat after the American
pattern, giving lightness, with rigidity and strength. Every piece of
steel was riveted to its neighbour by means of pneumatic tools, which
not only expedited the task of securing the sections together, but
eliminated the possibility of accidents arising from the swinging of
sledge-hammers, especially at the greatest heights. The spans of steel
connecting each tower with its neighbour were erected from the rail
level, without recourse to false-work. Owing to the many and careful
precautionary methods adopted, the erecting work was carried through
without the slightest hitch or the loss of a single life. When the task
was completed the strength of the constructional engineers’ handiwork
was tested thoroughly by a train of the heaviest locomotives used upon
the New Zealand railway being run across the bridge at varying speeds,
until the maximum attained in practice was reached. The Makatote
Viaduct stands as one of the finest pieces of its work of this type
that ever has been completed in the Antipodes.
Another striking engineering achievement was the building of the
Central Otago railway which runs from Dunedin to the interior of Otago.
The line not only threads knots of mountains, but also spans numerous
rifts. Indeed, so much bridging became necessary that the railway has
become known as “The Bridge Line.” In completing this road nearly
every type of structure known to the engineer was adopted. The largest
structure is the Wingatui Viaduct, where the rail is carried about
146 feet above the floor of a broken, winding gorge on a creation of
steel comprising three spans, each measuring 196 feet in length, and
five smaller spans, each of 66 feet, supported on pyramidal steel
towers. Another work of a similar character is the Flat Creek Viaduct,
where the rail runs across the rift about 100 feet above its deepest
part in six spans of 66 feet each. These mountain creeks, it may be
pointed out, are simply masses of rocky boulders in the dry season,
but when they are called upon to carry away the accumulation of water,
they are nothing but torrents tearing along with fiendish turbulence,
and bearing down considerable quantities of heavy stones, against the
batterings of which the erections of the engineer would be futile were
they not carried out upon the most substantial lines. In contrast to
the permanent metallic structures is the Waian timber trestle on the
South Island main trunk line, which measures no less than 613 feet from
end to end. Verily, New Zealand may be described as the land of the
bridge-builder _in excelsis_, owing to such varied opportunities to
demonstrate his skill.
CHAPTER XVI
ACROSS SIBERIA BY RAIL
The success with which San Francisco was brought within two or three
weeks of Europe by means of the Union and Central Pacific railways
prompted far-seeing individuals to aspire for a similar acceleration
of travel around the other half of the northern hemisphere. This could
be done by driving the iron road straight across Europe and Asia, and
it was pointed out, in support of the scheme, that the industrial and
commercial centres of western Europe would be brought within about a
fortnight’s journey of China.
The construction of a railway across Siberia was discussed for over
half a century. In 1851 Count Mouraviev-Amoursky, the Governor-General
of Eastern Siberia, suggested that he should be brought into more
immediate touch with the heart of the Russian Empire. He suggested
that first a highroad should be built across the continent, upon which
the iron rails should be laid later, thus converting the channel of
vehicular and pedestrian traffic into a railway.
It was a brilliant idea, but like many other great schemes suffered
from being premature. However, as Siberia developed, the building
of independent railway lines in various parts of the country, to be
connected together by short links, thereby forming a chain of railways
stretching from the Baltic to the Pacific Ocean, was mooted frequently.
The Government viewed the recommendations sympathetically, but nothing
definite was arranged.
In 1869 the administrative authorities scattered throughout Asiatic
Russia became so energetic in their demands for improved communication
with western Europe that the Government entertained seriously the
bonding of the empire. The question arose, however, as to the most
advantageous location. What direction should it follow in order to
serve the most promising interests from an economic point of view? This
was a problem that demanded searching investigation, but meanwhile the
railway commenced to move eastwards, the existing system of Russia in
Europe being driven more and more towards the Ural Mountains. By 1888
the railhead was within easy reach of the eastern frontier of Europe,
having gained Zlatoost.
A halt was called at this juncture. The outposts of steel were
three in number, Orenburg, Tioumen on the Asiatic side of the
Urals and connected with Ekaterinburg, and Zlatoost. A decision
was necessary to determine which of these three railheads should
be the jumping-off point for the long toil through Siberia. Three
surveys were made, and as a result of prolonged consideration of
the advantages and disadvantages of the respective routes from
every point of view, among the most important of which was the
question of cost, Zlatoost was selected as the most favourable
starting-point. From that point the location was by way of
Tcheliabinsk-Kourgan-Petropavlovsk-Omsk-Tomsk-Krasnoiarsk to
Nijneoudinsk, as this offered the shortest length of line, traversed
the most densely populated and most fertile country, and at the same
time could be built far cheaper than either of the alternative routes.
It was recognised that the line would entail the expenditure of a huge
sum of money, no matter how cheaply it was constructed, and that there
could be no hope of any return upon the investment for many years to
come owing to the unsettled character of the country. Accordingly it
was decided to avoid all pretentious engineering exploits--in fact, to
build the line upon pioneer principles. A five-foot gauge was adopted
to harmonise with European Russia, and in order to cut the cost of
construction down to the lowest possible figure the lightest material
was employed, the rails, for instance, only weighing 54 pounds per
yard. It was realised that the paramount condition was to open up the
land and its resources without delay, and to overhaul the line as
traffic increased, thereby bringing it gradually into conformity with
the generally accepted standards of a modern railway.
As the project was of such far-reaching significance to the Russian
Empire it was resolved that it should be carried out as a national
undertaking. Every ounce of material required was to be fashioned in
Russian workshops--there was only one important departure from this
decision, and that was the construction of the huge ice-breaking
ferries on Lake Baikal, which, being beyond the capacity of the Russian
builders, were designed and constructed at the Elswick works of Sir W.
G. Armstrong, Whitworth & Company, Limited--and that it should be built
by Russian labour under Russian engineers with Russian money. It was an
Imperial enterprise from end to end.
To govern the work of construction a national committee was
established, composed of interested ministers, under the presidency of
the Grand Duke Heritier, the present Tsar, who upon his ascent to the
throne retained his seat upon this commission. Indeed, the Emperor has
displayed the greatest interest in this undertaking from its inception,
and, in fact, inaugurated the work by laying the stone commemorating
the turning of the first sod at Vladivostok on May 18, 1891, during his
visit to the East.
Owing to the gigantic character of the work it was divided into several
distinct sections comprised as follows--
MILES
1. The Western Siberian Railway from
Tcheliabinsk to Obi 885·14
2. The Central Siberian Railway from Obi to
Irkutsk, subdivided into two parts, the
first from Obi to Krasnoiarsk, and the
second from Krasnoiarsk to Irkutsk 1143·75
3. The Baikal Railway from Irkutsk to
Myssovaia 192
4. The Trans-Baikal Railway from Myssovaia
to Stretensk 690·4
5. The Amur Railway from Stretensk to
Khabarovsk 1383·75
6. The Ossouri Railway from Khabarovsk
to Vladivostok 476·8
This was the manner in which the 4,771 miles of line constituting the
link between the Urals and the eastern seaboard of the Pacific was
split up. The difficulties that were likely to be encountered were
realised only too well. Though great engineering achievements were
not to be permitted from lack of funds, it was recognised that in
certain places heavy initial expenditure could not be avoided. The
rivers which flow northwards to the Arctic sea, and thus cut across the
direction of the railway at right angles, were to be feared the most,
owing to their great widths, velocity, and the ice-packs with which
they were obstructed during the early spring. Here metal only could
be employed, and as the waterways to be crossed were numerous, it was
seen that the expenditure under this heading would have to be enormous.
There was another factor which had to be taken into consideration.
These waterways during the summer season are the great highroads of
communication through the country, and consequently it was imperative
that the rails should be carried at a sufficient height above the
waterways as to offer no obstruction to steamboat navigation.
As a matter of fact, it may be conceded that the huge bridges across
such rivers as the Irtych, Obi and Yenisei constitute the outstanding
features of the work. They were built massively, and although
their erection in many cases taxed the skill of the engineers to a
superlative degree, owing to the difficult conditions prevailing, their
successful completion is a striking tribute to the men responsible for
their consummation. The fact that these waterways were frozen during
the winter, harassed the engineers in one, while it was a distinct
boon in another, direction. Rails could be laid upon the ice, over
which the construction trains could proceed from bank to bank, hauling
the requisite supplies and provisions for the workmen, whereas in the
summer such work had to be effected by ferries and boats demanding
transhipment at the banks, whereby considerable time was lost, as well
as incurring the liability of damage to the material handled.
Work was commenced on the various sections as soon as it was possible
to gather the requisite material and men on the spot. Owing to the
extreme difficulty attending access to the middle parts of the
country, these sections were not taken in hand until some two or three
years after the earth and rock had commenced to fly at the extreme
ends. As already mentioned, construction actually commenced first at
Vladivostok, but some months later, on July 7, 1892, the engineers
commenced to drive the steel highway eastwards from the European
terminus at Tcheliabinsk, to which point the line had been carried
forward from Zlatoost.
The country entered after the Urals were left behind was the fringe of
a vast steppe covered with tall bush, which continues until the Obi
is gained. Then the character of the country changes with startling
suddenness, desert giving way to dense forests, where heavy clearing
was necessary to secure the right-of-way. The timber, however, was
of slight use for building purposes, and this deficiency, together
with that of stone, proved a serious drawback. Timber had to be
hauled from long distances and pressed into service for spanning the
smaller waterways, creeks and streams, there being over 260 temporary
structures of this type upon this division. Difficulty was also
experienced in securing material for ballasting the line, and in some
instances it was necessary to haul the material for this purpose 20
miles across country.
Four large steel bridges had to be erected in order to carry the
railway across the Tobol, Ichime, Irtych and Obi rivers, all of which
are navigable. The last two waterways demanded the heaviest pieces of
work of this character, the Irtych bridge being about 2,130 feet in
length, divided into six spans, each of about 354½ feet. That over the
Obi measures some 2,650 feet from end to end, built up of seven spans,
three of which are of 594½ feet, and four of 291½ feet respectively.
The rigours of the climate were felt severely. The summer is short
and hot, while the winter is long and intensely cold, the temperature
ranging between -5 and -13 degrees, while at times the mercury was
found to descend to -40 degrees. Moreover, the steppe is swept by
terrific winds, and the conditions told heavily upon the labourers
working in such an exposed situation. In summer, after making
allowances for wet and fête days, only about 120 days were left for
operations, and consequently it was essential to continue work during
the winter as far as practicable. The sparsely-populated character
of the country militated against the engineers, and the labour for
the most part had to be brought from Europe, for the peasants were
unaccustomed to navvy work. The scarcity of water was another adverse
factor, that found in the more sterile reaches being brackish and unfit
for consumption. To meet this contingency water had to be brought over
long distances for the workmen, while in places artesian wells were
sunk which relieved the situation slightly. Under these conditions the
completion of the 885 miles of line comprised in this section within
four years was an excellent piece of work.
The Central Siberian railway, as it ran through two diametrically
different stretches of country--plain and mountainous respectively--was
subdivided into two divisions. The first section, stretching from the
banks of the Obi, where it connected with the Western Siberian railway,
was taken in hand in May 1893, and the work was pushed forward so
vigorously that it was completed in advance of the scheduled time.
Trains from St. Petersburg could not run over this section, however,
until two years later, as the struggles of the engineers upon the
mountains, in the second moiety, demanded the utilisation of the first
section for the handling of their supplies and material. The broken
country proved to be exceedingly troublesome. Moreover, a large number
of wide waterways had to be crossed, such as the Yenisei, where a
magnificent bridge 2,856 feet in length had to be erected. It is a
massive structure, and at present constitutes the largest and heaviest
work of its description in Siberia.
The traveller as he rolls over the iron road cannot resist contrasting
the solidity and permanent appearance of these noble bridges with the
temporary character of the line in other places. The difference is so
great as to be incongruous. Yet it was in accordance with the original
plans. The earthworks and permanent way can be replaced at leisure,
but the bridges, and the reputation of the rivers they span, led the
authorities to decide that in these instances first cost should be
last cost. When the whole railway is brought up to the standard of the
bridge-work, it will be comparable in solidity and travelling comfort
with the leading lines of other countries.
Rapidity in laying the track on the first section was due to the fact
that the line traversed an undulating plain where heavy works were
not demanded. The climate for the most part was found to be analogous
with that prevailing in Western Siberia, the mean temperature in
summer hovering about 70 degrees, to fall to about -7.6 degrees in
winter. In order that the workmen during the latter season might not
be interrupted in their tasks of fashioning the stone-work for the
bridges, special workshops were provided, heated with steam and stoves,
and similar shelters were built over the sites of erection on the ice,
where the workmen were enabled to lay the masonry in comfort. At the
same time these measures permitted the cement to dry slowly instead of
being frozen, only to fall to pieces with the approach of spring.
As the engineers pushed farther and farther away from the European
frontier, the country was found to be more and more thinly settled.
Along the line of the Central Siberian railway the average population
was one person per square mile, and the majority of these people
were colonists who had emigrated from European Russia to practise
agriculture in the East, and they were settled for the most part along
the postal road to Tomsk.
Under such conditions labour had to be brought from several hundreds
of miles to the rear. Huge depots had to be established to house
provisions and large camps formed for the employees. Furthermore,
thousands of horses and hundreds of wagons were required in addition
to sleighs. Roads had to be cut for the passage of these vehicles,
and at various points stores of provisions and other necessaries had
to be stored in deep pits dug in the ground, and covered with heavy
tree-trunks to secure protection against bears and other marauders.
The penetration of the dark and matted primeval forests was terrible.
The ground was swampy, and in order to facilitate the advance of
vehicles the soft soil had to be rendered firmer by tree-trunks laid
down to form a kind of timber road. The men engaged in this essential
undertaking suffered extreme privations, not only bodily, but mentally
as well. The terrible solitude preyed upon their minds, while the
rainfall and entire absence of the rudiments of comfort told upon their
constitutions.
In order to facilitate the transportation of the provisions and
material from European Russia to the main depots along the line, the
great waterways were utilised to the fullest extent. Boats of all
descriptions took on these stores at convenient points near the Urals,
such as Tioumen, and by traversing the various tributaries of the
mighty Obi were able to gain numerous points along the location, where
they discharged their cargoes. Thence the goods were dispatched to the
scattered depots and camps by road.
When Irkutsk was gained, the first serious troubles arising from
the mountains confronted the engineers. The survey showed that the
line here would have to describe a huge detour to round the southern
extremity of Lake Baikal, a sheet of water as large as England. The
country was broken up to an extreme degree, and among other works of a
heavy nature involved was a tunnel nearly 12,500 feet long through the
Zyrkousounsk mountain chain, which towers to a height of 12,000 feet
above sea-level. But the tunnel was only one obstacle which would have
to be overcome, for heavy cuttings through rock and big fills to cross
depressions were indicated on all sides. Some idea of the outlook was
afforded from the estimated cost of this 182 miles of line which was
ciphered at £2,700,000, or $13,500,000. As, after compassing the lake,
the line swung sharply north-eastwards to gain Myssovaia, practically
opposite the point on the west bank, a bold temporary expedient was
suggested. This was the installation of a large vessel combining the
features of an ice-breaker and ferry, which should carry the trains
intact across the lake, a distance of about 45 miles. By this means
construction from the eastern bank could be hastened, leaving the
line around the end of the sheet of water to be built at leisure at a
subsequent date.
The construction of this vessel was entrusted to Sir W. G. Armstrong,
Whitworth & Co., Limited, who had undertaken the ice-breaker _Ermak_
which had proved such a unique success in the Baltic Sea. It measures
280 feet in length and has a displacement of 4,200 tons. It is
propelled by twin screws driven by triple expansion engines developing
3,750 horse-power. A third screw is placed in the front, which not only
serves to assist propulsion, but also to crush the ice, the vessel, as
it were, cutting its own channel.
Rails are laid upon the deck of this steamer so that the train, when it
comes to the water’s edge on one bank, proceeds under its own power on
to the steamer, and upon reaching the opposite bank of the lake runs on
to dry land. In addition, there is accommodation for a large number of
passengers.
The vessel was built on the Tyne and then dismantled, every part
being numbered to show its relative position. It was shipped to St.
Petersburg, and from that point dispatched to Krasnoiarsk. Here on the
shores of Lake Baikal the parts were reassembled and the vessel was
launched. This ship-building operation was no mean feat in itself,
bearing in mind the remote situation of the lake and the complete
absence of those thousand-and-one facilities which are to be found in a
shipyard on the Tyne.
The vessel proved a complete success, and the authorities were so
gratified at this solution of a difficult problem that they secured a
second ice-breaker, together with a floating dock where these craft
could be repaired and overhauled as occasion demanded, together with
sufficient equipment for such work. The total expenditure upon this
trans-Baikal marine work alone amounted to £684,190, or $3,420,950.
The line around the shore of the lake, however, has been completed,
providing through continuous railway communication across Siberia.
Passengers can still enjoy the lake trip if they desire or are in a
hurry, as the steamers are still in service, not only for this special
purpose, but also to serve various other points along the shores of
Lake Baikal, thereby bringing a great territory within easy reach of
the railway.
The forging of the link around the lake, however, proved the most
difficult part of the whole undertaking. Bridges across yawning deep
gulches had to be introduced freely and projecting spurs had to be
tunnelled. Heavy gradients and sharp curves could not be avoided owing
to the configuration of the country, and at many places the work is
extremely daring. Despite the difficulties with which the engineer had
to grapple, this trying section was completed two years before the
anticipated date, a result in the main due to the energy and initiative
of one man--Prince Khilkoff.
This scion of one of the oldest and most noble families in Russia was
an extraordinary man, and probably the most famous railway engineer
that Russia has produced. His career was as extraordinary as his
character. When a young man he determined to see things for himself.
For several months he worked at a bench in Liverpool in order to
become familiar with the trade of a mechanic. Then when one of the
early trans-continental railways was being driven across the United
States, he proceeded to that country and joined the navvying gangs at
the railhead, becoming acquainted in turn with the difficulties of
penetrating the mountains, railway-building and a thousand-and-one
other details pertaining to such operations in a new country of a
diversified character. In this way he gained valuable first-hand
knowledge from practical experience. Afterwards he turned his
attention to the operating side, serving first as stoker and then as
driver. Still climbing the ladder, he became traction manager and was
responsible for the running of the line. Few men ever have gained such
an all-round knowledge of the intricate art of controlling a railway as
did Prince Michael Ivanovitch Khilkoff, and one of his most treasured
possessions was an old certificate of character that was given to
him by his superior when he severed his connection with an American
railway, in order to facilitate his securing another post.
The knowledge he thus acquired stood him in valuable stead when
he returned to Russia, where the development of various means of
communication throughout the empire was in a state of transition. On
account of his wide and varied experience he was appointed to the
directorship and control of various railways, and soon brought them to
a high state of efficiency. He achieved the topmost rung of the ladder
when he was appointed minister of all the roads, canals, rivers and
railways of the empire.
The Trans-Siberian road thus came under his control, and he set to
work energetically upon the completion of this tremendous enterprise.
His influence was demonstrated on every hand. Lackadaisical methods
made way for strict business routine, and in a short time the
whole organisation was running with the precision of a clock. His
subordinates when in a quandary never hesitated from seeking his advice
and assistance, which were granted always with sympathetic interest;
and when the obstacle assumed more than normal proportions he did not
attempt its negotiation from an arm-chair thousands of miles away, but
hurried to the spot to study it at first-hand, and to recommend and
assist himself in the breaking down of the difficulty. He had become so
saturated with American railway methods that he travelled up and down
the line continuously; no detail, no matter how slight, missed his eye.
At the time the Circum-Baikal line was in progress he scarcely ever
left the railhead, as it was just one of those complex and exasperating
fights with Nature in which he revelled. At seventy-five he was as
active and as keen as ever, and it was a distinct misfortune for Russia
that he was struck down by a paralytic stroke from which he never
recovered. Still, he left a host of recommendations for the improvement
of the Trans-Siberian and other railways, including the double tracking
of the great trans-continental steel way, which are now being fulfilled.
When Lake Baikal was crossed, the engineers experienced a grim struggle
for supremacy through every foot of the way. There is an up-hill pull
from the shore of the lake over the Yablonovoi range, where the railway
attains its highest point on the continent, viz. 3,412 feet above
sea-level, and then makes a descent to gain the valley of the Amur. The
country traversed is of a varied character, and was found to be tightly
in the grip of frost, for the winter is terribly severe. The land, in
fact, may be described as eternally frozen, for in summer, although the
temperature rises to about 62 degrees, it does not thaw the ground to
a depth of more than 7 feet below the surface. In the forested parts
where the branches shut out the genial rays of the sun, ice is found at
about 20 inches below the surface in midsummer.
Under these circumstances advance was trying. The top-soil was as hard
as rock, and could not be displaced except by dynamite, so that in the
deep cuttings in mid-summer it was just as arduous to cut a way through
the frozen loam as through the solid rock. The rivers, although they
flow with a fierce velocity, freeze up quickly, and the ice assumes a
great depth--a train can cross on the congealed surface with perfect
safety.
In this country, strange to say, it was found to be easier to work
during the winter, notwithstanding the extreme cold, than during the
summer, for a higher rate of advance could be maintained when the
country was frost-bound. There is an almost total absence of snow, but,
on the other hand, during the summer the rainfall is tremendous. The
wet season lasts continuously for nearly two months--from the middle of
June to the middle of August. The downpour is so terrific that floods
are precipitated on every hand, and the resultant situation, as may
be surmised, is of the most miserable character. In 1897 the effect
of this deluge was experienced to an abnormal degree, for several
villages were overwhelmed, and widespread misery was inflicted among
the peasants. The railway did not escape, for large stretches of line
were washed away and large quantities of material were lost.
The scarcity of labour was felt very severely. Sufficient men could not
be recruited locally, and to import navvies from Europe was hopeless.
To meet this contingency the Administration authorities sanctioned
the employment of exiles, while criminals were requisitioned to build
the grade under a military guard. Though recourse to prison labour
has been often advocated for railway construction, this is one of
the rare instances where it has been brought into actual application
through absolute force of circumstances. Assistance was rendered by
Chinese labourers, and though at first they proved indifferent in the
manipulation of tools, their assistance ultimately proved invaluable,
as the majority developed into expert workmen.
As in other parts of the country, the inhabitants were favoured so
far as possible in regard to the acquisition of horses, which were
necessary for teaming and haulage work generally, in a district where
steam traction engines were quite out of the question. The camps
were provided also, so far as practicable, with local produce. In
this territory, however, a serious situation was precipitated. The
harvest failed, and the peasants were faced with starvation. Then the
dreaded disease known locally as “Siberia” ravaged the country. It is
a plague analogous to the rinderpest of South Africa, and has wrought
tremendous havoc throughout the eastern corner of the Russian Empire,
its effects being experienced along the shores of the Pacific. In 1898,
this calamity assumed such proportions that work had to be brought to
a standstill for lack of transportation facilities. The Government
attempted to alleviate the situation by organising a special veterinary
service to study the plague on the spot, with a view to elaborating
some palliative measures. In order to meet the local deficiency the
engineers were compelled to dispatch emissaries into Mongolia to
purchase the hardy beasts of burden peculiar to that country. Large
herds were acquired in this manner and were driven several hundred
miles to the grade.
By means of this section the railway was carried so far east as
Stretensk, from which point the line was to be continued to Khabarovsk.
A modification in the arrangements, however, took place. Under the
original scheme the line was to traverse Russian territory entirely,
although Manchuria thrust its border so far to the north as to demand a
wide detour in order to gain Vladivostok. At last, however, it became
possible to carry the railway into Manchuria, and as a link was being
built across this country, affording a short-cut to the seaboard, the
Amur railway was abandoned, a short length being built to the Chinese
frontier to connect with the Eastern Chinese railways instead.
The result is that the extreme eastern end of the line comes to a
dead-end at Khabarovsk, and in itself is far from being remunerative.
At the time the engineers appeared on the scene the territory had not
been explored, signs of settlement were very few and far between, there
were no roads, and the population was composed mostly of exiles and
prisoners deported from Europe. Construction had to be carried out
almost exclusively by convicts, assisted by the military, Chinese and
Corean labour. The climate being extremely humid in summer, the work
during that period proved terribly exacting, and the difficulties were
enhanced by the ravages of the cattle plague. All material, being
manufactured in European Russia, had to be brought to the extreme
eastern end by water, either via the Suez Canal or the Cape of Good
Hope, and consequently delays were frequent and often serious for both
grade and men.
The primeval forest was terrible to penetrate owing to the huge trees,
which, although they provided ample material for constructional
purposes, demanded considerable effort and time for their removal
from the right-of-way. As the conquest of Manchuria commenced while
this work was in progress, and a shorter cut to Vladivostok was being
provided, a spur was driven westwards from Nikolsk to the Chinese
frontier to meet the Manchurian railway.
Owing to the rearrangement of the railway chess-board in the East in
consequence of the Russo-Japanese war, it is quite possible that the
Trans-Siberian railway will be completed as originally planned--that
is, through Russian territory entirely, by the completion of the Amur
railway from Stretensk to Khabarovsk.
The total cost of the through main line as now in operation was
approximately £33,000,000, or $165,000,000. When the various other
works incidental to the scheme, such as the connections with the
Chinese frontier, are included, the total approaches the enormous
figure of £40,000,000, or $200,000,000. This merely represents the
building of the track itself between Kotlass in European Russia--now
considered a part of the scheme--and Vladivostok, without a single
railway car, wagon or engine. As originally designed, the capacity of
the line was fixed at three trains each way per day, but the lightness
of the construction did not permit this being maintained when the
railway was subjected to great pressure, such as attended the transport
of troops to the East.
The overhaul of the line was commenced immediately, and the question
of doubling the track taken into serious consideration. This latter
work is now in progress, and it is estimated that this task alone will
represent a prodigious expenditure.
The effect of the railway upon the movement of traffic around the
northern hemisphere became manifested immediately. There were two ways
in which China and the East generally could be gained from Europe.
One route was by steamer all the way via the Suez Canal, the second
was by way of the Atlantic, across America by rail, and by steamship
across the Pacific. But the Trans-Siberian route was far and away the
shortest and quickest, and as the campaign of overhaul is proceeding,
acceleration is taking place. Now it is possible to reach Shanghai from
London within 16 days, and one can encircle the northern half of the
world in less than 40 days.
The extreme precautions observed to preserve communication on the
line are noteworthy. The whole railway is divided into sections, each
measuring 1,174 yards in length. Each station is provided with a
cottage housing the station-master, his family and the employees. Some
4000 of these officials are scattered along the route between the Ural
Mountains and the city of Tomsk. The men have a common uniform, which
is rather of a military appearance, and it is no uncommon experience to
hear passengers unfamiliar with this feature remark that the line is
guarded from end to end by soldiers. As a matter of fact, it is just
the same as if the various employees of our railways, such as porters,
signalmen, guards, ticket-collectors, and so forth, were attired in
khaki.
CHAPTER XVII
THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY
South America has constituted a happy hunting-ground for the railway
engineer determined to carry out his conquest with steam and steel in
the face of all opposition on the part of Nature. The famous Oroya line
is described in another part of this volume, but on the eastern side of
the continent is another railway which is equally as remarkable, and
which constitutes one of the most interesting engineering achievements
in this particular field of endeavour south of the Equator. Indeed,
in many respects it ranks as one of the most interesting lines in the
world.
This is the Leopoldina railway, which, with its hub resting on the
Atlantic seaboard, has its tentacles spreading through the provinces
of Rio, Minaes and Espirito Santo to the extent of some 1,500 or more
miles. In reality it is a combination of many units. In the ’sixties of
the nineteenth century, Brazil resolved to criss-cross its territory
with steel, and short lengths of line were laid on all sides. But the
finances of the country became so strained from internal troubles and
the decline in the price of coffee that money could not be spared to
build or to operate railways successfully. An English company was
organised, therefore, to take over a number of these individual roads,
and they were combined into a homogeneous whole to form the Leopoldina
system.
When the Englishmen entered into possession they found a sorry state of
things. The finances were in a hopelessly involved tangle, and months
elapsed before they were straightened out. The tracks likewise were
in a pitiable condition of decay. They had been built cheaply, and
had suffered severely from the innumerable enemies to railways in a
tropical country. Lack of funds had militated against repairs being
carried out upon a comprehensive or thorough scale, with the result
that the whole system presented a patched and dilapidated appearance.
However, no time was lost in placing the undertaking upon a firm
footing. Within two months of the acquisition of the railways a
large staff of men for both the administration and engineering sides
of the enterprise were dispatched to South America, with Mr. F. W.
Barrow as general manager and Mr. Norman B. Dickson, M.INST.C.E., as
engineer-in-chief. The engineer was commanded to overhaul the whole
network, to reconstruct it if necessary, so that the lines might be
capable of meeting the exigencies of the traffic awaiting creation from
the development of the country.
At that time Rio de Janeiro was an insalubrious city--in fact, it was
almost a graveyard for Englishmen. Mr. Dickson found this out in a very
short space of time. The company lost three accountants and a number of
British assistants under the malignant scourge that prevailed--yellow
fever. Since those days Rio de Janeiro has made great strides and has
undergone extensive improvement. The city has been rebuilt, and has
been provided with a complete sanitation system, to bring it into
line with the other great ports of the world. But in those days it
was absolutely untenantable from the white man’s point of view, and
the railway authorities were compelled to provide accommodation for
their imported staff in a healthy spot outside the city, where the
men underwent what might be described as a process of acclimatisation
lasting over eighteen months.
The first few years were strenuous to the engineer-in-chief. He was
confronted with a formidable task on all sides. The line is of metre,
or 39.3 inches, gauge throughout, and had been built in a somewhat
flimsy and haphazard manner. The majority of the bridges and culverts
had been erected of timber, the greater part of which either had
reached, or were approaching closely, the span of life. These had to
be replaced by permanent structures in masonry or steel. The track,
too, had to be overhauled from end to end, reballasted, provided with
new sleepers and rails, and at frequent points where it was in an
exposed position, and liable to suffer from the peculiar visitations
which wreak such widespread destruction in that country, had to be
strengthened and protected by heavy retaining walls and revetments of
masonry.
Yet the Brazilian engineers had attempted a daring engineering work in
the first instance. The configuration of Brazil is somewhat peculiar.
A few miles from the coast, and running roughly parallel with the
water-line, is a rugged range of mountains dividing the low-lying
stretch of shore from the fertile highlands in the interior. The
mountain ridge is not regular, but is badly broken up, forming, as
it were, a succession of walls placed one behind the other. In order
to gain the interior, and owing to the abrupt nature of the ascent,
the line has to climb sharply, at the same time winding in and out
among the clumps of mountains in a bewildering manner. In fact, the
differences in level are so sudden that the track could be lifted only
by means of resort to the rack rail, and other devices such as are
adopted in Switzerland to ascend the steep mountain slopes.
For instance, after leaving the coast, the first ridge is met within
30 miles, and in the course of 5 miles the line has to rise some
3000 feet. This involved the use of grades varying from 15 to 18 per
cent.--from 1 in 6⅔ to 1 in 5-5/9--and when first laid down the line
was worked upon the Riggenbach system.
It is worth while to recall that it was on the low-level part of this
section to Petropolis that the iron horse made its first appearance in
South America. The short length of line, representing about 13 or 14
miles, between Maua and Raiz da Serra was the first stretch of railway
to be laid and used on the continent south of the Equator.
[Illustration: A STEEP BANK SHOWING THE CENTRAL RACK RAIL]
[Illustration: TRAIN ON THE RACK SECTION OF THE PETROPOLIS DIVISION,
SHOWING THE CURIOUS TYPE OF LOCOMOTIVE ADOPTED
HOW THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY OVERCOMES HEAVY GRADES]
On another part of the system--the line running inland from Nictheroy,
on the eastern side of the bay of Rio de Janeiro--the Brazilian
engineers were compelled to overcome one of the most searching problems
in railway engineering in the world. After traversing forty miles of
the level country, the mountain ridge barred their way. They realised
that it could be surmounted only by some exceptional system, and the
local authorities seized a unique opportunity. The Mont Cenis tunnel,
connecting Italy and France, had been bored successfully, and this new
steel highway through the heart of the range displaced the construction
railway operating on the Fell system which had been laid over the
crest of the Cenis range. The Brazilian engineers thereupon approached
the Swiss authorities for the purchase of this abandoned stretch of
mountain line, and their offer was accepted. Thereupon the Mont Cenis
“Fell” railway was torn up, transported to South America, and pressed
into service to help the Brazilian engineers over the obstacle that
confronted them.
[Illustration: REBUILDING A BRIDGE ON THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY
The masonry structure had to be built beside the original iron
structure so as not to disturb traffic.]
The solution proved completely successful, and the engines fulfilled
their task upon the eight per cent. grades with perfect satisfaction
for several years. Then the Baldwin Company, of Philadelphia, undertook
to eliminate the special locomotives required on the “Fell” system, and
to convert the railway to adhesion working. Recalling the fact that
for every twelve and a half feet of advance one makes a vertical rise
of twelve inches, such a conversion appears remarkably daring, but the
experiment justified the transformation, for the adhesion locomotives,
notwithstanding the extreme severity of the gradient and the sharpness
of the curves, which have a minimum radius of seventy-five feet, have
accomplished the work formerly completed by the “Fell” locomotives with
equal success. The result is that this represents the steepest length
of line upon a trunk railway to be worked by adhesion traction in the
world.
The locomotives weigh forty tons, and they are capable of hauling
a train weighing forty-five tons on the drawbar up this bank. In
comparison with such climbs the “Big Hill” which worried the Canadian
Pacific railway engineers for so many years, appears insignificant.
The disadvantage of the grade on the latter system was the frequency
with which trains ran away down the declivity to enter one or other of
the switches or catch-points, which deflected the train or locomotive
from the main track and piled it against a bank of earth. Such
accidents on the “Big Hill” were nothing to what have occurred on the
Leopoldina line. The great difficulty is not in regard to ascending
the grade with a load, although there is a possibility of the engine
failing to take the hill, and to let its driving wheels spin round idly
on the metals without forging a foot ahead. The traffic destined for
the interior is comparatively light. The heaviest loads are brought
from the highlands to the coast, and consequently the question is to
hold the train in check as it descends. Ordinary braking is useless,
as, although the wheels may be locked, the whole train is liable to
toboggan down the metal slide almost as furiously as if the wheels
were running freely. The situation has been met by firstly reversing
the engines and letting a small amount of steam into the cylinders
sufficient to act as a break, and by retaining the centre rail of
the Fell system and to grip it by means of a strong scissors brake.
Inasmuch as the engineers are extremely careful when descending the
hill, runaways are few and far between.
[Illustration: A FLOOD ON THE LINE
The track is submerged by the torrential rainfall.]
[Illustration: A DERAILMENT CAUSED BY THE TRAIN COLLIDING WITH A COW!
CURIOUS TROUBLES EXPERIENCED ON THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY]
Now and again, however, a train gets out of control, especially when
the rails are wet and slippery. To meet this condition of affairs the
driver, of course, makes liberal use of sand, but here again the fates
are against him, for owing to the sharp curves it is no easy matter to
induce the sand falling from the engine’s sand-boxes to drop on the
face of, and not between or outside, the rails. When a train does get
out of hand on the descent the driver has to trust to luck to gain
the bottom of the bank in safety, or to regain control of his charge.
Sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he fails. In the latter case
derailment generally ensues, with more or less disastrous results. Mr.
Dickson had a narrow escape from this danger himself one day. He was
carrying out his periodical inspection of the line from his special
carriage coupled to a locomotive. In coming down the bank something
went wrong, and the train got away. The engineer-in-chief admits that
he had an uncomfortably anxious few minutes. He felt the train gather
speed, and suffered violent oscillation as the train swung round the
bends. Just as he was wondering what would be the end, there was a
jump and a crash. The engine had left the track, rolled over, and
his car was astride the overturned locomotive. He crawled out of the
wreck, badly shaken and bruised, but otherwise little the worse for his
adventure, though the unfortunate driver was killed.
[Illustration: AN INTERESTING ENGINEERING ACHIEVEMENT
This 160-feet bridge span had to be erected and pulled into position
over rollers.]
[Illustration: BRIDGE OVER THE PARAHYBUNA RIVER, SHOWING HEIGHT OF
RIVER IN FLOOD AND FORCE OF WATER SURGING ROUND THE PIERS
THE LEOPOLDINA RAILWAY IN BRAZIL]
In order to negotiate the third mountain range another solution of the
difficulty was adopted. The precipice was so steep that the engineers
could not introduce the loops requisite to carry the line continuously
from one level to the other. So they had recourse to the switch-back,
wherein the line runs down-hill for a short distance to a dead-end.
This brings the engine of the descending train to the rear, and by
giving the latter a slight push it is sent down another similar
switch-back to another dead-end, where the engine is brought once more
to the front of the train. In this manner, alternately pulling and
pushing, the train gains the bottom or top of the level of the line,
according to the direction in which it is travelling. In reality it is
a zigzag, similar in character to that which was used for so many years
upon the New South Wales railways, as described elsewhere.
Although on the eastern side of the continent the engineer is spared
the ravages of snow and avalanches, he suffers from other disturbing
elements which perhaps are more to be dreaded. These are floods,
wash-outs and landslides. The rainfall in this territory averages
between 90 and 100 inches during the year, and when the rainstorms
break the downfall is tremendous. The rivers are converted into roaring
cataracts, huge cavities are torn in the flanks of the mountains, and
enormous quantities of debris are released. Should the line be in
the way of such a visitation it suffers severely. It is no uncommon
circumstance for a huge gap to be cut in the railway, showing where
the tearing water or descending mass of earth has crashed through the
track, sweeping everything before it. Nothing can withstand the force
of these onslaughts, and although heavy retaining walls of masonry
may serve to check their fury, they are not completely successful.
The result is that when the rains are expending their violence, the
engineer-in-chief is prepared for some heavy repairing work, for
possibly 100,000 tons or more of earthen embankment may be demolished.
Then the engineer hurriedly completes a new survey, and replaces the
track around the scene of the accident, because reconstruction, as a
rule, is more economical and quicker than attempting to repair the
injury inflicted.
This, at times, and in a cramped valley, is no easy task, for the
curvature has to be borne in mind. Consequently the destruction often
precipitates a pretty engineering problem, extrication from which
depends upon the engineer’s resources and ingenious ability entirely.
There is no doubt that the control of a South American railway, where
such conditions as these prevail, imposes a supreme task upon a man’s
capacity. Wash-outs and landslips will find the engineer out more
quickly than any other emergency, because he is called upon to keep
the track going at all hazards, and when a breach does occur, his own
enterprise and initiative alone determine the length of the period
of interruption to traffic. On such a line as the Leopoldina railway
this is a serious factor, because there is a constant heavy volume of
produce, especially coffee, maize, tobacco and sugar, pouring towards
the coast. During a recent year floods, wash-outs and landslides
cost the railway no less than, £24,500, or $122,500. This was a
year of abnormal disaster in this direction, but the item generally
approximates between £12,000 and £14,000, or $60,000 and $70,000, in
the course of the twelve months.
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE OVER THE PARAHYBUNA RIVER AT CAMPOS UNDER
CONSTRUCTION]
[Illustration: THE PARAHYBUNA RIVER BRIDGE COMPLETED. TOTAL LENGTH
1,113½ FEET
The crossing of this waterway by the Leopoldina Railway created a riot
in Campos.]
The replacement of the decrepit bridges occasioned Mr. Dickson
no little perplexity, but this work became all the more urgent, as
the original structures could not withstand the heavier locomotives
and trains that were introduced by the British company. One of the
most difficult undertakings of this character was the erection of
a massive masonry arch bridge in three spans upon the rack system
of the Petropolis branch. Each span is of 50 feet, and the work was
complicated by being on a curve of 80 metres, or about 266 feet radius.
It had to replace a trestle bridge, and reconstruction had to progress
without interfering with traffic. Another notable piece of work which
he completed successfully was the erection of a single steel girder
bridge of 160 feet span across the Parahybuna River. Owing to the
velocity of the current and the great depth of water, false-work was
quite out of the question, so the steel-work had to be erected on
shore, rolled out, and launched into position, being held in check by
cables, which proved a trying ordeal owing to the current. When brought
into position between the abutments, the steel-work was lifted by means
of jacks, the temporary nose was dismantled, and the span lowered until
it rested in the desired position upon its supports.
[Illustration:
[_See page 224_
THE ROCKBOUND SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR SEVERELY TAXED THE ENGINEERS IN
THE BUILDING OF THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY
At places, construction averaged as much as £70,000, or $350,000, per
mile.]
Occasionally the advance of the railway has been resented by the
inhabitants. For instance, when it was decided to carry the railway
across the Parahybuna River at Campos, the populace of the latter
town considered it an unwarranted intrusion. They were urged that
the railway bridge would cause their trade on the waterway to shrink
to infinitesimal proportions. Thereupon the inhabitants raided the
railway, and zealously set to work to destroy everything destined for
the bridge. The situation looked ugly, but the authorities took stern
measures and quelled the riot, though not before damage to the extent
of £40,000, or $200,000, had been wrought.
This bridge is one of the most important upon the whole system. From
end to end it measures 1,113½ feet, divided into six through truss
spans supported upon five pairs of piers in the waterway.
This outbreak of hostility, however, was quite exceptional. In the
interior the natives have welcomed the railway rather than attempted to
arrest its progress. This feeling has taken an unusual turn at places
where the communities have presented the land for the right-of-way,
and in other cases have built stations at their own expense. Since the
railway has been under British control the expansion of the country
has proceeded rapidly, and the exploitation of the soil has proved
highly profitable. The railway maintains an active progressive policy,
throwing out spur lines wherever the local conditions promise an
equitable return, to encourage development. These branches are not
built upon pioneer principles, but are equal in every respect to the
trunk roads.
The amount of earthwork incurred in the construction is enormous.
Ninety per cent. of the mileage of the line is carried out upon the
sides of the hills, necessitating cuttings sufficiently deep and
wide to carry the track. The location for the most part is along the
banks of the rivers, inasmuch as these offer the easiest channels to
penetrate the mountain ridges. As these waterways describe extremely
meandering courses, the railway is a maze of twists and turns. In
fact, the line might be described, after it leaves the flats along the
coast, as a continuous succession of curves and reverse curves, more
often than not, without an intervening stretch of tangent, or straight,
length of track. As a result fantastic “S” windings, horse-shoe bends,
and figure-eight loops abound, though the minimum curve is of 266 feet
radius.
Despite its remarkable serpentine character, however, the Brazilian
engineers displayed marked ability in the original location, bearing
in mind the state of railway engineering at the date these lines were
undertaken. When Mr. Dickson appeared on the scene to straighten out
the railway, the natives constituted his sole labour, and he found that
the Brazilian engineers were adapted eminently to the work of surveying
and locating, being possessed of a specially good eye for a railway
line through difficult country. The labour, too, in general, was
found to be of a high standard. The Chinaman is generally regarded as
the best navvy, but according to this engineer who has had experience
in railway construction in all parts of the world, his preference is
overwhelmingly in favour of the Brazilian Portugee. He takes a pride
in his work, is conscientious, and performs his task thoroughly.
These traits stood the engineer-in-chief in good stead in his work of
overhaul, for it enabled him to produce a line which, from the point of
excellence and solidity, would be difficult to rival in more advanced
countries. In the upkeep of the line the same characteristics are
observable. The men are tidy, keep the track in excellent condition,
and leave little cause for complaint in regard to the maintenance of
the railway buildings, taking pride in their individual sections. They
have proved first-class engine-drivers, displaying every care, for on a
railway of this character, bristling with sharp curves and steep banks,
accidents are liable to be caused from the slightest miscalculation.
When disasters have occurred, it has been found that the causes have
been quite beyond the men’s control.
Under British management the railway has been rescued completely from
its former moribund condition, greater stretches of fertile country
have been brought under cultivation, and a general air of prosperity
has been imparted to the territory which it serves. From the financial
point of view the investment has proved a complete success, with the
result that the Leopoldina railway to-day offers a most powerful
example of the beneficial influences of English management among the
railways of South America.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIRST CANADIAN TRANS-CONTINENTAL RAILWAY
As the railway expansion of Canada developed by leaps and bounds,
ambitious spirits contemplated larger and larger conquests, culminating
in a desire to build a link of steel right across the country from
coast to coast. This feeling was natural. On the Atlantic seaboard,
settlement advanced at a rapid rate in the Lower Provinces and forced
its way steadily inland. On the Pacific side, civilisation firmly
planted in British Columbia spread towards the Rocky Mountains. These
two colonising forces, working in the same country, were as wide apart
as if at the Poles, for the intervening plains stretching from the
Great Lakes to the Rockies were considered useless.
British Columbia felt this isolation keenly. All traffic had to be
carried round the southern extremity of the American continent.
To travel from London to Vancouver in the ’fifties was an heroic
undertaking, involving a journey more than half-way round the globe.
Some of the trade, however, was maintained overland. For instance,
the provisions for the Hudson’s Bay post at Vancouver were dispatched
from Montreal over a trail some 3000 miles in length. But it was a
tremendous task, occupying several weeks. The pack train left Montreal
in May, and the water route was followed so far as practicable to Fort
Garry, where Winnipeg now stands. Here the rivers were abandoned in
favour of horses, mules and wagons which trekked slowly across the
prairies--the voyageurs living on the buffalo which roamed the plains
in their thousands--threaded the terrible mountain rifts, and dropped
down to the coast, reaching Vancouver about the end of September. The
trail was ill-defined and the journey bristled with exciting incidents
and adventures.
The disadvantages of this means of communication between the opposite
sides of the continent were realised only too fully, so when the
railway had become established in Eastern Canada and had demonstrated
its tremendous possibilities, an iron link across the Dominion was
advocated strenuously. But the vastness of the undertaking was
deemed to be beyond the possibilities of the country; the cost was
contemplated to be so huge that capitalists would not venture to commit
themselves to the fulfilment of such a project. One of the advocates
of the enterprise suggested that it should be built by convict-labour
in order to reduce the expense of construction, and curiously enough
he suggested that the line should be carried through the Kicking Horse
Pass, through which the Canadian Pacific makes its way to the Pacific
to-day.
It was in 1851 that the idea of a trans-continental railway first
crystallised into a tangible project; but as it eclipsed in conception
anything attempted in railway building up to that time, there was
considerable timidity in launching out upon a line some 3000 miles in
length. So matters drifted until the first trans-continental railway
was thrown across the United States, and San Francisco was brought
within a few days’ travel of New York. The agitation then broke out
anew for a trans-Canadian line, and Sir Hugh Allan approached the
Government with a definite scheme. However, he failed to enlist the
practical assistance of financiers, and so the theme ranked as a
perennial topic of discussion until the ratification of a project
supported by the Government in 1881.
It is doubtful in the history of British North America whether
any project of avowed benefit to the community has experienced
such vicissitudes as the first trans-Canadian railway. It wrecked
ministries, brought about the political extinction of more than one
promising member of Parliament, provoked heated agitation, and involved
the abortive expenditure of large sums of money.
The Government, however, decided to help private initiative
sufficiently daring to attempt the undertaking in a liberal manner.
In the first place a subsidy of £5,000,000, or $25,000,000, was
granted to aid construction; the Government undertook to build 713
miles with its own resources, and made a free gift of 25,000,000 acres
of land fringing its route. At that time the land was worthless, so
its bestowal was not of immediate value, but to-day it represents an
asset of incalculable value, and gives the company a sheet anchor of
tremendous strength.
In the end the Government went very much farther. It made a free
gift of the line it had constructed, which was worth at the very
least,£7,000,000, or $35,000,000. While construction was in progress
there was urgent need for further money. Financiers refused to provide
funds, and as a result the Government stepped in and advanced a loan
of £6,000,000--$30,000,000--which action was so bitterly criticised
at the time that the Ministry was urged to wipe off the debt once and
for all by making it a gift, for all the prospect there was of it
ever being repaid. But the loan was redeemed, partly by an issue of
stock, and partly by the Government buying back some 7,000,000 of the
25,000,000 acres which it had given to the company in the first place
at 6 shillings per acre, representing to all intents and purposes a
further gift of some,£2,000,000, or $10,000,000. Probably no railway
undertaking has ever been treated with such prodigal liberality in
the history of the iron horse; but at the time it was warranted
fully, bearing in mind the magnitude of the scheme and the tremendous
difficulties which confronted the company at every turn.
[Illustration: THE “GAP,” THE EASTERN ENTRANCE OF THE CANADIAN PACIFIC
RAILWAY TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS]
When construction commenced in grim earnest the builders found that
the critics had not erred on the side of under-estimation in regard
to the character of the difficulties to be overcome. The thin band
of steel was driven through country of which practically nothing was
known; where every succeeding mile revealed something unexpected. For
instance, in following the shore of Lake Superior it was one desperate
grapple with Nature for every yard. Mountains dropped sheer into
the lake, and their humps were divided by stretches of wicked muskeg,
the Indian name for swamp, where in many cases the bottom defied being
discovered, and where thousands of tons of rock were swallowed up
without showing any gratifying result.
[Illustration: WHERE THE “BIG HILL” WAS CUT OUT ON THE CANADIAN PACIFIC
RAILWAY, BETWEEN HECTOR AND FIELD
To secure easier gradients, over 8 miles of new line were built. The
new track is shown at left.]
To-day it is possible, from wider knowledge, to criticise the company
upon their selection of this route, but at the time it was taken in
hand there was no alternative. For a solid 100 miles along the shores
of Lake Superior the work assumed a spectacular aspect. The high rocky
cliffs either had to be tunnelled, blasted right out of the way, or
deep long cuts had to be driven through the solid obstruction.
In those days the camps did not enjoy the comforts that are possible
now. The food was of the coarsest description--in fact, often it
was nauseous. Yet it was the best that could be secured under the
circumstances. I met one of the men who had helped to drive the grade
along the shore of Lake Superior, and he described the interest
and curiosity that was provoked by the arrival of the first tin of
condensed milk. To them, milk was a luxury indeed, and they as much
anticipated its association with their tea or coffee as they would
have entertained the possibility of receiving a glass of champagne.
The tin of milk was produced, and when the first recipient had read
the story of the label it was handed round to every man in turn. They
scarcely could conceive the possibility of being able to preserve such
a perishable product in a tin, and they refrained from investigating
the contents. At last, one of the more daring spirits took out his
ponderous pocket- or jack-knife and plunged it into the lid. Tipping
the vessel slightly, he watched the contents exude in a thin viscous
stream on to his finger. Hesitatingly he tasted it, and the intense
satisfaction with which he smacked his lips showed that it was a tasty
article at all events, although it might be rank poison for aught they
knew. All in turn submitted the commodity to this preliminary test,
and there was a unanimous exclamation as to its palatable qualities.
Very little of that tin of condensed milk was employed for its avowed
purpose: the majority of the men preferred to enjoy it in its raw
condition, as it was something entirely new to their frontier table. As
a result the greater part of the coffee and tea was drunk that morning
in its black state, relieved with sugar only, as the contents of the
tin disappeared in a far from orthodox manner.
The resistance which the rock offered was heart-rending. The men,
by superhuman effort, could make their way forward only a few feet
per day. Under these circumstances the task swallowed money as
remorselessly as the muskeg absorbed dumped rock. Results proved that
the construction of the line along this shore for about 100 miles was
as expensive as threading the mountains, and in one instance the price
mounted to as high as £140,000, or $700,000, per mile, rendering it
easily one of the most costly stretches of road ever constructed.
But though the fight offered by the rock was stern, that presented
by the muskeg was every whit as bad, though it was of a different
character. The great danger against which the company had to contend
was the creeping of the rails. The spongy nature of the soil over which
the track was laid caused a movement of the metals under the weight
of a passing train. It was just as if the rails had been laid on a
mass of resilient india-rubber. The lines would move to one side or
the other and often widen out sufficiently to permit a train to drop
between them. It was observed that as a train passed the elastic soil
rose and fell in a series of little waves, often attaining a height
of six inches, while the engineers could see the rails moving under
the passing of the train. It was quite out of the question to spike
the rails firmly to the sleepers, since the movement was so great that
the metals would have forced themselves from their foundation. As it
was, the gangers had to overhaul the stretch of track crossing the
muskeg once every week. The engineer strove valiantly to overcome the
eccentric movement of the rails, and only succeeded by dint of great
effort in rendering it perfectly safe. But in this work he had to use
sleepers measuring 12 feet in length, instead of those of standard
dimensions of 8 feet.
Then trouble arose with the contractors in regard to the cost of
excavation. Naturally the expenditure under this heading varied
according to the character of the material encountered, for obviously
gravel, clay, and loam were far easier and cheaper to remove than rock,
and this latter varied in its workability according to its geological
formation. In one case this dispute became a bitter bone of contention
between the company and the contractors. Upon the completion of the
work the former came to the conclusion that it had been charged an
excessive sum for the work, and upon consideration of the returns of
the earth removed were convinced that an erroneous return had been
made. Amicable adjustment of the difference proving fruitless, recourse
had to be made to the courts, and the authorities ordered the cutting
to be re-measured so as to determine the quantity of soil removed.
In one instance the contractors were forced to return a sum of about
£60,000, or $300,000, and many other firms of constructional engineers
had to make repayments. It was not a question of fraud, but purely
misinterpretation of the character of the soil handled; yet it served
to promote inharmonious working between the company and its contractors.
On the prairie, constructional effort was not taxed to a supreme degree
except in regard to water. This was found to be scarce in many parts,
and is even so to-day. The country threaded is a continuation of the
arid stretches of North Dakota and Montana, and where the land can
only be brought to a state of remunerative productivity by recourse to
irrigation. Science, however, has discounted the deficiency of nature,
and to-day this dry belt is as generously supplied with water as those
more favoured with ample natural resources farther north, though of
course the settler is compelled to pay his quota to the expense of
irrigation in the form of a higher price for the land.
It was when the mountains were met, however, that the real troubles
of the company commenced. The battle against the rocky bluffs round
Lake Superior was as mere child’s play to what was encountered when
the mountain barrier was entered. The Government had surveyed a route
through the mountains, and its choice had fallen upon the Yellowhead
Pass, the lowest summit in the range, which is only 3,723 feet above
the level of the ocean. It was the obvious portal through the mountains
to the coast, but the company decided to thread the chain farther
to the south. This decision aroused considerable criticism, and the
Government only relented by stipulating that if the Rockies were
penetrated at any other point it should be at least 100 miles north
of the International Boundary. When the project was consummated it
was stipulated that grades should not exceed 1 in 52.8 feet, and the
Yellowhead fulfilled this requirement strictly to the letter.
However, the Government’s requirements being fulfilled, the line was
forced through the range by way of the Kicking Horse Pass, a high road
used by the _couriers du bois_ for some years previously. But it proved
a trying piece of work. The river is a boiling stream and difficult of
approach. The mountains rear up on all sides, and in order to force
their way forward the engineers had to resort to herculean efforts,
spanning tumultuous streams and carving narrow winding ledges on the
sides of the mountains. Moreover, it is a heavy up-hill pull for mile
after mile, until at last the summit is gained at an altitude of 5,329
feet. To gain this point the line winds in a bewildering manner, but
the vistas of mountain scenery that are unfolded are difficult to
parallel out of Switzerland.
[Illustration: HOW THE CANADIAN PACIFIC LINE CREEPS ROUND TOWERING
PRECIPICES ALONG THE FRASER RIVER]
When this part of the work was taken in hand the original arrangements
comprised tunnelling beneath a glacier and through the hump of Mount
Stephen, but as there was loud clamouring for the completion of the
line, this undertaking, which would have involved a great length of
time, and which would have proved exceedingly costly, was abandoned
for the time being in favour of a “temporary line.” That deviation,
however, fulfilled its temporary requirements for a prolonged period--a
matter of some thirty years to be precise--and only recently has been
improved.
[Illustration: IN THREADING THE FRASER RIVER CANYON THE ENGINEERS
WERE COMPELLED TO HUG THE WATERWAY, THOUGH IT INVOLVED THE BORING OF
NUMEROUS SHORT TUNNELS]
In making the deviation serious delays were experienced. A rocky
obstacle stood in the way and tunnelling was commenced, but this work
had to be abandoned owing to the collapse of the burrow, and a sharp
curve and heavy bank introduced. The result was that it was found
impossible to comply with the Government’s requirements concerning the
maximum gradient, because in order to descend from Hector to Field,
a distance of about 10 miles, a difference of 1,143 feet had to be
overcome. This introduced a grade adverse to eastbound traffic of
237 feet to the mile, and it proved a heavy stumbling-block against
the economical operation of the line for many years, and one which
increased in severity with every succeeding year.
Yet the conquest of the Rockies was a marvellous piece of engineering,
especially on three miles of this bank, which was so steep as to earn
the name of the “Big Hill,” for it rose 12 inches in every 22 feet,
and was one of the stiffest pieces of road to be worked by adhesion
that ever had been laid down on a railway. It was so steep as to be
dangerous, a fact testified by the number of safety switches, or “catch
points,” that were introduced. The man in charge of one of these
points, observing an engine coming down-hill, did not know whether it
had run away or not until the engine-driver whistled a signal which
conveyed the information that he desired the switch to be set to the
main line, for normally it was left open and a runaway at that point
would have been turned into the bank, to end its mad career in a wreck.
Now and again engines did run away, and the “Big Hill” has witnessed
many exciting escapes among the engine-drivers and train gangs. To
grasp the significance of this engine “pull,” one required to see the
“Limited” steaming from the Pacific to the Atlantic. It got to the
bottom of the hill, and there three other engines were attached to the
train to push it up the ever-dropping metals for over three miles,
while the clouds of smoke and live cinders belched into the air, and
the terrible roar of the engines straining at the load testified to the
tremendous effort that was required to get a speed of five miles an
hour on the train. It was this feature that led a humorist to remark
that the Canadian Pacific railway never had any occasion to ballast
the track on the “Big Hill.” The engines performed this operation
spontaneously and automatically in their labour, and to far better
effect than would have been possible by ordinary means.
Considerable excitement was experienced in its construction. According
to some of the men whom I met, and who had been connected with the
grading through the Kicking Horse Pass, the ballast trains failed
time after time to secure a grip on the metals, and with their
driving-wheels spinning round madly in the forward direction they
skidded backwards down-hill. Now and again there would be a nasty
smash, in which engine and the ballast cars were mixed up in an
inextricable heap. It is reported even that on one occasion, while the
snow-plough was out clearing the drift on the “Hill,” the driver of the
locomotive lost the plough, and did not discover the fact until he had
gained the top, although he was pushing the snow-clearing apparatus! It
was so difficult to keep the wheel gripping the rails that he did not
notice the difference in the resistance when the snow-plough went over
one side.
From the Government’s strict point of view the Canadian Pacific was not
completed until about two years ago, although trains have been running
between the Atlantic and Pacific for some thirty years. The authorities
pointed out that the grade was an essential part of the contract, and
yet, in order to pass through the Kicking Horse Pass, the company had
exceeded that grade to a very considerable extent. Consequently eight
miles of line was non-existent so far as the Government was concerned,
and it declined to contribute any subsidy to that short length of
the railway. Two years ago compliance was made with the Government’s
agreement. The route through the Kicking Horse Pass was re-aligned.
This piece of work was carried out by the late J. E. Schwitzer,
and from its daring nature it will always stand as a monument to
his engineering ability. He cut out the “Big Hill” entirely. Where
previously a bank rising 1 in 22¼ existed for 4.1 miles, he provided a
stretch of line double the length and of one-half the gradient, so that
the engines only have to overcome a climb of 1 in 45½.
In order to ease the grade the line swings from one side of the narrow
valley to the other. Travelling westwards it disappears into the flank
of Cathedral Mountain, describing a curve in the tunnel to emerge
into the valley about 40 feet below the point where it enters the
mountain side. It then strikes across the valley to enter the slopes
of Wapata Mountain, where another tunnel on a curve like a corkscrew
lowers the level of the line for another 40 feet. Once more it crosses
the valley, the meanderings being so bewildering as to form a perfect
maze. It recalls the wonderful spiral tunnel-work on the St. Gotthard
railway where a similar difficulty had to be overcome, and, indeed,
the conquest of the Kicking Horse Pass in this manner was based
evidently upon the great work in Switzerland. Still, it marks the first
application of this ingenious solution of a trying problem to the
American continent.
To bring the Kicking Horse Pass section of the line within the
recognition of the Government, however, entailed the expenditure of
some,£300,000, or $1,500,000, and found employment for about 1000
men for twenty months. Train-load after train-load of dynamite was
brought up in order to enable the path to be hewn through the mountain
flanks, and by the time the task was completed over 1,500,000 pounds
of explosives had been used--something like,£50,000, or $250,000, had
vanished literally in smoke to tear down the rock. But the outlay will
be recouped well. Where four engines were required formerly two now
suffice to handle a 700-ton train, and they can rattle through the Pass
at a steady 25 miles an hour, whereas previously a bare six miles could
be notched.
Emerging from the Rockies the engineers were confronted by another
towering obstacle--the Selkirks. This range was to be dreaded more than
the barrier just left behind, for there was a trail through the Rockies
to guide the engineers, whereas the Selkirks had never been threaded.
The Indians and Hudson’s Bay _voyageurs_, after emerging from the
Rockies, turned sharply south to follow the Columbia River.
The first task, therefore, was to discover a rift through the Selkirks
through which the metals might be carried. It was shorter to go
through the mountains than to go round them if any pass could be found
to exist. Major Albert B. Rogers, an American engineer, accordingly
saddled his horse and with a supply of provisions set off to search
for a “Pass.” He wandered up and down the range without success for
week after week, and then, just as he was despairing of success, his
eye alighted on a narrow breach between two serried lines of snow-clad
peaks. He spurred forward, traversing territory on which the feet
of neither white nor red man had been planted, climbing and toiling
arduously among the crags, until at last he gained an altitude of 4,351
feet, from which the opposite sides of the range sloped down once more
to the Columbia River Valley.
[Illustration: THE STEEL ARCH BRIDGE ACROSS STONEY CREEK IN THE SELKIRK
MOUNTAINS
This graceful structure replaced a wooden bridge supported on timber
towers 200 feet in height.]
Rogers’ Pass, as this defile through the Selkirks was named in
honour of the discoverer, was followed. It did not offer any great
difficulties from the grading point of view. The greatest enemy was
snow and avalanche. The snowfall among these mountains is the heaviest
along the line, while the avalanches are of terrible frequency.
Consequently the absorbing question was how to keep the line intact
after once it had been laid. It was impossible to avoid the defined
paths of the snow movements entirely, and in these cases huge sheds
had to be erected to carry the avalanche harmlessly over the track to
expend its violence in the gulch below. The extent of snow-shedding
through the Selkirks is amazing, and it has proved terribly costly.
[Illustration: THE RAILWAY TRAVERSING THE TUMBLED THOMPSON RIVER CANYON]
When the engineers attacked this country, as the laying of the
track was the paramount requirement it was pushed forward with all
speed during the short summer, and parties of men equipped with
meteorological instruments, and vehicles for movement during winter,
and supplies of stores, were left at different points to study the snow
question, so as to collect data for the situation of the snow-sheds.
There was no difficulty in determining this latter point, for the
avalanches appeared to rain down upon the track from all sides. The
question was not so much where to introduce the sheds, but where they
could be omitted. It appeared as if the line would have to be carried
almost continuously through a wooden tunnel to ensure its safety.
That the snow-fiend is no mean enemy was brought home forcibly some
three years ago. While a snow, train was climbing up the western slope,
clearing away the accumulated mass of snow and debris deposited by a
slide upon the track, another avalanche swept down upon the little band
working so desperately to cut a path for the mail. Over 100 men were on
the train when the terror of the mountains struck them and swept the
whole into the gulch below, the locomotives and plough weighing over
50 tons being bowled over and over like an india-rubber ball as they
were hurtled down the steep slopes. Over fifty lives were lost in that
catastrophe, and it was but one of many which have happened since the
Selkirks were first gridironed by the railway.
But snow-shedding, while securing the safety of the line, has its
drawbacks. If a structure is made too lengthy it becomes filled with
suffocating smoke which obscures all signals, and deadens all sounds.
In summer another danger exists. The district threaded is one ravaged
heavily by forest fires, and the danger from this enemy was only too
vividly apparent. At this juncture Mr. W. C. Van Horne came to the
rescue of the engineers, as he had done on many previous occasions, to
extricate them from their difficulty. He suggested that the maximum
length of a single shed should be 3000 feet, and where the conditions
demanded a long continuous length of this protection, that it should be
broken up into units with wide, clear intervals of open line between.
To prevent these “breaks” becoming filled with debris he resorted to an
ingenious expedient. Up on the mountain side he built what is known as
a “split fence.” This is a triangular erection, with the apex pointing
towards the mountain top, of heavy massive construction and filled and
banked with masonry. The descending slide strikes this obstruction,
becomes split in twain, one half is deflected so as to roll over
the roof of the snow-shed on one side, and the other half caused to
glance off in a similar manner on the other side. If one of these
constructions did not secure the desired end, then another was planted
above it higher up the mountain side. The success of this system has
been remarkable, and it has enabled the company to reduce the lengths
of the sheds very appreciably.
Shortly after the line was opened the protective handiwork of the
engineers was subjected to trying tests. The winter of 1886–7 was
one of excessive severity even for the Selkirks. In less than a week
8½ feet of snow fell, and the blizzard raged continuously for three
weeks. Slides were of daily occurrence, the silence of the mountains
being broken by the continuous roar of the avalanche. The snowfall on
the summits exceeded 35 feet, and the white mantle was piled upon the
roofs of the sheds to a depth of 50 feet. The slides were of terrific
fury, some rattling down the slopes with such force and speed as to
rebound 300 feet or so up the opposite mountain side. Thousands of
tons of rock, some pieces as large as a small villa, were caught up in
their frantic rushes, while tall, thick trees were snapped off like
matches and tossed about like straws. Yet with one exception the sheds
withstood the terrible bombardments to which they were subjected. The
solitary case had the roof torn off completely to be thrown well above
the track on the mountain side.
Mud-slides were another visitation which had to be respected, for time
after time a cutting had to be cleared of a viscous mass which had
slipped into the excavation. These movements are produced by a kind of
sand, which, when it becomes saturated with water, slips and slides in
all directions in an amazing manner, carrying everything with it. In
winter, when under the grip of frost, the soil looks perfectly safe and
stable, but when the weather breaks innumerable springs come to life,
and in a short time the whole mass commences to move like a lava stream.
In addition to resorting to extreme protective measures against the
avalanche where these could not be avoided, some magnificent pieces
of bridge-work were carried out at other points to avoid them. In
the first instance several were erected in wood to save time, to be
replaced by permanent metal structures at a later date. In many cases,
however, iron, and in others masonry, had to be adopted in the first
instance.
There was one gully which perplexed the engineers sorely. It was just a
cleft in the perpendicular mountain cliff. The engineers called it the
“Jaws of Death,” and the name was appropriate. They had to cross this
couloir, and a temporary timber bridge was built by dint of tremendous
effort. The engineers congratulated themselves upon their success, but
their gratification was short-lived. A constructional train ventured to
cross and the structure collapsed under its weight. Here was a dilemma.
Work was brought to a standstill and there was grave deliberation. Mr.
Van Horne heard of the accident, and hurried to the front. He surveyed
the gully, and there and then decided to throw an arched masonry bridge
across the breach. It was built, and what was more to the point, it
stood; the constructional gangs could get forward.
At Stoney Creek there was another trouble of a like nature. The
V-shaped ravine was deep and wide, and it was recognised that something
different from what had been done in bridge-building up to this point
was imperative. Two wooden towers were built on either side to a height
of 200 feet, and these supported a single span of 172 feet over the
gulch, which was carried out in wood also. From end to end the bridge
measured 490 feet, and for years it ranked as the highest wooden bridge
on the continent. The timber structure, however, has long since made
way for a noble arched steel bridge springing from the rocky sides of
the gulch, and it constitutes one of the most graceful bridges on the
whole of the system.
The descent from the Selkirk summit involved the execution of some
startling pieces of engineering to gain the banks of the Illecillewaet
River. The line makes its way down the mountain side in a series of
steps or terraces connected at the ends by sharp loops, doubling and
redoubling on itself to overcome a difference of 600 feet in altitude
in the most extraordinary manner. The train is first running eastwards,
disappears round the corner and then is making its way in the opposite
direction a few feet below, to round another curve and once more steams
eastwards, this alternate running backwards and forwards continuing
until the valley of the Illecillewaet River is gained, by which time
the train has travelled over 6 miles of metals to make an actual
advance of only 2 miles.
Issuing from the Selkirks, another barrier, the Gold Range, had to be
traversed, but this was a comparatively easy matter, as the Eagle Pass
is a natural causeway among the peaks for the iron road, although its
discovery taxed Walter Moberly to an extreme degree, as is narrated in
another chapter. In this pass the engineers, driving the line from the
east, met the forces advancing from the west. They shook hands at a
point known as Craigellachie, where the connection between the two arms
was made--where the “golden spike” was driven home--and the Pacific
seaboard was brought into touch with the Atlantic through Canadian
territory.
[Illustration: THE CISCO CANTILEVER BRIDGE CARRYING THE CANADIAN
PACIFIC RAILWAY ACROSS THE FRASER RIVER
The bridge leads to a tunnel driven through the precipitous wall of the
canyon.]
[Illustration:
_Hill, photo_] [_See page 240_
THE KEY WEST “LIMITED” PASSING OVER LONG KEY VIADUCT AT FULL SPEED]
The Pacific end of the line was taken in hand by the Government, and
it must be conceded that they had most difficult work to accomplish,
for they had to force their way through the Fraser and Thompson River
canyons, producing the heaviest 300 continuous miles of engineering on
the whole line. They had to fight for every inch of the way through
these ravines, as the bottom is entirely occupied by the water. The
line is laid on a gallery carved in the cliff-face 200 feet above the
waters boiling beneath, in a succession of cuts and tunnels, with some
fine examples of bridging, of which the cantilever structure across the
Fraser River of 300 feet span was the second of its character to be
built on the American continent. This link cost about £2,000,000, or
$10,000,000, to build, representing about £16,000, or $80,000, per mile
purely for the formation of the grade ready to receive the metals.
Considering the magnitude of this undertaking and the fact that the
railway extended through extremely diversified country from level
plain to tumbled lofty mountains, construction at the rate of some
five hundred miles per annum was a magnificent achievement. For the
greater part of the distance it traversed country where the white man
was not in occupation, and where several years were certain to pass
before it yielded any economic value capable of producing traffic to
the railway. The enterprise was jeopardised seriously by the financial
panic in the United States, and the Northern Pacific railway crisis,
which misfortunes did not augur well for the success of another
trans-continental railway. When it was finished, the inquiry as to
why it had been built through an absolute wilderness from end to
end was raised on all sides. The present day supplies the answer to
that criticism to a complete degree. From the day of its completion
the Dominion went forward with a rush, and it cannot be denied that
the province of British Columbia played an important part in the
development of the country when it insisted, as a return for its
entrance into the federation of the provinces, that a railway should be
built across the continent to link the east with the west within ten
years.
CHAPTER XIX
A RAILWAY OVER THE SEA
The Florida express was speeding southwards over the railway which
skirts the coast of Florida for mile after mile. Among the passengers
was Mr. Henry Flagler, one of America’s captains of industry and
finance. He was gazing out idly to sea. On the horizon were streams of
vessels steaming northwards and southwards in two long flung-out lines.
They were units in the great coastal service of steamships which ply
incessantly up and down this long stretch of coast between New York,
the West Indies and the ports dotted along the shore line of the Gulf
of Mexico.
At that time the island of Cuba was undergoing a wonderful change. Its
vast resources were being exploited by men of initiative and energy
from the two sides of the Atlantic, and the steamship traffic between
the island and the mainland was advancing by leaps and bounds.
The financier was cogitating deeply. His thoughts had strayed to the
subject of this development, and the fresh impetus it would receive
when the Isthmus of Panama was at last pierced and vessels could float
through the neck of the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
He was the controlling force of the railway over which he was then
travelling, and he was weighing the question as to whether new sources
of revenue could not be tapped for this system. The southernmost point
reached by the Florida East Coast railway was Miami, and though it was
a rising town, he saw that its future was limited, because it formed,
as it were, a dead-end to the line.
As a result of his ruminations he decided to make a bold bid for the
Cuban trade--to deflect traffic from the decks and holds of the
passing steamers. A hundred miles or so south of Miami was one of the
most strategical commercial ports of the country--the outpost of the
United States--where more than 50 per cent. of the vessels trading up
and down the coast make a call. Moreover, it was the point nearest
to the island of Cuba, Havana being scarcely 60 miles away. Yet Key
West was completely isolated; there was not a single stretch of steel
binding it to the intricate railway network of the country.
The magnate decided to forge this missing link in the railway chain; to
bring Key West into direct touch with New York, Chicago, San Francisco,
or any other town on the continent. From his point of view he could see
no obstacle to the realisation of such a scheme beyond the capital cost
of the undertaking.
When he returned to New York he summoned his surveyor, to whom he
unfolded his idea, and to seek his opinion concerning the technical
aspect of the proposition. Mr. Flagler’s proposal was to carry the
line southwards from Miami to the extremity of the country lying at
the outermost end of a chain of coral reefs, and from that point to
transport trains intact on the deck of large ferry-boats to Havana,
where they could be pushed on to the tracks of the Cuban system.
Transhipment of passengers and the breaking bulk of freight between the
great centres of the United States and the island would be obviated,
while the time that would be saved on the passage was considerable,
and, indeed, sufficiently attractive to tempt one to embark upon the
enterprise.
The engineer admitted that the scheme was alluring, but pointed out
that for some 30 miles south of Miami the line would have to be pushed
through one of the worst stretches of country in the United States,
“The Everglades”, emerging from which heavy bridging would be required
to link the chain of islands together.
However, the engineer was dispatched southwards with a corps of
surveyors to investigate the practicability of the scheme on the
spot. They lived for months in the inhospitable bog beyond Miami,
and steamed to and fro among the islets with their transit and level,
plotting out the most economical and easiest route, sounding the water
depths around the coral reefs to determine the extent and cost of
bridging, and the best means of crossing these breaches in the reef.
Then the surveyor returned to New York and sought the railway magnate.
The engineer had a complete roll of drawings and a mass of calculations
and figures. He related the fruits of his labours, pointed out the
route that he suggested should be followed, and hinted that, although
the railway could be built, the cost would be tremendous--would involve
the expenditure of millions.
The financier, however, was not perturbed in the least by the cost.
The project received his sanction, and a few days later the engineer
departed to commence operations. Little time was lost upon the
essential preparations, and soon the grade was forcing its way out of
Miami towards the most southerly point of the United States.
News concerning the enterprise, which up to this point had been
nursed in secrecy, now leaked out. The activity around Miami pointed
to something unusual being under contemplation. When the object of
the extension became known the financial magnate became the butt of
widespread ridicule. His ambitious project was christened “Flagler’s
Folly”, under which name the railway has since been known colloquially.
“Well, there is one thing for which travellers will bless me when they
travel by rail over the Keys,” the moving spirit humorously replied to
his detractors: “they will never be troubled with dust.”
From Miami southwards so far as the eye can reach stretches a dismal
tract of swamp where miasma reigns supreme. The Everglades lie below
the level of the Atlantic Ocean, and the latter is only prevented from
grasping the enormous waterlogged expanse within its ravenous maw by
a slender wall of rock which runs right along the coast. But though
this barrier resists the incursion of the ocean, at the same time
it prevents the imprisoned water on the other side from effecting an
escape. The result is that stagnant water, varying from a few inches to
several feet in depth, according to the season, spreads over the whole
of the depression. It is a huge bog and nothing more, with dank, dense
vegetation growing riotously in all directions, forming an ideal home
for the alligator, which here is found in large numbers. Some 30 miles
of this uninviting marsh confronted the engineers, and until scientific
effort discovers some means of reclaiming the country fringing the
railway from eternal water, it must remain unproductive.
The engineers found this bog difficult to penetrate. Drainage was
impossible, and the raising of an embankment, with the ordinary type
of implements at command, was out of the question, because it was
impossible to secure a solid foundation for their manipulation. For a
few miles south of Miami a rocky ridge thrust its hump above the level
of the marsh, and as its situation was convenient it was followed to
the uttermost limit.
When the builders were compelled to plunge boldly into the marsh they
were beset with difficulties innumerable. Mr. Flagler had realised
from the outset, after meditating upon the plans and reports of the
surveyors, that the only practicable means of seeing his scheme carried
to fruition was by means of direct labour under his own engineers,
instead of by contract. Consequently, he secured the services of the
most capable engineers available, while labour was recruited from all
sides. Fortunately, no difficulty was experienced in this direction,
because the offer of good wages, with everything found, was considered
by the workmen to be an equitable compensation for the risk of malaria.
The engineer-in-chief, the late J. O. Meredith, who died in harness
amid the scene of his labours, resorted to highly ingenious methods to
overcome the fever-ridden swamp. Not only did the conditions demand
that a heavy, solid earthen embankment should be built, with its level
well above the highest watermark, but that the ridge of earth should
be prevented from spreading at the base under the superimposed weight
of a heavy train, and from the insidious attacks of soaking water.
Owing to the absence of rock and gravel in the immediate vicinity,
it appeared as if the engineer would have to haul trainloads of
material for this purpose from long distances, and at great expense,
to be dumped into the unstable mass. But he decided otherwise. He
conceived a far more rapid, simple and inexpensive means of building
the embankment. Two large, square, shallow-draught dredgers were built,
with large grabs rising and falling from the upper end of a projecting
diagonal wooden girder or jib. These were towed to a point known as
Land’s End. Here, on either side of the strip of land forming the
right-of-way for the iron horse, and whereon the embankment was to be
raised, an excavation was made. Each cut was 30 inches deep and just
wide enough to float the vessel comfortably.
The grabs were then brought into play, and with each swing they
withdrew a huge mouthful of the waterlogged soil, swung it round, and
ejected it upon the grade. The grabs were heavy and powerful; their
teeth crunched through roots and decayed vegetable matter relentlessly.
It will be seen that, as a result, each dredger dug a canal for itself
as it advanced on either side of the grade, forming two parallel paths,
with a belt of dry land between. Now and again their advance was
disputed. Just below the water lurked a large rock which defied removal
by the terrible teeth, and yet projected too near the surface to enable
the dredger to float over.
Then the engineer gave another demonstration of his ingenuity. Instead
of wasting time in blasting away the rock, he threw a temporary dam
across the ditch behind the dredger, forming a kind of lock. Water
was pumped from the fellow ditch to raise the level of the water a
sufficient degree to enable the dredger to float over the obstruction.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE GRADE. THE DREDGER CUTTING ITS OWN PATH AND
DUMPING REMOVED SPOIL IN CENTRE TO FORM THE EMBANKMENT FOR THE TRACK]
[Illustration:
_Photos, Hill_]
THE EMBANKMENT COMPLETED, WITH THE CANALS DUG BY THE DREDGERS ON EITHER
SIDE]
The only difficulty experienced in this manner of handling the marsh
was that the marl torn out by the grabs and deposited upon the
right-of-way was so saturated after its immersion for centuries that it
dried very slowly, and delays were frequent and heavy in consequence.
One layer of the dump had to be left exposed for a considerable
time before the next could be added. But the method of building the
embankment proved so eminently successful and efficient, that a new
move was made to meet the necessity for allowing the excavated soil
time to dry. Four additional dredgers were built, two for each canal,
and these were set to work at intervals one behind the other. The
foremost dredger laid the foundations of the embankment, the second
raised it a further height some days later, and after another interval
of time, the third dredger contributed its quota to the constructional
work. In this way the task was expedited very materially. In some
places the bog was found to be covered with mangrove trees, the roots
of which spread like a thick net through the soil. The consequence was
that the grabs tore up a large proportion of roots associated with the
soil, and the former had to be used for embanking purposes, as it could
not be separated from the inorganic matter. But this fibrous substance
dried very quickly, and was so highly combustible that it had to be
covered with a thick layer of broken stone to protect it from fire, and
also to ensure solidity by packing tightly.
[Illustration: HOW THE EMBANKMENT WAS BUILT ON THE KEYS
The dredged material was pumped through the pipe line to fall between
wooden fences to form the grade.]
[Illustration:
_Photos, Hill_]
HOW THE REINFORCED CONCRETE ARCHES WERE BUILT WITHIN WOODEN MOULDS
BUILDING THE “OVER-SEA” RAILWAY]
The completed track has a somewhat novel appearance. There is the
ridge of earth, flanked on either side by a broad ditch, cut by the
dredgers and running as equidistantly from one another as if drawn
with a parallel ruler. These side canals, however, serve to drain the
permanent way to a certain extent.
When the railway-builders made their way through this inhospitable
region they did not meet a vestige of civilisation for over 30 miles.
Then they came across pathetic evidences of attempts at reclamation
here and there in the form of tumbling homes and isolated parties of
half-starved negroes, vainly endeavouring to extract some sort of
subsistence from the bog.
But it is when the railway emerges from the Everglades that the most
wonderful part of the undertaking is seen. A chain of some 30 verdant
islands, composed of coral limestone, stretches out in a graceful curve
for about 109 miles, to disappear finally into the depths of the Gulf
of Mexico at Key West. These reefs are separated by channels of open
sea, of varying widths. These interruptions to the continuity of dry
land are spanned by massive arched viaducts wrought in masonry. Where
the line traverses the islands themselves the permanent way either is
carried on embankments or through deep cuts. The expensive bridging has
been reduced to the minimum, however, for in some cases where the water
is shallow the islands are linked together by a massive solid earthen
embankment.
This section of the railway may be said to be amphibious in the full
sense of the word. In fact, at one point the passenger in the train
is carried beyond the sight of land. The engineer had to build his
structure sufficiently strong and solid as to combat the forces of
wind and wave, and at a level beyond the reach of the spray. When it
is remembered that the railway runs through a territory where tropical
storms of terrific fury prevail, and where cyclones are continually
wreaking widespread damage, some idea of the character of the work
requisite to withstand the buffetings of these abnormal visitations may
be gathered.
These climatic disadvantages were brought forcibly before the moving
spirit in the enterprise at the time of its conception, and accordingly
he demanded that the bridge-work should be built as strongly as
engineering science could make it. No expense was to be spared, for the
financier was determined that no apprehensions as to safety should be
permitted to lurk in the mind of the timid traveller.
The engineer took him at his word. The depth of water in which the
viaducts are built ranges from 10 to 15 feet and more, while the rails
are laid 31 feet above low water. At some places the channel is wide
enough to float a large steamship. The viaducts have been carried out
in ferro-concrete, wherein the masonry is strengthened by means of iron
rods, freely intersecting, which serve to bind the whole mass into a
solid, homogeneous whole, so that the viaduct from end to end becomes
practically a single, monolithic structure.
To enable the subaqueous portions of the piers to be built, coffer-dams
were erected around the sites, the space within being emptied and kept
clear of water by means of powerful pumps. By this means the workmen
were enabled to carry out their task of securing the fabric to the
solid rock on the dry coral sea-bed. Where the water ran up to a depth
of 30 feet, and the situation was exposed to the full fury of gales and
of the Atlantic, caissons were sunk for the purpose of constructing
the piers to above water-level, the men working in compressed air.
The material for constructional purposes was prepared on large,
well-equipped floating plants anchored near by. The timber moulds to
form the shape of the arches were fashioned and bolted together on dry
land, and towed out to sea by tugs to the point of erection and there
set in position.
Some of these series of arches on the amphibious section of the railway
are only a few hundred feet in length; others measure as many thousands
of feet from end to end. For instance, between Long and Grassy
Keys--the islands are known as “keys”--the over-sea viaduct is 2 miles
from end to end.
The viaduct work was confined to the deepest parts of each channel,
being approached from either end over a substantial earthen
embankment. Some idea of how this expedient saved the costly task of
bridge-building may be obtained from the fact that whereas the distance
by the line between Grassy and Long Keys is 29,544 feet--5.6 miles--the
approach embankments aggregate 19,100 feet of this total, the long,
symmetrical line of arches totalling 10,444 feet. In the case of the
gap between two other keys the water is closed by an embankment 21,800
feet in length. In another instance the earthen structure stretches
for 11,950 feet to connect Upper and Lower Matecumbe, but inasmuch
as this channel is used by vessels, the navigable channel is spanned
by a drawbridge 120 feet in length to permit vessels to pass between
the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. In the first 78 miles of track
running out to sea from the mainland no less than 14 miles represent
bridge-work, the remaining 64 miles being carried out on embankments
across the islands and shallow straits, or by timber trestling.
On the islands, grading was not accompanied by any great difficulties.
The Keys are for the most part somewhat low-lying, and a certain amount
of excavation and filling was required. The latter work was expedited
by building a crude trestle down the centre of the right-of-way, on
which was laid a large pipe communicating with dredgers, and through
this conduit was pumped sand, mud and gravel in a continuous stream
to form the grade to the required height, the slopes on either side
afterwards being flanked with a thick layer of large stones. Direct
labour was employed on this section of the undertaking also, and for
the most part the ordinary wheelbarrow, pick and shovel supplemented
the efforts of the dredger and pipe line. As the Keys are of coralline
limestone, an excellent material for ballasting the line was readily
available.
When a point known as Bahia Honda was gained, the engineer-in-chief
resorted to more expeditious practice. Ten huge mechanical excavators,
each capable of doing every day the work of from 50 to 100 men,
were brought into action. They devoured the spoil to throw up the
embankment at such a speed that one could see the grade’s daily growth.
It was a tedious operation to get these excavators to the scene of
action, because they had to dig their own way through the soil to the
right-of-way, a task which occupied from one to four months, according
to the situation of their respective stations.
One of the gravest difficulties in connection with the whole
undertaking was that experienced in provisioning the 3000 or 4000
men scattered at various points, feverishly toiling to fulfil the
realisation of the financier’s dream, together with the requisite
material. Every drop of water, either for human requirements or
machinery, had to be transported in huge tanks from a distance of 100
miles. The engineer-in-chief pluckily attempted to cut down this
haulage distance one-half by establishing a water station at a creek 50
miles nearer the front. But he reckoned without Nature:
They had just got the plant going when a wind sprang up and prevented
the boats, specially acquired to transport the water from the station
to the nearest point on the railway, from approaching within a mile or
so of the shore. Hurried arrangements had to be made to draw temporary
supplies from Miami once more. A week or two later the wind veered
round and blew just as furiously in the opposite direction, with the
same result. This experience sufficed to prove that no reliance could
be placed upon the new water station, so it was abandoned.
Similarly, all the broken rock for the concrete had to be brought from
the quarries at Miami, and with the cement was stacked in huge heaps
at Knight’s Key, which constituted the supply depot. The scattered
situations of some of the constructional gangs taxed the efforts of the
commissariat to a straining-point. In many cases the supply boats, in
order to get to their destination, only perhaps a mile distant as the
bird flies, had to follow a circuitous route of eight or ten miles to
get there.
When it was seen that Mr. Flagler was serious in his intentions, and
that the first stretch of viaduct was completed successfully, it was
maintained that “Flagler’s Folly,” though a wonder of engineering,
never could hope to pay its way. Time alone can prove or disprove this
contention, but it is worth while to observe that, as each section of
the line has been completed, strenuous efforts to develop the country
penetrated thereby have been made. The Florida East Coast railway
serves an essentially pleasure country--the Riviera of America. Yet, as
the line plunged southwards, hotels sprang up at various sylvan spots,
and they rapidly assumed positions of importance. The only barren
stretch is the Everglades. The commercial conquest of this useless
expanse must come later inevitably, and indeed energetic measures to
this end are in active progress.
CHAPTER XX
THE LAND OF REMARKABLE RAILWAY BRIDGES
In order to describe fully the complete conquest which the iron horse
has accomplished in British India, volumes would be required. In that
country the steel highway has been driven forward in the face of
prodigious difficulties of every description; the story is an exciting
romance.
But the features which impress the traveller most strongly are the
bridges. Some compel more than passing interest because of their
great length, such as the Sone bridge, on the East Indian railway,
which consists of 93 spans, giving the structure a total length of
10,952 feet, making it one of the longest bridges in the world; or the
Godavari over the river of the same name on the Madras North-East line,
9,066 feet in length; others because of their height, as, for instance,
the Gokteik Viaduct in Burma, 325 feet high; or the Dhorabhave Viaduct,
178 feet above the stream; while here and there attention is challenged
because of the massive proportions of the structure or its unusual
design, as, for instance, the Jubilee Bridge across the river Hooghly
at Naihati, or the Lansdowne Bridge across the Indus at Sukkur, the
main span of which is 790 feet clear.
It may be safe to assert that no country has offered the bridge-builder
such striking opportunities to display his ability or enterprise as
the Indian Empire. The Americans point to the great width of their
waterways, and the huge structures which leap across the Mississippi,
Missouri or Columbia rivers, but, compared beside the erections which
carry the railway across the Indian waterways, they appear puny.
The Indian rivers are famous for their great width, and the extent
to which they break up the country through which they make their
tortuous ways to the sea. The result is that when the engineer is
called upon to cross from bank to bank, especially in connection with
the more important waterways, he is faced with some teasing and complex
problems, to solve which demands often considerable ingenuity and the
expenditure of much racking cogitation. These rivers are bad friends
to the engineer at the best of times, but when lashed into fury and
swelled to flood they almost defy mastery.
The flood is the bugbear of the bridge-builder. One never knows
what the enraged water is going to do next. Sir Bradford Leslie,
K.C.I.E., M.INST.C.E., who probably has been associated with more
great engineering achievements of this character in India than any
other living engineer, can recall thrilling moments innumerable. For
instance, when he was carrying the Jubilee Bridge across the river
Hooghly, the water carried away one of the caissons which he was
about to launch for one of the piers. He thought it had been lashed
safely into position by means of chains, preparatory to sinking,
but the Hooghly “bore” quickly undeceived him. The Hooghly bore is
an ugly customer, for at times it attains a height of 7 feet, and
travels up-stream for 70 miles in four hours. This rapidly-moving
bank of liquid struck the unlucky caisson, although the latter was of
respectable dimensions and weight, snapped the mooring chains as if
they were pack-thread, and carried the cylinder away as if it were a
small butter-tub. The engineer had a lively chase up-stream after his
work, and finally secured it stranded in an awkward position about
half-a-mile above its site.
Immediately arrangements were hurried forward to salvage the caisson.
After a day and a half’s continuous hard toil it was recovered and
anchored alongside the bank until the next propitious moment arrived
for it to be towed out into the stream and sunk into position.
In the early days the engineers in their bridge-building operations
suffered the maximum width of a river to dictate what the length of
such a structure should be. Seeing that the normal channels of many of
these waterways are narrow in comparison with what they attain under
flood, this rendered bridge-work exceedingly expensive and intricate.
It is no uncommon circumstance for a waterway, when swollen by the
rains of the wet season, to spread out for a width of three miles or
more. It becomes practically insatiable, the soft earth forming the
banks falling a ready victim to the powerful eroding action of the
scurrying water. The result is worse than that brought about by the
scouring of the River Mississippi, which devours huge masses of land
continually on either bank. When the Indian river falls, unsightly
stretches of undulating sandbanks are revealed, riven by little
back channels and small lagoons, which present a general aspect of
desolation. Under such circumstances, bridging from bank to bank is a
somewhat vague undertaking, for the simple reason that it is difficult
to decide what are the limits of the waterway, because erosion
continues until the water reaches material which defies this action.
The engineer has met this situation now in an ingenious manner. He
determines the channel of the river and keeps it within bounds by means
of an artificial wall or training-bund, which is carried parallel with
the navigable channel, the flow of water through the space between
the inner side of the wall and the shore being obstructed by a solid
embankment which carries the track. This system was employed first by
Mr. J. B. Bell to carry the North-Western State railway across the
Chenab River at Sher Shah, and proved so eminently successful that it
has come into general favour.
[Illustration: THE TRAINING-BUND OR WALL TO NARROW THE GANGES BY 3000
FEET FOR THE CURZON BRIDGE, SHOWING RAILWAY APPROACH]
One of the latest and most interesting, as well as largest undertakings
of this class, is that in connection with the Curzon railway bridge
over the Ganges at Allahabad, for the Allahabad-Fyzerbad railway. At
this point the river flows between high banks of hard clay about 3
miles apart, and so resistant is this earth to scouring action that
erosion has been brought to cessation practically. The width of the
waterway, however, is about 1¼ miles, and when it was decided to
span the river, a great length of steel appeared inevitable.
[Illustration: ERECTING THE PIERS FOR THE CURZON BRIDGE
The training-bund is to be seen in the background.]
The engineer-in-chief for the work, Mr. Robert R. Gales, M.INST.C.E.,
however, decided to cut down the length of the bridge-work to 3000
feet. The project was examined at great length, owing to the fact
that the difference in the level of the river during the dry and
flood seasons is not less than 31 feet, as the Ganges receives the
waters of the Jumna about 7 miles above the site selected for the
crossing. Careful investigations, however, pointed to the fact that the
accumulated waters could be directed safely through a channel some 3000
feet wide, and accordingly the erection of the training-bund was taken
in hand on the left bank. It measures some 4000 feet in length from
end to end, and the top is 5 feet above the flood-level of the river.
The up-stream arm measures 3,300 feet in length, and the extremity
ends in a sharp curve to mitigate the effects of scouring. Viewed from
the bank, the work resembles a huge letter “L,” with the bottom arm
pointing up-stream, and the tail overhanging for about 700 feet, while
the upright member forms the embankment connecting the training-wall to
the shore, and leads the railway track to the bridge.
The training-wall is built up of sandy soil, with stone pitched on the
face exposed to the action of the river. At the top it is about 20 feet
in width, and carries a wide-gauge railway track from end to end, so
that should the floods tear a gap in the embankment, the injury can
be repaired immediately by dumping spoil into the breach from railway
wagons.
Erection had to be hurried forward, as the season available for
operations was so short. In view of the fact that the erection of the
wall entailed the handling of some 50,000,000 cubic yards of earth,
some idea of the magnitude of the task may be gathered. It was split up
into a number of contracts, and when the operations were in full swing
no less than 7000 coolies found employment.
While this work was in progress the bridge itself was pushed forward.
The length of metal is 3000 feet, divided into 15 spans, each of 200
feet, carried upon masonry piers. The bridge was called upon to meet
requirements not only for railway traffic but for pedestrians and
vehicles as well. A single line of 5 feet 6 inches gauge suffices for
the former, which is carried upon the bottom deck, while the upper deck
meets the second requisition, being 23 feet wide and about 60 feet
above the level of the waterway when in flood.
The undertaking was pushed forward with such energy that it was
completed in three seasons. The saving in outlay resulting from
constricting the river channel, and thereby reducing the length of
steel-work, represented no less than £100,000, or $500,000. This
offers a convincing illustration as to the ingenious manner in which
the bridge engineer in India has succeeded in reducing the costs of
spanning the noble waterways of the country.
In a far-away corner of the same country, Upper Burma, may be seen
another interesting example of the bridge-builder’s craft, carried out
under particularly exacting conditions in a forbidding country. This
is the Gokteik Viaduct, which carries the metre-gauge single track
of the Burma Railway Company across the gorge of the same name. This
structure was completed by the Pennsylvania Steel Company, of Steelton,
Pennsylvania, and the award of the contract was criticised severely
in Great Britain. But the Government wanted the valley spanned in the
shortest possible space of time and at a moderate price. When the
tenders invited from all parts of the world were opened, it was found
that the British firms had been outclassed by their American rivals in
both these essential factors.
The location of the railway across this gorge was beset with peculiar
difficulties. The question of the approach was trying to decide to the
best advantage, and in fact so many surveys were made that one of the
American engineers remarked “that he could not see the side of the
cliff for survey pegs.”
[Illustration: THE TRAINING-BUND UNDER CONSTRUCTION BY NATIVE LABOUR.
AT THE EXTREME RIGHT A PIER IS BEING BUILT FOR THE BRIDGE]
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF THE PIER-BUILDING OPERATIONS FOR THE
CURZON BRIDGE ACROSS THE GANGES AT ALLAHABAD
The bridge is 3000 feet long. Temporary line at right.]
The gorge itself is also somewhat strange; in fact, it is a curious
wonder of Nature. The Chungzoune River flows through the rift, but
out of sight, its course being through a natural tunnel, into which
it disappears suddenly at a depth of 500 feet. When the line was
first surveyed it was in accordance with a low viaduct, the approach
thereto being over a suggested section of rack railway working on the
Abt system, with grades of 1 in 12½. This was subsequently abandoned,
and the surveyor was called upon to find a fresh location so as to
eliminate the rack railway, and to give grades not exceeding 1 in
25, so as to permit the line to be worked by adhesion. This decision
raised the height of the towers by 70 feet and increased its length to
1,350 feet. Even this did not meet with approval, for after prolonged
deliberation a third location was demanded, to give an easier line yet.
In this last survey the gradients were flattened to 1 in 40, with an
attendant increase in the height of the structure as well as of its
length. It was found impossible to improve upon the viaduct itself, so
further surveys were carried out to improve the approaches, reducing
their length and introducing curves at either end of the viaduct.
At last finality was reached, and the contract was secured by the
American bridge-builders on April 28, 1899. They lost no time in
hurrying forward the preparation of the steel. Three months later a
special train of 45 cars, laden with 977 tons, left Steelton on the
201-miles run to New York, where a specially chartered steamer was
in waiting to receive this steel cargo. The vessel left the American
port on a journey of over 10,000 miles to Rangoon, where the freight
was transferred to the small trucks of the railway and sent on the
up-country journey of 460 miles to the Gokteik gorge. No less than
three steamers were required to transport the 4,308 tons of steel,
together with some 200 tons of requisite tackle for erection, and 35
American bridge-erectors.
When the Americans arrived on the scene they were treated to their
first experience of Indian weather. The rain fell in torrents; the
roads were converted into rushing streams, and the low-lying stretches
of land into lakes. This was something new to the Americans, and
they chafed at being compelled to sit down to wait until the weather
moderated. To make matters worse, the line was knocked about severely
by the rain, no less than thirteen wash-outs occurring between the
coast and the gorge. In one place a locomotive got caught. It could
not advance and could not retreat, owing to breaches in the railway
on either side, so quietly settled down to rest in the waterlogged
embankment, and finally slipped into a field of rice, to the intense
disgust of the owner.
The result was that the port became congested with the steel and
tackle awaiting dispatch up-country. The railway company repaired the
wash-outs with all possible speed, and directly the line was opened
the material poured towards Gokteik in a ceaseless stream. In fact,
the American engineers were somewhat perplexed by the speed with which
the material was sent up, and they had a spirited task in sorting out
the pieces of steel as they arrived. The work proceeded so feverishly
that the empty trains could not be backed out of the shunting-yard
with sufficient alacrity to admit incoming loads. The bridge-builders
extended assistance in a novel manner. Shunting was abandoned. The
large steam derricks picked up the empty cars bodily off the one track,
whipped them round, and deposited them upon a siding, from which the
engines pulled them out as best they could.
[Illustration:
_Photo by permission of Pennsylvania Steel Co._]
THE GOKTEIK VIADUCT UNDER CONSTRUCTION
The railway track is 825 feet above the level of the Chungzoune River,
which flows through a tunnel beneath the bridge.]
The railway company provided the builders with a special railway down
the side of the cliff, as the approach was not completed. This was
a huge switch-back, where the trains ran from side to side, first
forwards and then backwards. The descent of the precipice in this
manner treated the bridge-builders to an exciting ride, which somewhat
unnerved them at first, as it was far and away too thrilling to be
pleasant. A cableway was also stretched across the gulch, and this
was used for transporting material from point to point. In fact, two
locomotives were dismantled and sent across this rope in pieces to
be re-erected on the opposite side.
[Illustration:
_Photo by permission of Pennsylvania Steel Co._]
VIEW OF THE GOKTEIK VIADUCT
There are eighteen steel towers--the highest brings the rails 325 feet
above the floor of the gorge--supporting 2,260 feet of bridging.]
When the bridge-builders arrived they found that Mr. G. Deuchars,
the engineer-in-chief to the railway, had completed the whole of the
preparations. The concrete pedestals for the steel towers stretched
across the floor of the ridge in two unbroken lines over the top
of the natural bridge through which the Chungzoune River makes its
subterranean way. All that the bridge-builders had to do was to set the
steel.
The viaduct was built upon the overhanging principle, in accordance
with the American practice, by means of a traveller. This was a
cumbersome piece of apparatus weighing 100 tons, with a long arm which
reached out over the gorge from tower to tower. To the native this
appliance was a source of infinite wonder. When it was pushed out to
its fullest extent, and the long arm appeared certain to lose its
balance and to topple into the ravine, they looked on with awe; and
when the Americans flew in the face of Providence, as they thought,
by venturing to the outermost point to carry out their work, they
shuddered. In fact, they never became accustomed to that traveller. Why
it did not capsize exceeded their comprehension.
The American workmen were assisted in their operations by 350 natives
brought from other parts of the country, and who were accustomed
somewhat to bridge-building. Once work was brought into swing, it went
forward with a rush, the steel towers springing up from their pedestals
to a height of 200 feet or so within two or three days. The men toiled
9¾ hours every day, and there was not a halt except when the monsoon
blew and it was well-nigh impossible to secure a foothold in exposed
positions, or when the torrential rainfall prevailed.
The white men found the heat particularly trying and exhausting. Those
perched 200 or 300 feet in the air, and fully exposed to the sun and
a temperature of 120 degrees, secured a little welcome shade under an
awning that was stretched over the apparatus. They wore the lightest
of clothing, while white pith helmets served to offer some protection
from sunstroke.
The total length of the work is 2,260 feet, and it is built up to 10
spans, each measuring 120 feet, and 7 spans of 60 feet apiece. The
girders forming the deck are supported on steel towers spaced 40 feet
apart. The height of the rails at the highest pier is 325 feet above
the floor of the gorge, and 825 feet above the Chungzoune stream. No
less than 232,868 separate pieces of steel had to be handled on the
site, and the natives had to drive 200,000 rivets to secure the fabric
together.
Owing to the remote point at which work was being carried out--10,000
miles by sea from home--an elaborate cable code was drawn up, each
integral part of the viaduct, as well as details of the erecting plant,
having a distinctive word. In addition, there were special words for
the purpose of reporting the progress of the erection to headquarters.
Every week the chief engineer cabled home a full progress report
at a cost of 5_s._, or $1.25, per word. The men were provided with
a well-equipped medicine chest, and a complete photographic outfit
constituted an important part of the organisation, photographs being
dispatched to Steelton regularly to supplement the cabled and written
report on the progress of the undertaking. Only one man was lost in the
enterprise, and this was attributable to fever produced from indulgence
in alcoholic liquor. No other fatality was recorded either among the
natives or Americans, and no serious accident marred the work, which,
bearing in mind its magnitude and character, was highly satisfactory.
The actual erection occupied nine months, work being continued
uninterruptedly through the wet season, when, fortunately, the
greater part of the annual 150 to 200 inches of rain fell during the
night. Although the viaduct is 24½ feet wide across the top, which is
sufficient to carry a double track, only one road is laid at present.
The bridge also enables pedestrians to cross from one side of the chasm
to the other, refuge platforms being provided at frequent intervals
to enable those afoot to escape being run down by passing trains. Upon
completion, the structure was subjected to severe tests spread over a
period of two months, and these proving satisfactory, the structure
was accepted by the railway authorities. The mammoth steel traveller
weighing 100 tons, and which had played such an important part in the
rapid erection of the viaduct, was demolished and sold for scrap.
By the provision of this viaduct at the selected height the track is
led to a natural ledge on the opposite cliff-face. While the viaduct
was under construction the railhead was pushed forward, the material
for the grade being transported across the valley by the overhead
cable. By the time trains were able to cross the structure, the end of
steel had reached a point some 35 miles beyond.
Although the viaduct is not so lofty as other structures of its class
in other parts of the world, yet it occupies a position of distinct
importance. Moreover, it constitutes one of the finest expressions of
this class of American work that has ever been fulfilled.
CHAPTER XXI
WHERE THE SNOW-PLOUGH WORKS IN SUMMER
The Scandinavian peninsula has been the battle-ground of many titanic
struggles on behalf of the railway. In this country the iron horse
has forced its way to the most northerly point in the world where the
shriek of a locomotive whistle may be heard. This is Ofoten, a port on
the Atlantic seaboard of Norway, beyond the 68th parallel, and well
into the Arctic circle, where the famous iron mines of Gellivare in
Sweden find a western point for shipping the ore.
It was in Sweden that steel was pressed into service for the first
time in connection with the erection of bridges by the late Major C.
Adelsköld, R.E., and Member of the Academy of Sciences. This was so
far back as 1866, and the daring engineer designed, superintended the
preparation of the metal, and also the erection of the bridge. The
claim of being the first steel bridge has been advanced on behalf of
other structures in different parts of the world, but the records are
against all such statements, for they were anticipated by a decade at
least in a convincing, practical manner.
Major Adelsköld’s bridge is highly interesting, not only from the
historical point of view, but because of its unusual design, and the
methods adopted in its erection. Through the courtesy of Madam Gustafva
Adelsköld, I am enabled to give the following particulars of its
evolution and construction.
The bridge was designed to carry the Uddevalla-Wenersborg-Herljunga
railway across the Huvudnas Falls, just above the Tröllhätten Falls.
At this point the Göta River forces its way through a gorge 137½ feet
wide, just above a fall over a lofty ledge of rock. The depth and
velocity of the water prevented any intermediate pier being erected
in the waterway, so in order to span the gap it was necessary to lift
the girders bodily to set them into position. To enable this end to be
achieved it was imperative that the main girders should be as light
as possible. An iron girder, which was the metal in exclusive vogue
at that time for this work, 153 feet in length by 12 inches wide, of
the requisite strength, would have weighed over 700 tons, and to have
handled such a weight would have demanded expensive and elaborate
erecting tackle.
Major Adelsköld consequently rejected iron as the structural material
in favour of light steel girders. Once these were set he anticipated no
further hindrance to completing the structure as a “suspension bridge.”
Up to this time steel girders never had been employed in such work, and
the engineer, when he revealed his intentions, was urged by experts and
fellow-craftsmen not to use “such a brittle and untrustworthy material”
for so long a span.
Major Adelsköld, however, was convinced of the soundness of his
proposal, and consequently continued his efforts in the face of
spirited opposition. The bridge was built at Bergsund, and the
dimensions were calculated for a strain of 8 tons per square inch,
though the metal was tested to twice that stress before being set in
position. The total weight was only 50 tons.
From the engineering point of view the design is considered somewhat
novel, for it bears no resemblance to the general conception of a
suspension bridge. It is an inverted structure of this class. The upper
members act merely as struts to keep apart the ends of the chains
below, which really carry the load through the medium of the triangular
members.
The method by which the structure was erected was quite as interesting
as the design of the bridge itself. The girders were brought to the
western bank of the river. To swing them into position a derrick was
rigged up on either bank so as to overhang the water. The outer ends
of these masts, which measured 60 feet in length, were fitted with
heavy pulleys, over which ropes were passed and carried from capstans
installed for hauling purposes. The pulley ropes on the eastern bank
were pulled across the waterway and secured to one end of the girder,
while the western bank pulley ropes were secured to the other end of
the steel member, which measured 153 feet in length. In this way the
girder was lifted, swung over the water, and lowered into position. The
event was regarded as so unusual that crowds of people from Gothenburg
and Tröllhätten assembled on the banks to witness the setting of the
steel on February 8, 1866.
Owing to the roar of the waters, the engineer could not make his voice
heard, so orders were communicated across the river in Morse code by
hand-signalling. The first girder was lifted and set in position in
thirty minutes, while the second was handled in half that time. Once
the girders were set it was an easy matter to complete the remainder of
the structure.
It may be interesting to relate that the total cost of setting the
main girders, together with the hire of the tackle borrowed from a
Gothenburg shipbuilding-yard, and including the wages of the men
assisting in the task, was only £25, or $125. At that time Major
Adelsköld’s feat was regarded as an audacious stroke of engineering,
but to-day steel is the exclusive material employed in the erection of
bridges.
Railway-building in these twin countries has been attended always with
grave difficulties, owing to the rugged nature of the country and the
extreme hardness of the rock. When the sea is left, and the interior
plateau is gained, the full brunt of the Arctic weather is experienced,
and it is of a character to deter the most intrepid engineer.
One of the most momentous enterprises that has been carried to
fulfilment in this northern country is the trans-Norwegian railway,
whereby Christiania is brought into direct communication with the
Atlantic seaboard at Bergen. Owing to the prodigious difficulties
involved, however, it occupied some thirty years to carry the scheme
through, although the line is only 306 miles in length.
[Illustration: TRAIN EMERGING FROM REINUNGA TUNNEL, 5,217 FEET LONG, IN
DISTANCE, SHOWING SNOWSCOOP-PLOUGH ON LOCOMOTIVE
WHERE THE SNOWPLOUGH WORKS IN SUMMER]
[Illustration: MYRDAL STATION, SHOWING ENTRANCE TO GRAVEHALS TUNNEL,
17,420 FEET IN LENGTH]
[Illustration: MYRDAL STATION IN WINTER, SHOWING DEPTH OF SNOWFALL
THE BERGEN RAILWAY]
In 1870, commercial interests petitioned for the establishment of
a shorter route between the east coast and the Norwegian capital.
Surveyors, therefore, were deputed to investigate the interior and to
ascertain the practicability of building such a railway. After infinite
labour the engineers reported favourably upon the project, but pointed
out that the work would be unprecedentedly arduous, and would be highly
expensive.
For five years the scheme lay dormant, but in 1875 the Government
decided to commence the enterprise, with a section of line 67½ miles
long, connecting the seaboard at Bergen with Vossevangen. In deference
to views prevailing at the time, however, the narrow- or metre-gauge
was adopted, and in 1883 it was opened for traffic.
Although no further headway was made with the continuation of the main
scheme, it was not abandoned by any means. A mountain barrier, the
Dovrejelf range, barred the way to the interior. Its penetration was
recognised as one demanding great skill, for the peaks are precipitous,
with sides dropping into valleys so narrow as to be mere defiles on the
sea side of the chain. Apart from these physical handicaps, however,
the rain- and snow-falls upon the highest levels were found to be
tremendous, and it was essential that elaborate examination should
be made concerning these adverse influences before the location was
decided definitely.
A cautious policy was practised. No attempt to proceed beyond
Vossevangen was made until the mountain wall had been searched through
and through. No less than twelve alternative routes were prepared and
submitted to the Government. These demonstrated the conclusive fact
that no route could offer avoidance of the snow and rain. The question
was to follow a location, if possible, where these drawbacks were
emphasised to the least degree. For this purpose several meteorological
stations were established among the mountains and on the plateau to
gather exhaustive data by daily observations.
The outcome was the production of some decidedly startling facts, even
to those who were convinced of the extremely inclement conditions
prevailing inland. The observers had been instructed to record
particularly the maximum fall of snow during twenty-four hours, the
depth of the snow among the mountains during the winter, and the
effect of the winds which swept the plateau mercilessly during the
latter season. It was found that snow fell every month during the year
at Fjeldberg, even June, July and August not being free from such
visitations, while at another point the snowfall in winter aggregated
no less than 11 feet. At no point along the projected location of
the line was a depth of less than 8 feet recorded, while the general
average was from 10 feet to 14 feet.
The winds were found to drive the dry, fleecy flakes before them like
dust, to pile up huge drifts in sheltered places, running up to 161
feet deep. Some of these drifts remained throughout the summer, and
were found to be of respectable proportions. The sum of these reports
presaged the fact that, when the line was completed, the question of
maintaining it free from snow-blocks would demand superhuman effort.
At last the Government decided to proceed with the undertaking. The
advantages and disadvantages of the various locations had been weighed
diligently, and promoted the decision to adopt the Gravehals route.
The authorities regarded this location with misgiving in the first
instance, because it involved the piercing of a tunnel 17,420 feet in
length, at an elevation of 2,818 feet. Funds were voted to build the
next section from Vossevangen to Taugevand, a distance of 47 miles.
In this distance the line was to be lifted a matter of 4000 feet to
the highest point to be attained between the Atlantic seaboard and
Christiania.
The route selected comprised the boring of no less than 12 tunnels,
making in the aggregate not less than 11¼ miles, of which the Gravehals
tunnel represented over 3 miles. While this difficult section was being
prosecuted, the Government resolved to come to a definite conclusion
as to the route the railway should follow after attaining the summit
at Taugevand, so as to enable operations to be continued without delay
when the latter point was reached.
The exposed position of the Gravehals tunnel rendered the work
exhausting to the men. As the timber line is about 2000 feet below,
the mountain-sides are quite bare, and there is no protection against
the elements whatever. The work is the longest of its kind in Northern
Europe, and has proved probably one of the most exacting to construct.
It extends through granite which was found to be exceedingly tough, so
that boring was unavoidably slow, especially at times when everything
appeared to be pitted against the contractors.
The firm who accepted the contract undertook to complete the work
for £158,400, or $792,000, which was considered to be a very low
price. It was attacked from both ends, and mechanical boring was
adopted. Convenient water power was harnessed to drive the Brandt rock
drills, which worked under a pressure of some 1,200 pounds per square
inch. Boring proceeded somewhat slowly, more so, in fact, than the
contractors had anticipated; but this was due to the extreme hardness
of the rock encountered, while the work was handicapped by delays which
the contractors could not have controlled. In the first place labour
proved scarce and expensive. The men working on the coast, although
experienced in drilling and blasting rock, could not be persuaded to
proceed up-country to practise their skill. The situation was too
remote, and the elements were too bitter, and seeing that extensive
railway construction was proceeding at the same time in other and more
congenial parts of the country, there was no cogent reason why the men
should hie to an inhospitable locality for work.
The tunnel-borers, however, were spared the tribulations which have
assailed their colleagues in other parts of Europe. Faults in the rock
strata were very few and far between, while subterranean streams and
pockets of viscous mud did not overwhelm them. The temperature within
the boring, moreover, never rose to an intolerable point, the maximum
recorded being 52° Fahrenheit. This was in striking contrast to the
conditions on the Gotthard, Cenis, Simplon, and other central European
tunnels, where the mercury rose at times to the vicinity of 90 degrees.
Yet the workers in the Gravehals tunnel experienced their own peculiar
dangers and exasperating misadventures. The climatic conditions were
the most trying, and many men abandoned their tasks after a short
experience in this bleak situation, for work at a lower level. This
monotony was varied one day by an avalanche, which crashed down the
mountain-side, smashed into the power-house and carried away some of
the machinery. Work had to be suspended for some six weeks while the
damage thus caused was repaired. At another time work could not be
carried forward because no water was available, and about two months
of enforced idleness had to be endured until the turbines could be set
going once more.
On the same section is another heavy piece of work of this character,
the Reinunga tunnel, extending for 5,217 feet through a massive
mountain shoulder. Here the country is extremely wild, and the location
of the line taxed the plotters supremely. The track crawls along a
narrow ledge for some distance, poised nearly 500 feet above the
highroad. The situation is precarious, for landslides and avalanches
are of frequent occurrence, while detached boulders rattle down the
slopes at times and threaten the railway with extinction. Fortunately,
as the metals are laid on a gallery of solid rock hewn in the
mountain-side, the extent of the damage inflicted by these visitations
is limited to the permanent way, though the presence of these untoward
obstacles, and the result of their impact with the metals, may
interrupt communication for a short time.
[Illustration: A VIEW ON THE BERGEN RAILWAY IN WINTER, SHOWING SCREENS
TO PROTECT LINE FROM DRIFTING SNOW, AND SNOWSHEDS]
Seeing that a difference in level of over 4,100 feet has to be
overcome in the 47 miles between Vossevangen and Taugevand, it is
a teasing up-hill pull all the way. The grades are very abrupt at
places, and impose a severe tax upon the locomotives. The passenger,
however, has one compensation for slowness in travel. Some of the
grandest scenery to be seen on the European continent is unfolded
to the train as it glides in and out among the mountain rifts, and
consequently, from the tourist point of view, the route possesses
illimitable attractions, inasmuch as it offers facilities to gain some
of the most beautiful parts of the country, which hitherto have been
unapproachable, except in the face of an arduous and tedious journey by
primitive means of conveyance.
[Illustration: MULES CARRYING WATER IN BARRELS]
[Illustration:
[_See page 279_
LOAD OF RAILWAY METALS ON A MULE’S BACK
RAILWAY BUILDING IN THE ANDES]
After crossing the summit level the railway commences an easy descent,
for the inland plateau is gently undulating, and the valleys being
wider, the surveyors were assisted appreciably in their task of
discovering an easy location. The downward run continues until Bromma,
205 miles west of Bergen, is gained at an altitude of some 450 feet.
Then comes another rise to overcome a low range, which is accomplished
through a tunnel 7,644 feet in length.
This tunnel proved a more exacting and troublesome undertaking than
either the Gravehals or Reinunga works. The boring was attempted
at first on the time system, but the advance was so slow and
unsatisfactory that this principle was abandoned. The whole tunnel was
then handed over to a contractor, but he found the rock so hard that a
piece-work system was instituted. In this arrangement the workmen were
stimulated to supreme effort by the offer of tempting premiums. Issuing
from this tunnel, there is another descent for some miles, when another
ridge intervenes, necessitating a sharp climb of 700 feet, followed
by a smart downward run to Roa, where a junction is effected with the
Norwegian eastern railway system.
Contemporaneously with the building of this line between Vossevangen
and Roa, the original section between Bergen and Vossevangen had to be
overhauled. The metre gauge was in vogue upon this division, whereas
the rest of the line was being built on the standard gauge to secure
uniformity with the other lines. Accordingly, the narrow-gauge was
replaced by standard-gauge track.
The Bergen-Christiania line ranks as one of the most striking pieces
of railway engineering in Europe, and testifies to the remarkable
skill and dogged perseverance of the Scandinavians in breaking down
tremendous obstacles as they arose, with complete success. It is no
light undertaking to attempt such an enterprise as this in such a
latitude across a terribly exposed, storm-swept plateau, among the most
sparsely populated regions of Europe, and where the winter lasts for
eight or nine months. The rainfall is tropical in its severity, while
the storms are of terrific fury, as the workmen found to their cost.
Some idea of the magnitude of the work consummated by the engineers
may be gathered from a few general details. The line passes through no
less than 184 tunnels, which represent an aggregate length of nearly 24
miles. To carry the line across depressions which could not be filled,
14 bridges, ranging from a single-span stone structure of 60 feet to
a metal bridge 566 feet from end to end, had to be built. Between the
two terminal points 55 stations and stopping-places have been provided.
In order to fashion the permanent way the engineers had to excavate
about 35,000,000 cubic feet of earth, and nearly 30,000,000 cubic feet
of rock on the highest parts of the mountain section, this latter task
being assisted by the expenditure of over 1,800,000 pounds of dynamite.
The anticipated task of maintaining communication, especially on the
higher and more exposed sections of the railway, has been appreciated
to the full. To deal with the snow three powerful rotary ploughs have
been acquired, and one is kept in constant readiness. It is no unusual
circumstance for this equipment to be called out in the middle of
summer to cope with a block in one of the deep cuttings. The drift is
a danger against which especial attention has to be devoted, for the
wind catches up the fine, dry flakes and whirls them in clouds across
the country. To prevent this being deposited upon the line, and thus
obstructing traffic, timber screens have been erected beside the line,
this defence continuing in an almost unbroken line for 60 miles between
Mjolfjeld and Gjeilo.
The provision of the line, however, is of far-reaching importance to
the commercial interests of Norway. Formerly, 54 hours were required
to travel between Christiania and Bergen, but now, by cutting almost
straight across the peninsula, the journey can be covered in 14
hours. To forge the link of 215 miles between Vossevangen and Roa, to
complete this undertaking, occupied ten years, and the £3,333,000, or
$16,665,000, expended upon the enterprise is considered an excellent
investment for the country.
CHAPTER XXII
FROM BUENOS AIRES TO VALPARAISO OVERLAND
Though Meiggs was denied the glory of having built the first South
American trans-continental railway, yet the idea has been carried to
fruition, but at a point much farther south than he contemplated.
Again, whereas the audacious Philadelphian engineer proposed only to
establish his Atlantic terminus on the upper reaches of the Amazon,
the completed line runs down to the water’s edge on either coast, the
two opposite ports connected in this manner being Buenos Aires on the
Atlantic, and Valparaiso on the Pacific, coasts.
The Trans-andine railway itself, which completes this connection,
however, only extends from Mendoza at the foot of the mountain chain on
the Argentine side, to Los Andes on the Chilian slopes of the range.
These two points are 156 miles apart, but the metals had to be lifted
11,500 feet into the air to bring them together.
When it was decided to connect Mendoza and Los Andes together in this
manner, the first-named town was in direct touch with the Atlantic
Ocean, the Buenos Aires & Pacific railway having thrown its meshes
inland to the foot of the mountains. This was not a difficult matter,
owing to the flatness of the country, pampas plains for the most part
prevailing. The result is that in the climb from Buenos Aires to
Mendoza only 2,470 feet has to be overcome in 650 miles. Consequently,
the gradients are so slight as to be practically imperceptible. Indeed,
so simple was construction that it was found possible to lay the metals
in an absolutely straight line for no less than 210 miles--the longest
stretch of “straight” line in the world.
It was in 1886 that the first preliminaries in the actual construction
of this final link in the coast-to-coast railway was made. The
surveys showed the feasibility of the scheme, though it was pointed
out that to climb over the Andes would entail work of a peculiar
character, and that the cost would be tremendous. The critical point
was the negotiation of the summit itself, for the mountain pass is
at an altitude of 12,796 feet. Though commenced in 1886, the scheme
experienced many changes of fortune which hindered construction time
after time. Financial and labour troubles were the two most retarding
factors. By 1891 only 57½ miles were open to traffic; four years later
only witnessed the passing of the 90th milestone. Such slow progress
was deplorable in comparison with the building of the Oroya and
Mollendo railways.
Then came a delay of four years, but in 1899 work was resumed and was
pushed forward to completion. On the Chilian side, owing to similar
troubles, construction was possible only in spurts, and even when the
financial details were adjusted satisfactorily, the scarcity of labour
remained a thorny problem.
The surveys showed that the most practical route westwards from Mendoza
was by following the course of the river of that name right into the
mountain range. In this manner extensive blasting and heavy cutting
could be avoided, except where the mountain-sides dropped abruptly into
the river, and then these would have to be tunnelled.
The constructional engineers followed this location, but only to run
full-tilt into another difficulty which had not been foreseen. The
Mendoza is a South American replica of China’s ill-fated Hoang-ho.
In the low season its placid waters roll leisurely to the ocean, but
when it is swollen by the melting snows it tears along with fiendish
velocity. As its banks are composed only of the soft alluvium brought
down from the mountains, the foaming waters do not find this a very
difficult obstacle, and accordingly carry it away in tremendous
quantities. As a result, the river is for ever changing its channel.
To the railway engineers such eccentricities proved serious
factors. They realised speedily that here was a situation peculiarly
exasperating, for long lengths of track were swept away bodily time
after time. It never could be anticipated where the turbulent water
would break its bounds next. A stretch of permanent way, left safe
and sound in the morning, sometimes was wiped out of existence before
nightfall. All that could be seen of the work possibly was the rails
dipping into the water on one bank and reappearing on the other, the
intervening section describing a graceful festoon in the depths of the
muddy torrent. At times the waters were more freakish. They would burst
upon the track with such violence as to wrench the metals apart; then
only the jagged, twisted ends jutting mournfully into the air on either
side of the new river channel were the sole remnants of the track.
The engineers tried innumerable expedients to preserve the line from
these erratic attacks, but without any material success for some
time. At last they decided to provide the river with an artificial
embankment, and to lay the track well back from the waterway.
Trainloads of huge masses of stone were brought to the vulnerable
points and pitched at the foot of the embankment, which was raised to a
height well above flood-level. Thousands of tons of stone were dumped
in this manner, and it was found that it afforded complete protection,
because the water could not dislodge the masonry pitching to eat its
way into the soft earth beneath. The artificial dyke solved the problem
of how to keep the rushing, boisterous Mendoza within bounds.
Avalanches and snowslides were another constant menace. Their
accustomed paths had to be noted carefully and then studiously given a
wide berth. These convulsions are of impressive severity in the Andes,
and the impetus the slides gain, owing to the steepness and length of
the declivities down which they tumble, imparts terrific force to them.
When a slender railway stands in their path it is caught up like straw
and scattered in all directions. Possibly the landslides are more to
be dreaded than the movements of the snow. In the Andes the denuding
forces of Nature are exceptionally heavy. Many a mountain slope which,
from a cursory inspection, looks substantial and solid, upon closer
investigation proves to be merely a thick layer, perhaps many feet in
thickness, of soft detritus. The slightest vibration is sufficient
to set the mass in motion, and it slides slowly and irresistibly
downwards. At some places it was found impossible to avoid such
unstable ground, so the engineers ingeniously cut a passage through the
soft rubble, taking care to reach the solid mountain flank beneath upon
which to build the track, while the detritus was held back by means of
massive concrete masonry walls.
Under such circumstances it is imperative that the track should be of
the most solid character, if it is designed to fulfil the conditions
of a trunk highway. The road bed is well built, laid with metals to a
metre-gauge, and ballasted heavily. All earthworks are carried out on
liberal lines, and the bridges are built throughout of steel.
When the main range is gained the line becomes more devious, the banks
are sharper and more numerous, the short tunnels and the bridges across
the rivers more frequent, for the location caused the line to swing
from bank to bank as being more economical construction than to blast
and carve a way for the line through the solid rock of the cliffs. At
places the rises became so abrupt as to defy operation by adhesion.
Then short lengths of rack where cog-wheels on the locomotive mesh with
a toothed rail laid between the ordinary rails, and working similar
to a rack and pinion, had to be inserted to enable the train to climb
upwards.
A striking evidence of the distance saved by the railway is afforded
between Mendoza and Upsallata station. As the crow flies the distance
is 40 miles due east; by rail it is 17 miles farther; but by the old
mountain road which converges upon the line at Upsallata it is no
less than 100 miles! The latter makes a wide, sweeping detour after
leaving Mendoza in order to avoid the foot-hills, and to ensure an
easy gradient for animal traffic. The wildest part of the range is
encountered when the Mendoza River is left and the railway enters the
Amarillo, or Yellow Gorge. Incidentally, the line through this rift was
one of the most costly and difficult sections to build. Las Cuevas,
at an altitude of 10,388 feet, was the objective, and so great is the
difference in level within a few miles that some daring development
work had to be carried out. The first sign of this steep climb is a
Meiggs V-switch. The rack was adopted more extensively, this being
introduced between short stretches of easier grade or sections of
level, so that the railway really ascends in the form of a series of
gigantic steps. The rack is of the three-toothed type similar to that
so familiar on the Swiss mountain railways.
In winding through the gorge some of the most impressive vistas
of Andine majesty are unfolded. There is the snow-capped crest of
Aconcagua, beetling 23,500 feet to the sky, Tupungato 21,451 feet,
Tolosa 19,000 feet, and many another white-hooded mountain giant. The
Trans-andine ranks as one of the greatest scenic railways in the world,
for it unlocked the door to what previously was regarded as one of
the most inaccessible sight-seeing centres on this globe. Already its
station at Inca has developed into a popular mountaineering rendezvous,
whence the ambitious essay to scale the caps of the Cordilleras. Some
idea of the stupendous character of the railway’s ascent in this region
may be gathered from the fact that in the last 8 miles to Las Cuevas
it rises no less than 1,414 feet, and at this latter station the track
lies nearly 2 miles above the Atlantic.
Las Cuevas is at the foot of the summit ridge which is pierced by
the tunnel carrying the railway into Chile. This part of the work
proved the most trying, for it involved wrestling with innumerable
difficulties of great magnitude and peculiar character, such as are
experienced very seldom in tunnelling operations. Though the range is
not pierced at such an altitude as by the famous Galera tunnel in the
country next door, yet it is three times as long.
The engineers had to drill, blast and excavate their way through the
rock of the ridge for 10,000 feet--nearly two miles--and at times
the obstacles that loomed up suddenly proved extremely perplexing.
The completion of this work delayed the opening of the railway
considerably, for calculations and anticipations were upset rudely when
excavation commenced.
Some time passed before the precise design of the tunnel could be
settled. At first it was decided to describe a spiral in the peak so
as to accommodate the level of the Argentine division with that of the
Chile section of the line. The tunnel was to be driven from either end
by the engineers of the respective railways, which were two distinct
undertakings. The two armies were to meet at mid-tunnel immediately
beneath the famous statue of Christo Redentor, commemorating the treaty
of peace between Argentina and Chile, which stands upon the boundary
line of the two countries in the pass above.
On the Argentine side the camps for the tunnel works were established
at Las Cuevas, about 1½ miles below the portal. When boring was
commenced the engineers’ advance was threatened. The depth of the
loose, friable earth eroded from the peaks above, which had accumulated
during the flight of centuries, proved much greater than was supposed.
This entailed most elaborate timbering to prevent the roof caving in
and burying the excavators. As all lumber had to be brought up from
Mendoza, for this desolate region is far above the timber line, heavy
delays arose pending the arrival of the wood. Then they had to move
forward warily foot by foot, as the detritus proved treacherous to
handle. The engineers ploughed their way through this material for 300
feet, and felt relieved when at last they struck solid rock, which
they rightly thought was the main body of the mountain. Elaborate
arrangements were made to drive ahead more rapidly, but when the mass
had been penetrated for nearly 200 feet the engineers received another
rude shock. The rock was false. What they had fondly thought to be the
mountain itself was merely a huge crag which had become detached and
had slipped down bodily.
Here was a critical dilemma. The work was far too risky for aught
but expert tunnel-builders--engineers who had made a speciality of
such undertakings, and who were possessed of competent ability and
facilities to cope successfully with any contingency likely to develop.
As a result of careful deliberations it was decided to hand the whole
tunnel--lock, stock and barrel, from end to end--to one firm. Selection
fell upon the British engineers, Messrs. C. H. Walker & Company, who
rescued the famous Severn tunnel from flood, and successfully completed
it in the face of unheard-of difficulties.
These engineers at once attacked the problem boldly. It was found
that the false rock on the Argentine side extended for no less than
1,670 feet, so that it must have been a most violent shiver of Nature,
indeed, which let loose that mountain spur. The situation, however, was
grasped so completely that within two years the range was pierced.
Yet it was not so much the engineering difficulties that this firm
feared when they essayed the task, but the altitude at which it had
to be accomplished. Again, there were difficulties incidental to
transport, and the situations of the workings so far from any base.
These were very great. It must be remembered that during the winter
months--that is, from April to October--the tunnel workings and
camps were cut off practically from the outside world. To plan one’s
arrangements during the short summer so that when isolated there was
no lack of material, food for the workmen, housing accommodation, as
well as provision made for a thousand-and-one other details which were
bound to arise, demanded considerable foresight, for work had to be
maintained as steadily during the winter snows as under the summer sun.
It is not every workman who will volunteer, or is physically capable,
to brave the dangers attending the wielding of pick, shovel,
wheelbarrow and explosives in the rarefied atmosphere and the adverse
climatic conditions prevailing in winter among the highest altitudes
of the Andes. The cold is intense, the snowfall is tremendous, and the
winds rage with terrific fury. The frozen snow and ice are driven like
sand in all directions, and with such force that they cut like a knife,
and penetrate every crevice.
Labour, indeed, proved a wearisome difficulty. Chilians figured
most prominently among the workmen, and they proved to be very good
labourers. There were a few Italians among them, with Englishmen
occupying the controlling positions. At each end of the tunnel
elaborate hospitals were erected replete with competent medical
attention, for in addition to accidents there were the innumerable
maladies provoked by the reduced atmospheric pressure which, unless
skilfully tended in the incipient stages, are apt to develop
very serious symptoms. Pneumonia was the chief cause of illness,
attributable to insufficient clothing and care on the part of the
Chilians. But after all is said and done, work at such an altitude is
terribly exhausting under the most favourable conditions.
On the Chilian side the constructional work was more imposing in
character. It is only 46 miles from the Pacific portal of the tunnel to
Los Andes, where junction is effected with the State railway systems.
In this short distance there is a difference of some 8000 feet in
levels, and the drop in the first 7 miles from the tunnel mouth is no
less than 3,150 feet. The engineers were hard pushed to devise ways
and means to lay the track so that it could be operated by the usual
railway methods. Heavy grades, ranging from 6 to 8 per cent., could
not be avoided to communicate each successive gallery carrying the
metals along the mountain sides. The rack had to be resorted to freely,
and the result is that the line describes a remarkable zigzag course,
strikingly recalling the wonderful Stelvio road in the Tyrol.
At one point there is a very impressive piece of engineering. The line
winds along the hill-side high up on the bank of the rushing Aconcagua
River, disappears into a tunnel through a spur, and then emerges at the
other side on the brink of a narrow chasm--the Soldier’s Leap. This is
a mere wedge-shaped fissure in the rock, but a few feet in width, and
through which the river tumbles over 200 feet below. A narrow bridge
carries the line across the rift to a narrow ledge blasted out of the
opposite cliff-face where the mountains overhang the water.
The resources of the engineers will be taxed to a supreme degree in
order to keep the line clear from snow during the winter. In fact, it
was asserted freely that for about six months in the year the upper
levels of the line would be well-nigh impassable. The engineers on
the spot, however, have risen to the occasion. They have studied the
massive hills of snow which, lashed into furious whirl-storms by the
hurricane winds, sweep rapidly and irresistibly forward, often burying
the railway to a depth of 30 feet or more. A powerful rotary plough
was placed in service to tackle this obstacle, and although found
highly successful in the places where the line was open, it could not
be utilised in the deep cuttings. Special situations demand special
methods. So the engineers set to work to devise their own means of
combating Boreas in his wildest fury. They evolved a push-plough of a
special wedge-shape pattern which can attack a 16-foot drift and cut
a channel clean through it with ease. The trouble is not so much the
snow, but the large masses of rock which are rolled down the mountain
sides, and lurk in the white mass. When a rotary strikes one of these
formidable boulders when running at full speed, the auger-like rotating
mechanism is smashed to pieces, and the whole apparatus is thrown out
of action. With the special push-plough, however, no such disaster
is to be feared. The nose of the apparatus glides over the concealed
obstruction without suffering any damage whatever, and the boulder can
be removed by manual labour, as a skilled gang of snow-clearers are
attached to every snow-plough train.
A new line is approaching completion among the Andes which compels
attention, even in South America, the land of railway wonders. This is
the new main line which is to connect La Paz, the capital of Bolivia,
with the coast. Hitherto, in order to gain the metropolis of the
interior land-locked State, one has had to embark upon a circuitous
journey either via the Antofagasta railway and its connections, or by
means of the Peruvian Southern railway from Mollendo, by way of Lake
Titicaca and Puno.
The new line starts from the coast at Arica and follows as straight
a line to La Paz as the configuration of the country permits. The
outstanding feature of this enterprise is the extreme altitude at which
it lies for the greater part of its length, this ranging between 12,000
and 14,000 feet above the Pacific. Another fact is that the summit is
not overcome by a tunnel, but the line passes right over the crests.
The line measures 292 miles in length, and the sudden rise from the
coast into the mountain country is effected by means of the toothed
rail or rack system, the aggregate length of which is no less than 40
miles.
Some idea of the conditions that confronted the railway-builders was
afforded in the course of the surveys. In many places the engineers had
to blast a trail out of the hard, solid rock with dynamite in order to
advance. There are about 70 tunnels, though none are very long, for
the most part piercing shoulders and spurs of the main range which
could not be compassed or removed. At places very heavy bridging is
essential, the spanning of one gorge in particular having presented a
pretty problem. This ravine is 150 feet in width, and is crossed in a
single span 150 feet above the raging river.
Here, again, the extreme rarefaction of the atmosphere is a serious
disadvantage against which the engineers have had to contend, while
the fluctuations in temperature are extremely great. A difference of
113 degrees in the course of a day is by no means uncommon. At noon
the thermometer will stand at 100, by nightfall it has dropped to 0.13
degrees. Such a rise and fall are tremendous, for at Greenwich, it may
be pointed out, the same daily fluctuation averages about 17 degrees.
Again, in the highest altitudes through which the line threads its
way, water boils at 180 degrees, as compared with 212 degrees on the
coast. In order to enable the workmen to prepare their food in such
exposed, lofty situations, special vessels have had to be devised to
prevent the water boiling over, for this result ensues long before the
food is cooked properly, and the loss of water, even of only a pint, in
such parched regions is a serious matter. In some places the country
is as arid as the Sahara, and the water has had to be transported over
great distances in barrels slung on the backs of mules. Large packs
of these animals have been pressed into service for this work only.
Similarly, the building material has had to be carried from the coast
to the constructional camps strung out along the proposed route, by
means of this ship of the Andes.
The work was carried out from both ends simultaneously, one tentacle
being thrown out from the junction with the Bolivian State railways
westwards, and the other eastwards from the coast. The cost of
providing the capital of Bolivia with this direct outlet to the Pacific
approximates £3,000,000, or $15,000,000. Bearing in mind the high cost
of the other Andean railways, this last conquest of the South American
mountain backbone may be considered low.
CHAPTER XXIII
A LITTLE-KNOWN CENTRAL AFRICAN RAILWAY
Buried in the heart of Central Africa, with one border skirting the
most southern of the chain of Great African Lakes which nestle in the
huge depressions of the continent, is a small, little-known British
colony. This corner of the empire is Nyasaland, a tongue of promising
territory which thrusts itself southward into Portuguese East Africa.
Though the wealth of this little territory, measuring 550 miles in
length, and varying from 80 to 90 miles in width, is incalculable,
exploitation of the resources has been handicapped by the complete
absence of transportation facilities. The early pioneers and civilising
influences visiting the country were impressed with the outlook, and
sought to attract settlers. The more hardened and adventurous accepted
the invitation, and, finding the country in every way as described,
devoted their energies to the cultivation of coffee, which held out
most promising inducements. The physical configuration of the country,
providing a diversity of hill and dale and ample watering facilities,
served to bring about a certain movement towards settlement. Roads
were driven in all directions, and, indeed, the internal communication
to-day leaves little to be desired.
But the country suffered severely from being cut off from the world at
large. There is only one channel by which the country can be entered,
and that is from Chinde on the coast, via the Zambesi River until the
mouth of the Shiré River is gained, this latter waterway being followed
so far as Port Herald. The distance is about 210 miles, and the
stern-wheel, shallow-draught steamboats occupy from 4 to 6 days on the
journey according to the state of the rivers. For about three months
in the year the Shiré River can be navigated for a further 40 miles to
Chinde, and occasionally Chikwawa, 310 miles from the coast, can be
reached by water.
In the early days a hope was entertained that it would be possible to
travel by water from the coast to Lake Nyasa, but this is impossible,
as the Murchison Falls, which connect the Upper and Lower Shiré rivers,
are an insurmountable obstacle. Had this navigation been possible,
the country would have been provided with an excellent artery of
communication, and would have brought Blantyre, the capital, into
direct touch with the coast. As a matter of fact, however, the normal
head of navigation on the Shiré River is Villa Bocage, in Portuguese
territory, just above the point where the waterway joins the Zambesi.
In order to remedy this grave disability, which was hindering the
expansion of the country to an acute degree, the British Central Africa
Company decided to provide a main line of railway between Blantyre and
Port Herald. The opportunities were unique, as transport was difficult
and costly, while it was pointed out, also, that by means of the iron
road the slave-trade around Lake Nyasa could be broken up effectively.
Sir Bradford Leslie, K.C.I.E., M.INST.C.E., the eminent engineer whose
bridge-building and other works are scattered throughout the Indian
Empire, was approached to extend his valuable assistance and skill in
the prosecution of the undertaking. The scheme was not ambitious so far
as railways are concerned, but there were many peculiar difficulties
which had to be overcome. The line promoted was only 114 miles in
length, but in that distance a difference of 3,700 feet in levels had
to be overcome. The broken character of the country proved that some
heavy work would be necessary, for the deep, wide rifts in the mountain
sides, though dry in summer, are raging torrents when the wet season
breaks.
[Illustration: RAILWAY BUILDING IN NYASALAND, CENTRAL AFRICA
Natives erecting an embankment. The natives, both men and women,
transported the material in baskets carried on their heads.]
Sir Bradford Leslie, being interested in the extinction of the
slave-trade, gladly co-operated in the scheme, and although he did not
visit the country to inspect the outlook on the spot, he prepared
estimates from data of the physical conditions extended, upon the basis
of his Indian work.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL BRIDGE ON THE NYASALAND RAILWAY
Everything for construction had to be exported from England.]
[Illustration: THE NOVEL LIFT BRIDGE OVER THE SHIRÉ RIVER AT CHIROMO
The span is lifted by winches worked by natives.
THE RAILWAY INVASION OF CENTRAL AFRICA]
It was intended, in the first instance, that Chiromo should be the
base for constructional operations, the primary idea being to connect
Blantyre with the river at this point. This represented the building
of about 84 miles of line, and promised to remove the isolation and
inaccessibility of the capital. At this time a cart road was the sole
means of communication, and when this could not be used everything had
to be carried on the heads of native porters, while passengers had to
travel to and fro by “machilla,” a kind of hammock slung from a pole.
But access to Chiromo was found to be so unreliable, owing to the
shallow depth of water in the river and the numerous sandbanks upon
which the vessels became stranded, that it had to be abandoned as a
base. A further 30 miles of line had to be added to the project, to
enable it to be carried northwards from Port Herald. The contractors
found themselves hampered at every turn, and it is probable that no
railway was ever constructed under such peculiar and exasperating
difficulties. Railways, as a rule, have been carried from a base on the
coast, where supplies could be landed without very great difficulty,
but in this instance this was quite impossible. Then, again, the
work was being carried out at an extreme distance from home, and an
elaborate organisation was requisite to keep the forces in the field
supplied with every little necessity.
When the line was commenced the country was in a very primeval
condition. Skilled labour was quite non-existent, and unskilled
labour was very scarce. This problem was accentuated by the fact
that Nyasaland was being drained of its resources in this respect by
agents from the Transvaal, who had received permission to recruit
negro labour in this country. The railway authorities endeavoured to
meet this situation by importing coolies from India for the purpose of
construction, but this action was sternly forbidden by the Government
authorities.
The effort to provide the country with the very communication it
needed so sorely to bring about its settlement, furthermore, was
hampered in another direction. The Government authorities in London
insisted that the railway should be built according to the standard
of the Rhodesian railways, notwithstanding the fact that Rhodesia was
in a very much more advanced position economically, whereas Nyasaland
had not reached the moulding stage. This was a somewhat inexplicable
attitude to assume, and was of a nature that might have jeopardised
private enterprise in this field of endeavour. However, the engineers
and builders accepted the terms and the work proceeded.
Under this arrangement the 3 feet 6 inches gauge was adopted as on the
Rhodesian railways, so that in the dim future, when the two systems are
connected, through running will be possible. The rails weigh 41¼ pounds
per yard, and as timber is devoured by white ants and boring beetles,
it could not be used in any form. Consequently, steel sleepers, or
ties, had to be adopted.
Everything required in connection with the undertaking had to be
shipped from England; the country did not assist the builders one
little bit. Not an ounce of coal could be obtained locally, there was
no lime, and bricks could not be made to assist in the erection of the
piers. The country is even deficient in a good quality of stone suited
to building purposes, so masonry work was equally out of the question.
The only alternative was the utilisation of concrete. The Portland
cement for this purpose, by the time it gained Port Herald, cost
between five and six times the price for which it could be bought in
England--in other words, the expense of carriage was from four to five
times the value of the article. This applied to other material beyond
cement. In fact, the transportation to such a remote district was a
heavy item. The articles were dispatched to Beira, where they were
transhipped into coasting steamers, and five hours later were landed at
Chinde, where they were loaded upon the shallow-draught river boats and
conveyed to Port Herald.
[Illustration: THE IRON HORSE IN CENTRAL AFRICA
Arrival of the passenger train at Port Herald on the Nyasaland Railway.
Beira on the coast is reached from this point by steamer via the Shiré
and Zambesi rivers.]
The line follows a northerly course after leaving the southern
terminus, and roughly clings to the bank of the river so far as
Chiromo. Here it swings across the waterway over a bridge about 420
feet in length, to gain the valley of the Ruo River. This bridge is
the outstanding feature of the railway, on account of its interesting
lifting span, which is of novel and unusual design. When the railway
was plotted the Government stipulated that there should be no
interference with navigation on the river, although the waterway, as
a highway of traffic, has fallen practically into desuetude since the
railway was constructed. However, official requirements had to be met,
and these demanded an opening 100 feet wide, and giving a clearance of
30 feet in height at high water. The ordinary type of draw or swing
bridge, to satisfy this requisition, was quite out of the question,
because the need to open the bridge is very rarely experienced, and
when the demand does arise, the time occupied in the operation is of
minor importance. Heavy expenditure under this heading, therefore, was
not justifiable.
[Illustration: THE BASCULES BEING LOWERED BY CABLES AND WINCHES FROM
EITHER CLIFF-FACE]
[Illustration:
[_See page 302_
THE BASCULES LOWERED, SHOWING THE FRENCH ENGINEERS AT CENTRE MAKING THE
CONNECTION
ERECTING THE BASCULES FOR THE FAUX-NAMITI BRIDGE ON THE YUNNAN RAILWAY]
Moreover, as native labour was to superintend the work of opening and
closing the bridge, the simplest arrangement possible was essential,
and, furthermore, had to be capable of hand manipulation. The designing
engineers, Sir Douglas Fox & Partners, and Sir Charles Metcalfe,
Bart., evolved an ingenious solution. On the top of two adjacent piers
carrying the span in its normal position, a tower was erected on either
side of the opening, with two simple, single, vertical racks on either
tower. At the top of each tower a platform extending the width of the
bridge was provided, together with a large sprocket wheel at either
end. A chain passed over each sprocket wheel, one end being attached to
a corner of the bridge, and the other to a heavy counterweight.
To open the bridge, all that the natives have to do is to wind a winch
which rotates the sprocket wheel, and as the counterweight descends
the whole span rises vertically and horizontally, being guided in its
movement by the rack on each tower. The counterweight is the full width
of the bridge, and when the span has been lifted to its fullest extent
the counterbalance weight lies across the track, to form a high barrier
to any one attempting to cross the bridge when the span is open.
It will be seen that the bridge acts on the principle of a sash
window, where the sash weight counterbalances the weight of the moving
portion, and in lifting only the friction of the moving parts has to
be overcome. To guard against disaster from tampering or misuse, the
bridge, when either raised or lowered, is locked. To lower the bridge
it is only necessary to reverse the winding direction of the winch.
The span of steel moved in this manner weighs 55 tons, and the whole
operation of opening and closing occupies about half-an-hour, eight
men under a native superintendent sufficing for the movement of the
winches. It is an unusual type of lifting bridge, but it is doubtful
whether a simpler and cheaper means of meeting the situation could have
been devised, while the maintenance expenses--a vital consideration in
such a remote country--are reduced to insignificance.
About 12 miles out of Chiromo the railway commences a heavy climb,
as it has to gain a summit level of 4000 feet to reach the plateau.
The ascent is through very tumbled country. The ruling grade is 1 in
44, and the minimum curve is of 363 feet radius. As the valley winds
amazingly, the line is a continuation of curves winding round crags and
bluffs. Here and there the mountain sides are torn by wide clefts that
have had to be spanned by bridges, which are supported on steel towers,
carried on pedestals or plinths built of concrete. One of the largest
bridges of this class is that across the M’Swadzi River, which is 290
feet long.
The Ruo valley is left after the 64th mile is passed, and the line
makes a difficult and tortuous ascent along the Tuchili River for
nearly 10 miles, when it swings over to the Luchenza River, which
is followed until the summit level is gained, 109 miles out of Port
Herald. In the next 5 miles a descent of 500 feet has to be made to
gain Blantyre. This is the present terminus of the railway, though an
extension has been projected northwards to Fort Johnston at the head of
Lake Nyasa, and another limb southwards from Port Herald for 60 miles
to the Portuguese town, Villa Bocage, the head of navigation on the
Shiré River.
In the course of the 114 miles there is at present only one
intermediate station with an existing township, at Chiromo. Three
other stations have been provided, however, in the anticipation that
settlements will spring up and blossom into towns as the country opens
up.
Construction was sadly delayed by the difficulties in regard to
labour. The native proved an indifferent workman, the maxim being to
accomplish as little work in a day as possible. Then, when the rainy
season--lasting about three months--set in, the whole of the working
force migrated from the grade in a body to cultivate patches of land,
and were not seen again until the weather changed. The climate played
sad havoc with the Europeans who ventured to the scene of operations
to superintend native effort, and the mortality from tropical diseases
among the whites was very heavy. In order to protect what European
labour is required in the repair shops and the administration offices,
the headquarters have been established at Limbi, five miles from
Blantyre, where the full benefit of the elevation is gained, this point
being at an altitude of 4000 feet above the sea, and one of the most
healthy parts of the country.
An amusing story is related by Sir Bradford Leslie in connection with
the construction of the railway. Prior to the commencement of this
undertaking labour in the country was rewarded in cloth--there was no
money currency, and in fact the natives knew nothing about coinage
or its value. However, when the line was commenced, the Government
insisted that the natives should not be remunerated in kind, but in
cash. Wages were paid once a month, and the natives immediately were
urged by Hindoo traders to transfer the money for cloth. The latter
played upon the native’s ignorance of money to distinct personal
advantage, but the natives had to pay dearly for their goods. Moreover,
they came to the conclusion that the textiles they received in exchange
for their cash were inferior in quality to that given to them in direct
settlement of work done. Consequently, they assailed the engineer and
complained that his money was bad, in support of which contention they
displayed the small quantity of indifferent material they received in
exchange for their wages. They certainly did not evince a very marked
appreciation for the railway company’s system of paying for labour in
sterling.
Although the undertaking cost more than had been estimated, the
results justified fully the expenditure, for the railway, in point of
construction, compares very favourably with other lines of a similar
character on the continent. The engineer in charge of the work, Mr. A.
G. Pears, overcame his unique difficulties in a highly satisfactory
manner, and its completion in about seven years is a striking tribute
to his organisation and methods, while the unceasing expansion of the
country supports the initiative of those who fathered the enterprise.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE INVASION OF THE FAR EAST
I.--_Early Days in China_
There has been much discussion during recent years concerning the
remarkable awakening of China in every ramification of progress and
industry, but without a doubt the most wonderful manifestation of this
movement has been in regard to railways. In 1870, when the United
Kingdom was criss-crossed with no less than 15,537 miles of the iron
road, and the United States was threaded with 52,922 miles of railway,
the huge tract of Asiatic territory known as the Chinese Empire, of
sufficient area to absorb easily both the United States and the British
Isles, and outnumbering the combined population of the two latter
nations by more than 6 to 1, did not possess 100 yards of the steel
highway.
This remarkable state of affairs was not due to lack of enterprise or
initiative on the part of far-seeing financiers and engineers. It was
attributable directly to one influence--Fung Shui, an unfathomable and
insurmountable difficulty--which thwarted every attempt to bring the
great nation on the eastern borders of the Pacific Ocean into line with
other countries. The Flowery Land is ridden with mystery, superstition,
and a religious fanaticism. These offered an insurmountable barrier
to development in any form. The balance between the “White Tiger” and
the “Azure Dragon,” two inscrutable forces, had to be maintained at
all costs, and unless every member of the Celestial community strove
to maintain this equipoise, the fates in store for him were beyond
comprehension.
An effort to break through the influence of Fung Shui was made in 1875
by a group of Englishmen. The firm of Messrs. Jardine, Matheson &
Company, who have large interests in China, desired to connect Shanghai
to Woosung with 12 miles of railway, and they secured the services of
the late Mr. G. J. Morrison, an accomplished engineer, to carry the
project to fulfilment. Great difficulty was experienced in securing
the requisite permission to proceed, because the Chinese entertained
a deep-rooted objection to the invasion of their country by the
foreigner. However, the application proved successful and the line was
built.
The opening of this short road was received with acclamation by the
lower classes in close proximity to the line. They experienced a
peculiar delight in travelling in the carriages drawn by the steam
horse, and all was proceeding merrily. The opposition of the Chinese
to the new-fangled idea had been overcome, argued the promoters of
the enterprise, and they looked forward to further railway expansion.
But they did not reckon with the offended opposition and ignorant
vested interests, as represented by influential land-owners and high
personages. The wrath of the gods was anticipated in no uncertain
manner, but as this did not appear to have vent spontaneously, the
opponents resorted to ingenious methods to achieve their desires. They
induced a soldier to throw himself before an approaching train, under
the promise of a payment of $100 to his family. The latter, possibly
entertaining the belief that the presence of his body stretched across
the metals might arrest the progress of the train, or at least throw
it off the track, without inflicting injury upon himself, submitted to
the ordeal, with the inevitable result. He was killed. Instantly the
intriguers published this circumstance as an instance of the intense
displeasure of the gods, and the countryside rose up with one voice,
calling for the destruction of the innovation.
The agitation startled the Government. An inquiry was held upon the
suicide, and the unanimous verdict was that the line was unsafe.
It was condemned forthwith. The Government even went farther under
public pressure. It purchased the railway, lock, stock and barrel,
at cost price, and turned it over to the enraged populace to do with
it according to their inclinations. The frenzied fanatics tore the
track up piecemeal, threw the rolling stock out of the country, and,
to propitiate the gods, erected a temple to the Queen of Heaven upon
the site selected as the terminus in Shanghai. The promoters of the
ill-starred enterprise retrieved as much of the discarded remains of
the line as possible, and transported them to the island of Formosa
for another undertaking. Such was the inglorious end that befell the
first attempt to introduce Stephenson’s invention into the land of the
Celestial.
Curiously enough, among those most prominent in the opposition to
this movement was Li-Hung-Chang, subsequently China’s foremost and
most enlightened statesman. He had spared no effort to prevent the
construction of the first railway, and when it was completed he left
no stone unturned to bring about its demolition. Shortly afterwards,
however, he became converted to the new method of locomotion. Among
those few enterprising and enlightened Chinese gentlemen who realised
the widespread advantages accruing from the adoption of railways
in other parts of the world, and who foresaw its possibilities in
his native land, was General Tong-King-Sing. He had followed the
Shanghai-Woosung experiment with deep interest. Undeterred by the
fate which had overwhelmed the effort of Messrs. Jardine, Matheson &
Company, he decided to build another line, but he took care first to
win the most powerful opponent to such a movement to his side. The
General was identified with a steamship company which required cheap
coal. Li-Hung-Chang, then Viceroy of Chichli, was interested in some
collieries at Tongshan, some 30 miles inland from the nearest port at
Pehtang.
The General approached the Viceroy, and the two, with the aid of some
other influential friends, decided to exploit the deposits. But the
question arose as to how the coal could be carried cheaply to the
coast. General Tong-King-Sing maintained that there was no means of
transportation which could compete with the railway, and he skilfully
won the Viceroy round to his side. In this manner the Viceroy was
converted from an implacable enemy to a strenuous advocate of railways.
They approached the Government for the requisite permission, and
the latter, impressed possibly by the great men associated with the
enterprise, sanctioned the project. The preliminary arrangements
were hurried forward, an Englishman, Mr. C. W. Kinder, who might be
described as the Father of the Railway in China, being enlisted as
engineer-in-chief.
Before actual constructional work was commenced, however, the
Government--no doubt owing to pressure--repented of its action and
withdrew its approbation. As a result the company were forced to build
a canal, which was completed for some miles, but the head of this
waterway was some 7 miles from the coal-pits. From the end of the
canal to the port, the Government authorised the construction of a
tramroad, but it stipulated that mules should be employed exclusively
for the haulage of the trucks. The company was forced to make the most
of this indifferent bargain, and so the coal was transported from the
collieries to the port under very adverse circumstances.
These slow methods, however, did not appeal to the engineer, and
secretly he decided to effect an improvement. He fashioned a locomotive
from the best materials he could command, a portable engine which was
used at the mines being mounted on a truck in such a way as to secure
self-propulsion. This was used for haulage between the collieries
and the head of the canal. As no ill results attended its use, the
Government finally approved of its utilisation. Shortly afterwards the
line as a railway was extended to Tientsin, and opened for traffic
in October, 1888. Subsequently the railhead was pushed onwards to
Shan-Hai-Kuan. From the small 7-mile road upon which the enterprising
engineer surreptitiously placed a fearsome-looking locomotive the
railway has spread its tentacles throughout the Chinese Empire, the
original road has been extended, and has effected connection with other
systems, giving communication in the north with Mukden, Harbin and the
Trans-Siberian railway.
The original road is intensely British, both in its character and
operation. It was built on the English model, and differed greatly
from the usual class of pioneer railway. The gradients are easy and
the curves are of wide radius. At one point the location of the line
ran through two private cemeteries, but as the graves of the ancestors
could not be disturbed under any considerations whatever, the line had
to make a wide swerve to avoid this obstruction.
All the materials for the railway were obtained from Great Britain,
and the solidity of the construction is an outstanding feature. Every
bridge is carried out either in steel, concrete, brick or stone,
whichever was found to be the most economical. This feature somewhat
surprised American engineers, who are accustomed to less durable work
in the initial stages, especially as it did not appear justifiable
in such a fickle country as China. The latter were also astonished
at the low price at which the requisite materials were landed in the
country, and the fact that mechanical appliances could not compete
with coolie labour in point of cheapness. As a matter of fact, the
country traversed at that time was exceedingly poor, the inhabitants
experiencing a terrible struggle to eke out a pitiable existence.
Indeed, around Tongshan, at the time the railway made its appearance,
it was estimated that over 50,000 natives died of starvation in two
months. When the iron horse invaded this territory a change for the
better set in, inasmuch as it offered a ready and inexpensive means of
conveying the produce from the land to market.
One piece of engineering skill has always ranked as a distinct wonder
in the neighbourhood. This is the bridge over the Lan-ho, 2,170 feet in
length, in which there are 5 spans each of 200 feet. It was designed
by the late Sir Benjamin Baker, and aroused interest because of its
unusual design, which was condemned severely by American engineers.
This famous bridge-builder, however, was by no means content to abide
by hide-bound rules and regulations, and though in this structure he
departed from the orthodox very decidedly, he forced his detractors
to admit that the bridge was absolutely safe, and was able to meet any
traffic that it was likely to be called upon to bear.
Another feature compels attention. Just before reaching Shan-Hai-Kuan,
the line strikes across a valley about a mile in width. Here there is
a bridge having an opening of some 1000 feet, through which a narrow
stream makes its way. Originally the track was carried about 10 feet
above the floor of the valley, but the very next wet season caused
the small stream to swell into a wide, foaming torrent, rising to
16 feet above high watermark, and it swept over the embankment like
a mill-race. When the waters subsided, the engineers, instead of
overhauling their earthworks, lowered the track to the bottom of the
valley, so that no obstruction should be offered to future floods,
while the road-bed was protected by a paving extending for 50 feet
on either side, with bushes planted on the superimposed earth. This
expedient was found to meet the situation completely and to protect the
track from destruction by the flood-waters, which fall quickly after
attaining their highest level.
In the early days the trains constituted a source of infinite
amusement. They were what are known as “mixed” trains; _i. e._ they
carried both passengers and freight. The passenger coaches were of
varying classes, the Chinese travelling in long, open trucks, with
tarpaulins to protect them from inclement weather. The natives appeared
to enjoy this experience highly, especially when the train attained
its maximum speed of about 25 miles an hour, which they admitted was
quicker travelling than by an animal-drawn cart. The whole 100 miles
were covered in about 5½ hours, including stops, some of which, at
intermediate points, were of long duration. At these points, however,
the time was whiled away by watching the antics of the Chinese
travellers, who were sorely perturbed lest the steam horse might start
before its scheduled time. This initial trunk line played an important
educational part in the railway expansion of China, and the cost of
travelling was cut down to the lowest figure. The first-class fare for
the whole distance was 5_s._ 5_d._, or $1.30 for 100 miles, which,
in comparison with the scale prevailing in other parts of the world
for similar accommodation, was absurdly cheap. The Chinese at first
regarded the railway with childish delight, those who could afford the
expense travelling to and fro for the mere pleasure of travelling.
Consequently, it is not surprising that the railway soon established
itself in popular favour. Indeed, resentment from the earliest days
had proceeded only from the upper classes; the peasants hailed it with
unfeigned pleasure. Accordingly, as railway expansion set in, any
opposition that was encountered was fostered by ignorant, affected,
wealthy interests. After Li-Hung-Chang became a staunch friend of
the new means of travel, he established his own ways of dealing with
opposition, which were peculiarly Chinese. On one railway which he
supported, traffic was interrupted frequently by displaced rails and
sleepers. When he, in his official capacity, sought to ascertain the
reason for such disturbance, he was informed that it was due to the
spirits, who resented its intrusion. He made no reply to this ingenuous
reply, but hinted that if he caught the spirits interfering with the
line, it would go hard with them. Needless to say, no further trouble
was experienced on that line in regard to breaks in the track.
Within the past few years several momentous railway undertakings have
been carried to successful conclusion, and to-day there is feverish
activity in covering the empire with the iron thread on every hand.
Foremost among these enterprises are the Shanghai-Nanking, the
Pekin-Kalgan, and the Canton-Kowloon lines. Railways, indeed, are being
driven through the country by various interests and nations, including
British, United States, Belgian, French, Portuguese and German. In
fact, there is spirited competition among the various powers to bring
about the complete conquest of the Celestial Kingdom by the iron road.
Although the initial venture in regard to introducing the railway into
China had been so disastrous, Messrs. Jardine, Matheson & Company were
by no means deterred. They waited a favourable opportunity before
repeating their experiment. It came twenty-three years after their
first ill-starred adventure, for in 1898 they received permission to
connect Pekin with Nanking by rail, a distance of some 200 miles,
together with other enterprises of a similar character. This railway
was undertaken by a group of financiers known as the British & Chinese
Corporation, and they carried the first part of the scheme through to
success. The arrangement was drawn up that this line should coincide
in every particular with a typical first-class European railway,
and this has been secured to the strict letter of the agreement.
Indeed, it stands as the finest-built line in China. It proved an
expensive undertaking, due in a great measure to the solidity of the
constructional work, but the policy has been well repaid. The railway
serves a wealthy district, where the possibilities of expansion are
extensive, for the territory is rich in all resources.
Curiously enough, this line includes the stretch of 12 miles between
Shanghai and Woosung which it was attempted to connect by the iron
road in 1875, and which the natives tore up and destroyed in an
unceremonious manner. The promoters of that enterprise may be said
to have achieved a sweet revenge, especially as “Fung Shui” does not
appear to have been perturbed by the second attempt to set the Tiger
and Dragon at variance.
This line is what is known as a “fast road”; that is, owing to its
comparatively easy alignment, there being several stretches of straight
road, while the track is well ballasted, it is favourable to high
speeds. Indeed, on the opening day, the special train which travelled
over the line with privileged guests covered the 193 miles in 5½ hours,
notwithstanding that on the last 25 miles the speed had to be dropped
to a maximum of 25 miles per hour, as the road had not been ballasted
thoroughly. On some portions of the line the train notched a speed of
57 miles an hour, and apparently was appreciated greatly by the Chinese
guests.
CHAPTER XXV
THE INVASION OF THE FAR EAST
II.--_Modern Developments in China and Japan_
The Chinese, once they were awakened to the possibilities of the
railway, were not content to permit their country to be covered with
foreign-built lines. They decided to become active participators in the
movement--in other words, they acquired all the knowledge they could,
and then undertook constructional engineering. Their aptitude for this
work finds an excellent expression in the Pekin-Kalgan railway, 125
miles in length. This road was built throughout by Chinese effort, the
engineer-in-chief being His Excellency Chang-Tien-Yow, who is to-day
the foremost Chinese engineer in this field in China. He was educated
in the United States, where he acquired valuable knowledge concerning
this branch of engineering, and completed his training under Mr.
Kinder, the builder of the oldest railway in the Celestial Kingdom.
The road is excellently built, and the engineer displayed his ingenuity
in coping with the problem of carrying the line through the Nankow
Pass. This pass guards the entrance of the main road through the Great
Wall, and to overcome the obstruction a gradient of 1 in 30 had to be
introduced for a distance of 13 miles. At the foot of the pass three
Mallet locomotives of British construction are maintained, and they
crawl to the summit of the pass, at an altitude of about 1,500 feet, in
two hours--a speed of about 6½ miles an hour.
The alignment of the railway up this pass is noteworthy. The road
clings for the most part to the side of the mountains, crossing deep
rifts and wide clefts, as well as cutting through spurs and humps and
compassing massive crags. Four tunnels were found to be unavoidable,
one, 3,580 feet in length, burrowing 200 feet beneath the Great Wall.
When the summit is gained, the railway enters a flat plateau, the only
difficulty here, as on the flats around Pekin, being the preservation
of the road from the attacks of floods. That this is no slight factor
is proved from the fact that in the vicinity of Pekin a wash-out
which overwhelmed the line cost no less than, £32,000, or $160,000,
to repair. The completion of the work, however, offers convincing
testimony that the Chinese, under competent supervision, are perfectly
capable of building railways without the aid of foreigners, and that no
fault can be found with their work so far as solidity and durability
are concerned.
For centuries the Chinese have been famed for their prowess in matters
pertaining to civil engineering. At times this skill pursues a quaint
course, but probably the most extraordinary illustration was in
connection with the Shanghai-Nangchow-Ningpo railway. By an imperial
edict a Chinese official was appointed as engineer-in-chief.
At one point it was necessary to throw a bridge across a river. How
it was to be accomplished passed the comprehension of the engineer.
But he evolved a solution which, to say the least, would be difficult
to equal in originality. He built the bridge on dry land, on one bank
of the river. When this was completed satisfactorily, he diverted the
waterway, so that the river ran beneath the bridge through a new,
specially-built channel, and the old one was filled up! In another
instance, where a similar situation presented itself, a pier in the
centre of the waterway became necessary. The river ran swiftly and the
water was deep. The engineer knew nothing about coffer-dams, caissons,
or other methods which the foreign engineer would have adopted. As
the men could not work on dry land to build the bridge, he proceeded
to provide them with this requisition. Hundreds of tons of spoil were
dumped into the river at the point where the pier was to be erected
until an island was formed, and on this the necessary constructional
work was carried out.
Possibly the greatest and one of the most important lines, however,
is the Pekin-Hankow railway, which is 760 miles in length, and which
eventually will be an important link in the great road that is
under construction, whereby through communication will be provided
from Kowloon via Canton, Hankow, Pekin, Mukden and Harbin to the
Trans-Siberian railway. This line was carried out with Belgian and
French money for the most part, and £5,000,000, or $25,000,000, was
sunk in the enterprise. The undertaking was commenced in 1900, but
the Boxer Rebellion interfered seriously with its progress. The
insurrectionists expended their full fury upon the railway, and
inflicted damage to the value of nearly £1,000,000, or $5,000,000,
which, however, was paid over by the Government as compensation. It
has been built cheaply, and does not compare, in point of solidity,
with the English-built lines. At the same time, however, there are some
outstanding engineering achievements. The most important is the bridge
across the Yellow River, which consists of 102 spans, giving a total
length of nearly 2 miles. It proved a particularly trying structure to
erect, owing to the treacherous character of the river-bed, while the
scouring action of the water, which is particularly severe, demanded
elaborate protective works around the bottom of the piers. After
various schemes were tried and had proved futile, large mattresses of
brushwood interwoven with rushes were fashioned, and laid around the
feet of the piers, hundreds of tons of heavy pieces of stone being
dumped on these to keep them in position. This has been found more
or less successful to prevent the soft silt from being washed away,
and to protect the supports to the bridge from being undermined. The
structure, however, is scarcely strong enough for heavy traffic, and
consequently trains upon arrival at the ends of the bridge have the
large locomotives uncoupled, and are drawn across the river by special
light engines retained for the purpose.
One of the most important lines from the commercial point of view,
however, is the Canton-Kowloon railway stretching from Kowloon, in
British territory, to the busy centre of Canton, and thence continued
northward to Hankow to provide connection with the other great systems
of the country, and also with Europe by means of the Trans-Siberian
railway. This project has passed through many vicissitudes. The British
& Chinese Corporation received official sanction to build a road
between Canton and Kowloon as far back as 1898, but the project became
shelved. An American syndicate, which had secured the concession to
connect Canton with Hankow, asserted that they had secured rights to
carry the line from the former point to the coast. Such action would
have dealt a serious blow to British commercial supremacy, and the
money was subscribed to buy out the American concession, which in the
meantime had been sold to a Belgian syndicate, and regained.
The section between Kowloon and Canton, 100 miles in length, was
divided. The Hong-Kong Government was held responsible for the 23
miles through British territory, while the balance of the line through
Chinese territory was carried out by the Chinese Government.
The English section proved tremendously difficult. The country
traversed was exceedingly rough and mountainous. The difficulties
encountered proved so abnormal that the cost of the undertaking has
exceeded the original estimates by nearly 150 per cent. Some idea of
the arduous character of the work may be gathered from the fact that
nearly 2½ out of the 23 miles in British territory are represented by
tunnels. The most arduous enterprise of this class was the Beacon Hill
tunnel, 7000 feet in length, driven through the heart of the mountain
ridge that rises up 3 miles from the coast. The tunnel is perfectly
straight, and ranks as the largest work of its type in the Chinese
Empire.
It is driven through a depth of disintegrated granite on either
approach, where heavy timbering became necessary until the solid rock
was gained. Water was encountered and gave considerable trouble. At
first labour was a serious problem, as the natives could not be induced
to toil underground, and coolies had to be imported from India. After
the work was well started, Chinese labourers, who had been working on
the South African gold-fields and had returned home, were available,
and proved highly useful workmen, especially when the wrestle commenced
with the hard, solid rock.
The tunnelling task, however, was equalled by the work in the cuts
and on the fills. Some of the cuttings are of enormous depth, and the
engineers have had to guard against the danger of heavy landslides,
which, with wash-outs, are two of the greatest menaces to the railway
in China. Heavy earthworks were required, because the line follows
roughly the coast-line, which is serrated, and to preserve alignment
it was necessary to strike straight across these indentations where
the water in many places proved to be very deep. The treacherous
character of the sea-bed, which for the most part is a silt, demanded
the provision of massive foundations upon which to raise the grade,
and months were expended while a huge fleet of junks dumped hundreds
of tons of rock into the water. Occasionally the work as completed
was washed out by heavy rains, while now and again the typhoon left
evidences of its wrath. A noticeable feature in the grading was the
amount of work performed by women, who had recourse to their native
basket slung on a pole for the conveyance of excavated earth to the
fills.
The railway, however, has been built upon the most solid lines, and
although its cost has proved so high, the money appears to have been
expended to advantage. The traffic, although not so extensive as it
will be, is increasing promisingly, and there is no doubt that when
Hankow is reached a heavy volume of business will flow over this
highway. The Chinese are proceeding with their section, and it is
anticipated that not many years will elapse before the two points are
connected.
The French engineers are erecting monuments to their railway
engineering skill in the Flowery Land, the province of Yun-nan being
the centre of their activity. The Yun-nan railway experienced a very
chequered career through its early stages, for in endeavouring to
connect the French possession of Lao-Chay with Yun-nan-Sen, the capital
of the province, they had to break down enormous obstacles. The country
is exceedingly mountainous, the height of the ridges being paralleled
by the depth and precipitous nature of the gorges. Still the heavy
and extensive bridging necessary proved no deterrent to the French
bridge-builders, who are masters in this art, as the many remarkable
structures in France testify conclusively.
The one factor to be feared seriously was the climate. This corner of
China is one of the most unsalubrious in the whole empire. Even the
natives cannot withstand it, and their ranks are decimated heavily
by tropical diseases. The labour question was one of everlasting
perplexity, and the promoters of the enterprise found that skilled
workmen, even of north China, evinced no desire to contribute to a
distinguishing feat amid such miasmatic surroundings. The absence of
transport facilities hit the undertaking sorely, and the engineers were
compelled to make the best avail they could of the existing vehicles of
conveyance--mules and the heads of natives.
The most difficult section of the line was in the valley of the Namiti.
Here it was a stern fight for supremacy with physical obstacles for
mile after mile. The weight and dimensions of every article had to be
restricted within severe limits to facilitate handling and carriage
by the primitive systems extant, and when the question comprised the
component parts of steel bridges, the problem demanded searching
deliberation. It was found, however, that the mules could handle
weights up to about 600 pounds, and that the natives could struggle
along with loads varying between 200 and 300 pounds, but neither man
nor beast could cope with anything exceeding 7 feet in length.
[Illustration: THE FAUX-NAMITI BRIDGE COMPLETED
The structure, 220 feet long, spans a wedge-shaped fissure and is 350
feet above the water. The bridge is approached on either side through a
tunnel.
RAILWAY BUILDING IN CHINA]
Such handicaps would appear to militate against the achievement of
any startling engineering performances. Yet, as a matter of fact, the
French engineers displayed a striking instance of their remarkable
ingenuity and capacity to meet awkward situations. The Namiti gorge
disputed the progress of the line. It is a deep, wide, V-shaped
fissure, one side dropping down perpendicularly for several hundred
feet. The line pierced its way through one bluff, and had to jump
across the rift to enter the opposite wall of rock. It was a matter of
200 feet across, and the rail-level had to be carried 300 feet above
the river below.
[Illustration: THE LINE SKIRTING THE SEASHORE NEAR OKITSU, TOKAIDO, ON
THE JAPANESE GOVERNMENT RAILWAYS]
The situation demanded a novel solution. Erection by false-work was
out of the question, as also was a cantilever bridge; and, again, the
question of transporting the material to the site had to be borne in
mind. Monsieur Georges Bodin, the presiding engineer of the Parisian
Société de Construction des Batignolles, however, rose to the occasion,
and evolved an unusual type of bridge, and at the same time elaborated
a novel method of carrying out its erection.
The bridge consists of two essential parts forming leaves, or bascules.
When set in position they have the appearance of a widely-opened,
inverted V. To carry out the task of erection, first a shelf was
excavated in each cliff-face at the requisite height to carry the
anchorages below the tunnel-mouths overlooking the gap. The top members
of each bascule were riveted up, laid vertically flat against, and
fixed firmly to, the cliff-faces. From this foundation each bascule was
completed.
While the mantling of the steel-work was progressing, other gangs
were busy at work cutting out large niches in the cliff-face, some
height above the tunnel portals, and on these platforms powerful
winches were erected. Each of these carried heavy chains measuring 900
feet in length. The transport of this essential piece of tackle was
interesting. Large gangs of coolies were disposed in Indian file 7 feet
apart, and the chains were trailed over their shoulders like a gigantic
serpent. In this way they wound around crags, climbed steep bluffs and
threaded narrow defiles for some 13 miles. These chains were passed
around the winches and the outer ends were attached to the upper points
of the bascules.
When each bascule was completed it was pinned firmly to its anchorage,
the lashings securing each leaf of steel to the rock face were knocked
away, and the two arms were held merely by the chains. Gangs of
coolies were stationed at each winch under the supervision of a French
engineer, and at the word of command the chains were slowly paid out,
causing the bascules to heel over towards one another. Care had to be
exercised that the lowering proceeded evenly from either side until the
two arms met at a point. Workmen then swarmed up the arm on either side
and rapidly drove in the pins and rivets which secured the two leaves
firmly in position. The whole task of lowering and securing took only
four hours, which was a noteworthy achievement.
Two short steel towers were now erected on the haunches, or central
part of each bascule, to support the steel deck of the bridge, the
members of which were brought up to the mouth of the tunnel and
launched by being pulled out over rollers. With the spanning of
the Namiti gorge, the most difficult part of the railway line was
completed. When the enterprise was undertaken it was computed that the
railway could be completed for £3,840,000, or $19,200,000, but by the
time this gorge was spanned a revision in the estimates showed that the
cost would approach £6,620,000, or $33,100,000.
In Japan, the strides in railway development within a comparatively few
years have been quite as notable as in China. In the former country,
however, the conversion from primitive means of communication to steam
locomotion commenced at an earlier date, and was attended with greater
success. As in China, the railway invasion of Japan was fathered by an
Englishman, Mr. H. N. Lay, who visited Tokio as a guest of the then
British Minister, the late Sir Harry Parkes, in 1869. He approached
the Government and stated that he was prepared to furnish the funds
necessary to commence the railway conquest of the country.
He made his offer at a peculiarly appropriate moment. The military
regency which had ruled the country for so many centuries had drawn to
a close, and the new Government welcomed the proposal. Foremost among
the supporters of the project were the present Count Okuma and the
late Prince Ito. Mr. Lay undertook to raise a loan of; £1,000,000, or
$5,000,000, and this was accepted, while Mr. Lay was entrusted with
the carrying out of the scheme. The promoter of the enterprise secured
the services of Mr. E. Morell as engineer-in-chief, and in 1870 the
work commenced. But friction arose between the English capitalist and
the Government, who did not approve of the financier’s methods. The
agreement was nullified, and the Oriental Bank was established to carry
out the undertaking, Mr. Morell being retained in his engineering
capacity.
He set to work in grim earnest. The question of gauge had to be
settled first. This vital detail was threshed out in all its bearings,
a gauge of 3½ feet was selected, and the building of the first line
between Tokio and Yokohama--a distance of 18 miles--commenced. Once
the fashioning of the grade began, other schemes were put forward.
Among them was a line from Kobe to Osaka, a distance of 20 miles,
which was put in hand, while an extension of the latter line to Otsu
was surveyed. The first railway in the country was opened on October
14, 1872, amid elaborate festivities, in the presence of the Emperor.
Within six years of Mr. Morell’s arrival, no less than 70 miles of line
had been laid and opened. This was a highly satisfactory and energetic
start for a young country, and the success of the experiment spurred
the Government to more ambitious schemes. These, however, were doomed
to temporary derangement owing to internal troubles, and the rebellion
in South Japan in 1877, which drained the imperial exchequer to such a
degree that no funds were available for railway-building operations.
Among these early enterprises was a trans-insular railway to connect
the Pacific coast of the island with the shores of the Sea of Japan,
with ferry-steamers on Lake Biwa to connect the inland break in
the railways due to that sheet of water. By this time the Japanese
engineers considered themselves competent to build railways, for they
had proved apt pupils under Mr. Morell’s training. Native talent
found its first opportunity on the Kioto-Otsu undertaking. This was a
peculiarly difficult enterprise, but the Japanese engineers rose to
the occasion, though English engineers were retained to advise them
and to design the bridges. On this line tunnelling had to be carried
out, and this was the first occasion on which the Japanese engineers
were faced with this work in their own country. Still they succeeded in
complying with the original plans to perfect satisfaction, and had the
pleasure of learning, when the road was opened in 1880, that the cost
of construction was less than the estimates.
The completion of this undertaking marked the decadence of the foreign
engineer in railway-building in Japan. Native engineers were found to
be capable of fulfilling the difficult position of assistants, and
consequently only a few British engineers were retained in the capacity
of advisers or consultants.
Private enterprise also entered the field, and numerous schemes
were sanctioned. The first of these was the Nippon Railway Company,
organised through the instrumentality of the late Prince Iwakura,
a strong advocate of railway expansion, mainly for the purpose of
assisting the peers to secure a profitable investment. It took several
years of ardent campaigning to enlist the sympathy of the latter
in such a project, but at last they fell victims to the Prince’s
persuasion, and the Nippon Railway Company was born.
[Illustration: THE MOST STRIKING EXAMPLE OF JAPANESE RAILWAY ENGINEERING
The conquest of the Usui Pass, showing heavy tunnelling and the rack
rail in the centre of the track.]
This company projected the building of no less than 510 miles of
railway. The two greatest contributions to this scheme were the
Tokio-Takasaki railway, on which the Government guaranteed a profit of
8 per cent. for ten years, and the Tokio-Sendai section, guaranteed
similarly for fifteen years. Numerous other private companies followed,
many of which received liberal Government subsidies. But while private
initiative was displaying considerable energy, the Government railway
enterprise slackened, and threatened to collapse, until Prince Yamagata
proposed that trunk lines should be laid along all the main routes
of the country, when the movement received a fresh impetus. Thus in
1883 there was renewed national activity in construction, and although
many of these undertakings were beset with difficulties of a physical
character, they were pushed through to completion.
[Illustration:
_Copyright, 1911, Kiser Photo Co., for
Spokane, Portland & Seattle Railway_] [_See page 310_
TWO RAILWAYS RACING TO THE PACIFIC COAST THROUGH THE DESCHUTES RIVER
CANYON
The Hill line describes a horseshoe curve on one side of the river,
following the waterway. The Harriman line, on the opposite side of the
river, tunnels through the projecting tongue of rock.]
One of the most notable of these early achievements was the
Takasaki-Naoyetsu line, which was commenced originally to facilitate
the transportation of constructional material for another road. The
engineers were baulked by the Usui Pass, and this gap was left open,
the two sections on either side of the range being opened for traffic
in 1887. The intervening division was undertaken subsequently, being
deferred from time to time in the hope that an easier location than
had been plotted would be found. Though the engineers searched the
mountains diligently, they failed to secure any improvement free from
heavy work, and at last the mountain division was taken in hand. The
grades were so steep, however, that the rack had to be introduced,
the Abt system being selected. The engineers found this section
particularly trying, as they had to drive no less than 26 tunnels
through mountain spurs in a distance of 7 miles, while the deep clefts
in the mountain’s flanks called for massive masonry bridges. This
work, however, was completed in 1893, and it served to provide through
communication between Tokio and Naoyetsu.
It is doubtful whether the iron road ever has made such a phenomenal
growth in other parts of the world within a short time as has
characterised its development in the East. In China there was not a
mile of line in 1877. To-day over 10,000 miles of railways have been
built, are under construction, or are projected. In Japan the network
has grown from 18 miles in 1872, to 5,141 miles at the end of the 1910
fiscal year, of which total 4,634 miles belong to the State, and 597
to private companies, while the former at that date had 2,790 miles in
hand, and private enterprise about 160 miles.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE CONQUEST OF THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS
Although the first trans-continental railway across the North American
continent tapped San Francisco, this was not the route that was
advocated in the first instance. Public fancy was inclined rather to
the suggestion that the Pacific should be gained more to the north, at
the estuary of the Columbia River. This feeling was fostered, no doubt,
because that country loomed more prominently in the popular eye, as a
result of the famous expedition of Lewis and Clark during the years
1804–6, wherein they trailed across the unknown corner of the continent
and gained the Pacific via the Columbia River. The operations of the
Hudson Bay Trading Company and its numerous rivals also had served to
familiarise the public with this great territory.
It is strange to observe how, directly Stephenson had demonstrated the
possibilities of the steam locomotive, imaginative minds drew pictures
of stupendous railway-building achievements across great continents,
broken up by unscaled mountains and unfathomed broad rivers, as if the
building of a track for the iron horse was the same as a child building
toy houses with wooden bricks. As a result the North American continent
became criss-crossed in all directions by railways--on paper--and it
was a good thing for the country at the time that these schemes never
got any farther than that stage.
Since Huntington succeeded in his first great effort, the country has
been spanned by a round dozen lines. Four systems, however, stand out
pre-eminently. These are the Northern Pacific and the Great Northern,
two lines which, in the first instance, were built after the pioneer
manner, and the Western Pacific, and the Milwaukee, St. Paul, and
Puget Sound roads respectively, which were constructed upon experience
gained in connection with the earlier lines, and therefore in
accordance with modern ideas.
The Northern Pacific undertaking suffered strange vicissitudes. It
was suggested, discussed and anticipated for years before it was ever
taken in hand. It was a born engineer and practical railway-builder
who drove the scheme finally to a definite conclusion. This was
Edwin F. Johnson, and his words carried weight because of his great
engineering reputation and the soundness of his views. He waged the
agitation so relentlessly that the Government at last embarked upon
a unique enterprise. A series of expeditions were inaugurated, known
as the Pacific Railway Surveys, and the men for this task were drawn
from every department of the public service. Their task was to report
upon the practicability of threading the great mountain barriers to
reach the western sea. The results of their efforts were set out in
some thirteen large volumes, and they constitute possibly the most
exhaustive work ever carried out in regard to the plotting of railways
through a country. But, like the majority of such Government outbursts,
they represent so much wasted money: they were so valuable that they
became forgotten. The surveyors and railway-builders of to-day prefer
to work out their own destinies.
Then came the Civil War, and that ruled any railway-building enterprise
under the ægis of the Government completely out of court. But Johnson
was not to be dissuaded from his enterprise. He laid his scheme before
many prominent railway men in the country, and they decided to carry
out the work. Johnson was deputed to act as chief engineer, and was
urged to locate the line.
In 1870 the task of laying some 2,500 miles of track was commenced. The
mouth of the Columbia River was selected as the outlet on the Pacific
Ocean. Work was commenced simultaneously from both ends, the eastern
terminal being near Lake Superior. By 1873 the line had reached the
Missouri River on the east, and here a pause had to be called to erect
a massive steel bridge, 1,400 feet long, 50 feet above the river, which
absorbed £200,000, or $1,000,000.
When the first stretch of prairie line was completed, it was used only
in the summer months. There was not enough traffic to pay for the coal
burned in the locomotives during the winter, in the estimation of the
administration, while they feared the expense and losses that would be
inflicted by the terrible blizzards and snowstorms which rage in this
country. Consequently, after the crops had been garnered and conveyed
to market, all the engines, trucks and cars were withdrawn from service
upon a great length of line, which was abandoned practically until
spring came round.
This state of affairs continued until the Indians rose up against
American law and order, wiped out several men, and precipitated a
general reign of terror. The Government, in order to pour troops into
the disaffected territory, requested the working of the railway during
the winter of 1876–7, which proved to be one of the most severe in
history. Yet the line suffered less from snow than the systems in the
eastern States, and, moreover, possibilities of traffic were discovered
which hitherto had been considered non-existent. Needless to say, the
railway never has been closed during the winter since.
Before the railway had proceeded half-way across the continent, the
need for overhauling and relaying the first part of the track was felt.
A higher standard of construction was therefore laid down for all the
new work. Moreover, in order that the line should be completed within
the shortest time possible, it was split into large sections, and the
grade was driven east and west from several points simultaneously.
[Illustration: THE “SWITCHBACK” BY MEANS OF WHICH THE GREAT NORTHERN
RAILWAY OF THE UNITED STATES NEGOTIATED THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS BEFORE
THE BORING OF THE CASCADE TUNNEL]
The mountains proved a severe stumbling-block and precipitated great
delay. The country was so broken that lofty timber trestles had to be
erected to be filled in with earth at a later date. Then two large
tunnels had to be bored to carry the track through the Rockies, one,
the Bozeman tunnel, being 3,610 feet long, and the other, the Mullan
tunnel, 3,857 feet from end to end. Yet construction proceeded so
successfully that the links were joined up on September 3, 1883, the
last spike being driven in Hellgate Canyon, Montana. The spike used
for this auspicious event was the very first that had been driven in
connection with the line when it was commenced years before.
[Illustration: BUILDING A STEEL TRESTLE ACROSS A RIFT
The traveller is setting a girder 75 feet long, and weighing 20 tons,
into position.]
The railway has passed through many financial tribulations. On two
occasions the intermediary of a receiver has been found necessary. It
was hit by a panic in its very earliest days, and it failed ten years
after completion, the second breakdown precipitating one of the worst
financial scares in the history of the States. From the ashes, however,
a new company was reconstructed, a bolder and more enterprising body
of men gripped the reins, the system was pulled to pieces from end to
end and rebuilt. To-day it is not only one of the finest railways in
America, but one of the most popular and successful as well.
Running parallel with the Northern Pacific across the continent, but
some miles nearer the international boundary, is another great artery
of steel which has become a great transportation force in the United
States. This is the Great Northern, likewise built through the energy
of one man, Mr. James J. Hill, the empire-builder of the Great American
west. Mr. Hill is a born railway magnate, and when he shook the dust
of his native land--Canada--from his feet, it was merely because
the Dominion at that time offered him no scope for his energies and
initiative.
His life is one romance; a prolonged conquest with the unknown country,
with the railway as his weapon, and with which he has overcome
tremendous obstacles. The Great Northern was driven slowly across
the country from the Great Lakes. Advance was risky, as the country
traversed failed to promise an ounce of produce; but whenever the
organiser saw that development in the country ahead was likely to
take place, he drove the line forward. His motto was that “the railway
must be a pioneer, leaving the settler to be brought in afterwards.”
He lost no opportunity to gain revenue. For instance, when the mineral
wealth of Montana attracted widespread attention, he made a journey to
Butte. He found that it was costing the mines £3 8_s._--$17--per ton to
ship their copper to Omaha. He pondered on the subject, and suddenly
announced his intention to carry his railway into Butte. He did so, and
the first stroke he consummated was to transport the metal to the same
eastern point at £1 13_s._, or $8, per ton--about 50 per cent. below
the previous rate.
The desolate character of the plains of Montana, and the towering
heights of the Rocky Mountains which stood right in the way of the
line, were far from being attractive from the financial point of view.
Yet he was convinced that traffic could be created, and was fortunate
in infusing his colleagues with his enthusiasm. But if the railway’s
future was precarious, that of the settler was much more so. For some
miles the line ran through territory inhabited by the Indian, and which
the Red Man stubbornly persisted in maintaining was his property.
The result was that the white man could only live on sufferance. If
he stopped too long while passing through the country he was told to
move on. Mr. Hill relates an amusing instance of Red determination to
seize the main chance at the settler’s expense. “When the settlers
drove their cattle across Indian country in order to gain the railway,
the Indians exacted a toll of 50 cents, or 2_s._ for the privilege of
driving the cattle across three miles of their territory! They even
wanted an additional amount per head--I don’t remember what it was--for
the water they drank while crossing the Missouri River!”
Among the Rockies the engineer met with a spirited resistance, and the
result is that the railway describes a tortuous course as it climbs up
the one, and drops down the other, side. At places one may stand on the
edge of a cliff where the track has been cut, and watch it following
the spur for miles, steadily falling meanwhile to the head of the
valley, where it describes a sweeping curve to wind back along the face
of the cliff on the opposite side of the depression. Straight across it
is, perhaps, not more than a mile or so, but the long detour of several
miles was necessary to avoid a heavier climb. The fight for the grade
is emphasised in watching an approaching train coming up the hill. It
rounds the bluff on the opposite side of the valley, two ponderous
170-ton locomotives pulling and straining amid clouds of smoke and
steam. Their joint labour produces a speed of about 15 miles an hour,
and the roar created by the steam in harness is heard distinctly across
the ravine. One follows the train on its winding course, for it is
fully in sight the whole time as it swings round the curve at the end
of the valley, and presently rushes by one with a terrible roar. Some
twelve minutes have passed since the train first came into sight.
Among the Cascades the spectacle is more impressive. Travelling
westwards, the train pauses at the mountain’s summit, and an electric
locomotive is attached to haul the cars through the Cascade tunnel, a
bore as straight as an arrow through the mass of rock for three miles.
In ten minutes the train regains daylight, and the electric locomotive
makes way for a ponderous 170-ton vibrating mass of steel and steam for
the downward descent. When the railway was first opened, the crest of
the range was overcome by a big switch-back, but it did not meet with
official satisfaction, so it was abandoned in favour of the tunnel
driven through the crest.
Directly the engine-driver releases the air-brake the train commences
to move. The descent is at the rate of 116 feet to the mile, and, as
may be conceived, no steaming is required to give the train momentum
down the banks--it travels by gravity alone, held in check by the
powerful air-brake. The train plunges into a line of snowsheds, and
when it emerges, two tracks at different levels may be seen, and in
the far distance, on the opposite side of the valley, is the black
band of steel writhing among the crags to pass from sight round a
distant shoulder. The train swings down the uppermost gallery, crosses
a lofty trestle set over a rift on a curve, dives into a tunnel wherein
a horse-shoe loop is completed, so that when it issues from the
other portal the train speeds along the second track in the opposite
direction. Then it makes another twist to swing to the opposite
mountain slope. Looking back from the lowest level, the line can be
seen cutting three ugly gashes among the trees clothing the mountain
flanks.
The construction of this series of loops was exciting, and dangerous
to the navvies, as one of their number related to me. Excavation was
carried out on the two levels simultaneously, but those on the lower
terrace had to maintain a vigilant eye and a keen ear. Huge ballast
cars were hauled on to the upper gallery loaded with debris, and they
shot this over the side to build up the grade. The result was that
the men below were subjected to a heavy, intermittent bombardment,
for massive pieces of rock were among the spoil. These, given a start
down-hill, bounced from point to point with terrific force, until they
crashed into the depths of the canyon. The men had to dodge these
missiles as best they could. Sometimes they were lucky; at others they
were not, and many a man received a nasty wound, a jarring blow, or a
broken limb from a piece of rock in flight. Accidents from this cause
were numerous, and fatalities were not infrequent.
When the Western Pacific was projected it was decided to profit from
the mistakes made on the early lines in the first instance. Grades in
particular were to be kept down, especially among the mountains, where
a maximum rise of 1 in 100 was only to be allowed. This line completes
the original idea in connection with the Denver & Rio Grande line by
giving the latter an outlet from Salt Lake City to the Pacific at San
Francisco.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE BIGGEST EMBANKMENT ON RECORD BY HYDRAULIC
SLUICING]
The railway is 725 miles in length, and it was split into three
sections for constructional purposes. The first extended from Salt
Lake City to Oroville at the Pacific foot of the Sierras main range,
the second from the latter point to Oakland on the coast, while the
third was a trying short section right down to the water’s edge, at San
Francisco from Oakland. Building was carried out on the three divisions
simultaneously. Remarkable enterprise was displayed by the liberal
resort to any new time- and labour-saving methods and implements.
In the San Diablo Range the path of the track was interrupted by a
depression 123 feet deep and 1,120 feet wide. That hollow had to be
filled to preserve the grade. To expedite the task, an ingenious tool
was devised. This was an electric scraper, and the idea was to pull
this down the side of the mountain, thereby removing several tons of
earth at a time, and to shoot it into the gulch. But the scraper did
not come up to expectations. Breakdowns were so frequent that at last
it was dismantled in disgust and thrown on one side to rust. Then
another ingenious idea was tested. This was called a “merry-go-round,”
something very similar to a roundabout. It comprised a revolving table
overhanging the edge of the dump or embankment. A track was laid on
the circumference of this turntable forming a loop. The laden trucks
were run round this curve and their contents were shot overboard at the
point desired, the empties continuing round the loop to the track to
return to be refilled. The advantage of this arrangement was that the
spoil could be discharged just where it was wanted much more quickly
and easily than by the ordinary method, where the cars are pushed to
the edge of the temporary track, emptied and then pulled back. As the
bank grew outwards across the valley, the merry-go-round was pushed
forwards, so that it always stood on the brink of the earthwork.
[Illustration: THE “MERRY-GO-ROUND” DEVISED TO EXPEDITE RAISING AN
EMBANKMENT 120 FEET HIGH]
[Illustration: A LOFTY EMBANKMENT IN COURSE OF CONSTRUCTION. IN THE
CENTRE IT IS 120 FEET HIGH. CONSTRUCTION CAMP IN FOREGROUND
A NOVEL EXAMPLE OF THE RAILWAY BUILDERS’ INGENUITY]
Among the mountains some magnificent work was accomplished. As the
directing engineer remarked to the writer, it was a stiff problem to
descend the western flanks of the Sierras with a 1 per cent. grade. The
line crosses the mountains 2000 feet lower than the Central Pacific,
and one advantage is that there are no snowsheds anywhere.
When one sees how rigorously the maximum grade has been guarded one
marvels. The mountains are negotiated through Feather River Canyon,
which is a duplicate of the Kicking Horse Pass that carries the
Canadian Pacific main line down to the coast. The canyon is entered
at Oroville, and for almost 100 miles the line rises steadily at 52
feet per mile, following the river until it at last gains an altitude
of 4,817 feet. But hugging the river causes the line to meander very
tortuously, for the waterway zigzags like the teeth of a saw.
Moreover, Feather River is a fearsome waterway. In its calmest moods
it rushes along swiftly, but when swollen by the melting snows and
countless mountain brooks it thunders and boils like a whirlpool. To
escape the fury of the waters the track had to be laid well up the
mountain-side, and where a fork of the river is crossed, a massive
metal bridge had to be built for the reason advanced by the engineer
that “Nothing but steel could be used with safety when the river is in
full flood.”
Curiously enough, although Feather River Canyon had never before been
selected as a passage-way through the mountains for the iron road,
it was favoured by the Indian as being the easiest passage through
the Sierras. Theodore Judah had noticed its advantages for the first
trans-continental. But the Red Man’s trail was along the opposite
bank to that preferred by the railway. At first sight it would appear
as though the surveyors might have profited advantageously from the
sagacity of the aborigines, but they declined to do so for a striking
reason. The locaters had to pay due respect to the snowfall and the
paths of avalanches. In such a gorge the former may be only a few
inches on one, and as many feet on the other side, and the dangers from
slides are proportionate. Such conditions prevail in this canyon. The
bank selected by the engineers is exposed to the sun throughout the
day, and the snowfall is very slight, whereas on the other and shaded
bank it is very severe.
In ascending the canyon, very heavy development work had to be
carried out. At one point a huge loop had to be described on the
mountain-side, and the summit negotiated by a long tunnel beneath the
Beckwourth Pass. The latter acts as a funnel or shaft for the warm
“Chinook” winds, which, entering the pass, melt the snow almost as soon
as it falls. Consequently, on this section snow is an insignificant
enemy, and does not strike such terror into the hearts of the railway
authorities as, say, on the Canadian Pacific, or the Overland route.
The records at Beckwourth give the maximum depth of snow as 24 inches,
so that Boreas will be kept within bounds very easily by an ordinary
snow-plough. By placing the track well below the snow-line, and with
the assistance of the kindly Japanese warm wind, the heavy expense of
snowsheds has been avoided.
This is no mean saving either, for in many cases the cost of building
these protective sheds has been more per mile than the railway itself
sheltered within. On one line the average cost of this protection is
£15,000 per mile, and it is necessary for 40 miles!
On the eastern sides of the mountains the railway runs into the
ill-famed Humboldt River territory, which has proved a thorn in the
sides of many railway-builders. This fine waterway at times bursts its
bonds, floods the country, and finally follows a new course. In order
to avoid any troubles from this cause, the line was kept well clear of
the district, though it involved many artificial works such as bridges,
embankments and tunnels, while the river is crossed 24 times in 185
miles.
Between the foothills of the Sierras and Salt Lake City two other
mountain ranges had to be overcome--the Pequop and Torano chains
respectively. A tunnel solves the first, and a striking piece of
development work compasses the second. This is a horse-shoe curve 5
miles in length, which rises gently eastwards at the prescribed maximum
grade. Had the engineers cut straight across as the crow flies, miles
would have been saved, but the banks would have been three times as
heavy. The eastern point of this horse-shoe brings the railway to the
fringe of the Salt Lake desert, a rolling waste of salt and borax in
which lies the inland sea of the same name, and whose waters in the
distant past lapped the foothills of the Torano range. The rail strikes
across the desert in a bee-line for 43 miles, the permanent way being
as level as a billiard-table, with the rails resting on a solid mass
of salt, 8 feet or more in thickness. This marked the first attempt
to cross this dismal expanse by railway. Many a traveller essaying
the perilous journey as a shorter cut to the country beyond has been
overwhelmed by thirst or the intolerable heat, to lie down to his last
rest, his bones afterwards being found bleaching in the glare of Old
Sol, beating down from a cloudless sky.
One notable feature of this road is the tunnels. There are 42 in all,
aggregating over 45,000 feet in length, while there are 40 steel
bridges totalling a length of 9,261 feet. In one division among the
Sierras, extending for a distance of 75 miles up the Feather River
Canyon, grading ran into £20,000, or $100,000, per mile. Altogether
some 40,000,000 cubic yards of earth were handled to form the grade.
The contractors had to spend £20,000, or $100,000, alone to cut a
wagon-road in order to transport supplies to their camps along the
grade.
Contemporaneously with the construction of the Western Pacific railway,
a third line--the Chicago, Milwaukee & Puget Sound--was being pressed
across the continent for the purpose of bringing Chicago and the
Atlantic seaboard into direct touch with the Pacific ports of Seattle
and Tacoma on Puget Sound.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE AND PUGET SOUND RAILWAY
THROUGH THE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS]
This great artery sprang from very humble beginnings. In 1865 there
was a short stretch of line in the State of Minnesota which, under
energetic and wise expansion, threw its tentacles in all directions,
until by 1908 it had grown into a huge system known as the Chicago,
Milwaukee & St. Paul railway, possessing 7,451 miles of track. How
it came to launch out upon this long reach to the Pacific is an
interesting story, typical of railway development in the North American
continent.
The eastern division of the parent system served an absolutely
treeless country, though the land was among the finest imaginable for
agriculture. The railway required plentiful supplies of timber, not
only for its own needs, but also for those of the settlers scattered
along its roads. Every foot of wood had to be cut in the far north-west
lumber territory, and had to be hauled for hundreds of miles over a
rival railway before it entered the territory served by the Chicago,
Milwaukee & St. Paul railway. Considering the enormous consumption of
this commodity, the money paid over every year to the rival railway in
freight charges represented a respectable figure.
[Illustration: CARRYING THE CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE AND PUGET SOUND RAILWAY
ACROSS THE COLUMBIA RIVER
Showing the huge steel bridge necessary to carry the track over the
waterway.]
Thereupon it was decided to tap the forests and to secure an outlet
on the Pacific Coast at the same time. Although it was estimated that
the 1,400 miles of track necessary for the purpose would cost about
£20,000,000, or $100,000,000, it was calculated that the saving in
freight charges for hauling timber would defray the greater part of the
interest on this capital.
Work was commenced in 1906: on April 1, 1909, the last rail was laid,
and the golden spike was driven home into its sleeper, with no more
ceremony than if a mere siding had been completed, instead of a new
trans-continental line, conforming with all up-to-date requirements as
to grade, curvature and general standard of work.
The completion of such a project within three years was truly an
epoch-making achievement, and, as might be supposed, a long string
of record-breaking feats accompanied its realisation. In 36 months
£17,000,000, or $85,000,000, were expended in the boring of tunnels,
the erection of 20 miles of bridges, cuts and fills to fashion a new
steel highway, and to pave it with 200,000 tons of rails. Some days the
mechanical track-layer, with its load of sleepers and rails, advanced
so rapidly that 5 miles of track were laid between sunrise and sunset.
Curiously enough, this new line was commenced from the banks of the
same river as signalled the commencement of the first railway to the
Pacific--the Missouri River--but at Mowbridge, a point some miles to
the north. At the very commencement heavy expense was incurred in the
building of a huge bridge across the waterway, which alone absorbed
£400,000, or $2,000,000. It crosses North Dakota and Montana, where
it was no uncommon circumstance to encounter isolated homesteads, the
owners of which had to travel 150 miles to post a letter--a duty which,
under the circumstances, was performed about once in 6 or 12 months.
In Montana the line drops into the valley of the Yellowstone River to
cling to its banks. While the river winds in and out in an amazing
manner, the railway follows practically a straight line through the
valley, and for 117 miles it is one of the fastest stretches of track
in the whole continent, there being an imperceptible rise. On paper it
seems but a simple task to build such a piece of straight, level track,
but in this instance it proved very expensive, for the river is crossed
about once in every mile, there being 115 bridges in the 117 miles.
After leaving the Yellowstone River the work became more difficult, for
three ranges of mountains had to be overcome. The battle with Nature,
which had been fought by the Southern, Western, Northern Pacific and
Great Northern railways respectively, had to be waged again.
At times the preservation of an easy grade proved a very knotty
problem. The end was achieved only by prodigious earthworks, frequent
tunnelling, as well as lofty trestling across the ravines. The curves
were kept very easy, galleries being cut in the projecting humps to
enable the line to follow the contour of the mountain sides, while the
summits were conquered by driving tunnels through their crests at as
low an altitude as practicable.
The most noteworthy tunnel is the St. Paul Pass, and here a striking
record was set up, the mountain being pierced at a greater speed than
has been achieved in any previous undertakings of this character. It
was bored from both ends simultaneously, and although it was solid,
hard rock for practically the whole of its length, an average advance
of some 540 feet per month was maintained, the highest rate of progress
being reached with a monthly progress of 732 feet.
Among the Cascades the tremendous ravines separating one peak from
another taxed the ingenuity of the engineers sorely. It was practically
what in railway parlance is described as “cut-and-fill” all the way;
that is, the digging of deep cuttings here, and the raising of lofty
embankments there. The cuts through the shoulders of some of these
monarchs became quite respectable defiles in themselves by the time the
steam shovels had retired from the scene. And the cuts were equalled
in their magnitude by the “fills.” One, “Topographers’ Gulch,” is
exceptionably notable. The track creeps through a deep cutting on
either side to the edge of the mountain, the sides of which drop away
in a steep slope to a depth of 282 feet. At track level the gulch was
800 feet across. A viaduct was at first suggested to span the gap, but
it was found that the approaches were unsuitable to such a solution of
the problem.
The engineer resolved to make a daring effort. He would not bridge the
gulf; he would not go round it; but he would fill it up! There was
plenty of material on the spot for the purpose. The question was the
quickest way of accomplishing this end. When it is remembered that
a twenty-storey building could have been dropped into that ravine,
and that its roof then would have been only level with the proposed
permanent way, it will be seen that it was a big fill indeed. How
was it done? Why, by means of water jets--hydraulic sluicing--being
directed against the mountain-side, dislodging the earth and speeding
it down conduits into the depression. Little did the western railway
foreman anticipate, when he first suggested washing down a hill to fill
a rift by means of a hose as already described, that his much-ridiculed
proposition ever would be called upon to fill up a chasm like this.
A powerful pumping-plant was set up, hundreds of feet of hose were laid
down, and fitted with huge, powerful nozzles. Gigantic and powerful
streams of water were thrown against the mountain face, and the debris
thus dislodged was diverted into flumes, or wooden troughs, which
emptied themselves into the valley. Before a yard of debris was tossed
into that abyss, £12,000, or $60,000, had been spent. When the full
blast of water was brought to bear on the face of the hill the gravel
rushed down into the depression like lava pouring from a volcano in
eruption. The water jets literally moved a hill into the ravine. In the
course of a few weeks a neck of solid earth stretched across the abyss,
affording a path for the railway.
The crossing of the Columbia River was another heavy undertaking,
exceeding in character the bridge across the Missouri. At this point
the river is wide, with the navigable channel in the centre, but there
is a heavy rise and fall of the water according to the season, the
feet of the mountains on either side being lapped when the river is
in flood. The peculiar conditions necessitated a high structure, with
massive stone piers supporting the steel-work. Sixteen wide spans
were required. The task was carried out by the railway companies’ own
bridge-engineering staff, in which class of work they are specialists
and peculiarly fitted to such huge enterprises.
Such is the story of the Railway Rush across the United States to the
Pacific. Yet the public clamours for further lines. The facilities
extended already to travel from the Atlantic to the Pacific seaboards
in less than four days have served only to cause the public to emulate
“Oliver Twist” and to ask for more.
INDEX
ABT system of grading, 255, 307
Abu Hamed, 154
Aconcagua Peak, 128, 274
---- River, 277
Acre, Bay of, 122
Adelaide, 184, 190
Adelsköld, Mme. Gustafva, 260
--- Major C., 260–62
Adhesion traction, 217
Africa, railways of, 79, 139–61
---- Cape to Cairo railway, 139–61
---- Central, railways of, 281–8
---- French West, 145
---- German East, 150
---- ---- South-West, 79
---- Portuguese East, 281, 282
----- South, the war, 155
---- ---- gold-fields, 301
Air-brakes, 313
Airolo, 33, 35, 41, 42, 44
Akasha, 153
Alaska, 162
---- reclamation of, 102–16
Albany, 187
Albert Nyanza, Lake, 151, 161
Alexandria, 154, 158, 159
Allahabad, 252
---- -Fyzerbad railway, 252
Allan, Sir Hugh, 225
Alps, the, 162–3, 170
---- the Southern, 194
Amarillo Gorge, 274
Amazon River, 129, 270
America, South--
First trans-continental railway, 270
_Laissez-faire_ attitude, 14
Survey work, 9–11
World’s highest line, 128–38
American Civil War, the, 309
American railway interests, 155, 183, 293, 300
Amur railway, the, 201, 211, 212
---- Valley, 209
Andermatt, village of, 42
Anderson, Messrs. J. & A., 195
Andes, the, 9, 128–9, 134, 135, 137, 177, 270, 271, 272, 274, 277, 278
---- Trans-andine railway, 270, 274
Animas Canyon, 170
Antofagasta railway, 136, 279
Arab raiders, 119, 126–7
Arabia, deserts of, 117
Argentina-Chile peace, 275
Arica, 279
Arkansas River, 164
Arlberg Tunnel, the, 88–9, 94, 95
Armstrong, Sir W. G., 200, 206
Arnold, Bion, 56
Asia Minor, 122
Assling, 97
Assuan, 158
Atbara, 154, 159
---- Bridge, 154, 156, 157
---- River, 154
Atlin, 111
Auckland, 194
Auspoint, 94
Australasia, railways of, 175–97
Australia, South--
Railways, 184–5
Survey work, 191–3
Australia, West--
Railways, 176, 186, 187, 189
Survey work, 190–92
Trans-continental scheme, 190–191
Water-supply, 187–9, 190–91
Austria, railway enterprise, 88, 90, 95
Avers Platz, 163
“Azure Dragon,” the, 289, 296
Baden-Zurich railway, 31
Bahia Honda, 248
Baikal, Lake, 150, 200, 206, 207
---- railway, 201
Baker, Sir Benjamin, 293–4
Baldwin Company of Philadelphia, 217
Baltic Sea, ice-breakers, 206
Barrow, F. W., 215
Bathurst, 177
Batignolles, 303–4
Batn-el-Ghoul, the, 124
Beacon Hill Tunnel, 300–301
Beckwourth Pass, 317
Bedouin, the, 118–21, 126–7
Beira, 284
Beirut, 122
Beit, Alfred, 149
Belgian railway interests, 150–51, 295, 299, 300
Bell, J. B., 252
Bennett, Lake, 108–9
Bennett, Mr., 26–7
Bergen, 262, 263, 267, 269
Bergen-Christiania line, 263–9
Bergsund, 261
Biaschina Gorge, 43
“Big Hill,” 217, 218, 231–2
Biwa Lake, 305
Blackwall Tunnel, 55
Blanc, Mont, 128
Blantyre, 282, 283, 287
Bluden, 90
Blue Nile, the, 156–7
Bodin, Georges, 303
Bogie principle, 78
Bolivia, railways of, 279–80
Borneo, British North, 4
Bossi, engineer, 42
Boulder River Canyon, 172
Box Tunnel, 23
Boxer Rebellion, the, 299
Bozeman Tunnel, 310–11
Bramstone Tunnel, 24
Brandt hydraulic drills, 89–90, 98, 265
Bray Head, 23–5
Brazil--
Brazilian-Portuguese labourers, 223
Configuration, 216
Leopoldina system, 214–23
“Bridge Line,” New Zealand, 196–7
Bridges--
Girder, 221
Rack system, 221
Steel, 260
Bristen Tunnel, 44
British and Chinese Corporation, 296, 300
British Central Africa Co., 282
---- Columbia, 110, 224, 239
---- North Borneo, 4
Broken Hill, 147, 149, 150
Bromma, 267
Brunel, work in Ireland, 22–5
Buenos Aires and Pacific railway, 270
Buffalo, 55, 70–71
Bukana, 151
Buluwayo, 141, 142
Burma, Gokteik Viaduct, 250
---- Railway Co., 254
---- Upper, bridges, 254
Butte, 312
Cairo, 139, 150, 151, 158
Caissons, 182–3
California, the gold rush to, 60, 69
Callao, 129, 130, 138
Camels, transport by, 190–2
Campos, 221
Canada--
Eastern, the railway in, 225
Fighting gangs, 28
First trans-continental, 224–39
Muskeg country, 18, 226–9
Canadian Pacific railway, 316–17
“Big Hill,” 217, 218, 231–2
Chinese labour on, 15
Eagle Pass, 238
Gold Range, 238
Government aid, 225–6
Kicking Horse Pass, 232–4
Muskeg country, difficulties, 226–9
Selkirk Range, 234–8
Cantilever principle, 144, 239
Canton, 299, 300
---- -Kowloon railway, 295, 299–301
Cape of Good Hope, 212
Cape to Cairo railway--
Northwards from Cape Town, 139–51
Southwards from Cairo, 152–61
Cape Town, 139, 141, 145, 147, 150, 161
Carnarvon, 79
Cascade Range--
Grading, 21, 321
Snowsheds, 24
Tunnelling, 25, 27, 193, 313–14, 321
“Catch points,” 231
Cathedral Mountain, 233
Cenis Tunnel, 31–2, 35, 36, 88–90, 217
Central Otago railway, 196–7
Central Pacific railway, 63, 65, 70, 198, 315
Central railway of Peru, 136
Central Siberian railway, 200, 203
Champlain and St. Lawrenc railway, 46
---- Lake, 46
Chang-Tien-Yow, 297
Chat Moss, 17
Chenab River, 252
Chepstow bridge, 23
Cheyennes, the, 67–8
Chicago, 54, 58, 241, 318
---- & North-Western railway, 162
---- Milwaukee & Puget Sound line, 308, 318–22
---- Milwaukee & St. Paul railway, 318, 319
Chichli, 291
Chicla, 135
Chikwawa, 282
Chile, 274–5
Chilian labour, 277
Chilkoot Pass, 104
China--
Early days in, 289–96
Eastern Chinese railways, 211
Frontier, 198, 211–13
Mileage of railways, 289, 307
Modern developments, 297–307
Trade guilds, 15, 16
Chinde, 281, 282, 284
Chinese labourers, 14–16, 69, 210, 212
Chinook, the, 103, 317
Chiromo, 283, 285, 286, 287
Chisso, workman, 42
Chosica, 130
Christchurch, 194
Christiania, 262–4, 269
Christo Redentor, statue of, 275
Chungzoune River, 255, 257, 258
Circum-Baikal line, 204–9
Cleveland Engineering & Bridge-building Co., 144, 157
Col de Fréjus. _See_ Cenis Tunnel
Colladon, Prof., 36
Collie district, 186–7
Colorado, mountains of, 162–3
Columbia River, 6, 28, 234, 250, 308, 309, 322
Congo Free State, 149
---- River, 150, 151
Congolo, 151
Constantinople, 122
Coolgardie--
Condensing plant, 188–9
Gold rush, 186, 187
Railway enterprise, 190–91
Cooper, Fenimore, _The Pathfinder_, 66
Cordilleras, the, 128, 129, 130, 132, 274
“Corduroying,” 18
Corean labour, 212
Corkscrew grading, 124–5, 233
Cornwall, 22
Council Bluffs, 62, 63, 65
Cragellachie, 238
Cromer, Lord, 152
Cuba, trade, 240–41
Cumbres Pass, 169
Curzon railway bridge (Allahabad), 252–4
Dakota, North, 229, 320
Dallas, 170
Dalnaspiel, 173
Dalwhinnie, 173
Damascus, 117, 118, 121, 122
---- Repairing works at, 126
Darling Mountains, 189
---- Range, 186, 188, 189
---- ---- Upper, 187
Darlington, 144
Dartmoor, 173
Dawson, 103, 111
Deane, Henry, M.I.C.E., 180–81, 191
Denver, 171, 172, 174
---- & Rio Grande railway, 8, 162, 163, 314
Deraa, 122, 123
---- River, 122
Dervishes, 153, 156
Des Moines, 65
Deuchars, G., 257
Dhorabhave River, 250
---- Viaduct, 250
Diamondopolis, 141
Dickson, Norman B., M.I.C.E., 215, 218–23
Dinas, 79
Dovrejelf Range, 263–4
Drave River, 94
Dublin & South-Eastern railway, 23
Dufile, 160–61
Dunedin, 196
Durant, Thomas C., 60, 62, 65, 70
Dyaks, 5
Eagle Pass, 7, 238
---- River Canyon, 171
East Indian railway, 250
Eastern Chinese railways, 211
Edward, King, Victoria Bridge opened by, 51
Egypt--
British penetration, 119
Railways in, 152–3
Eiffel Tower, 169
Ekaterinburg, 199
El Misti, 137
El Obeid, 157
Electric drills, 96, 100
Electrical system, single-phase alternating current, 56
Elizabethville, 150
Elswick, 200
_Ermak_, ice-breaker, 206
Espirito Santo, 214
Euphrates Valley, 123
“Everglades, The,” 241–6, 249
Fades Viaduct, 145
Fairbanks, 112
Favre, L., 34, 39, 40, 42
Feather River, 316
---- River Canyon, 316, 318
Fell system, the, 217
Festiniog Toy railway, 76–79, 81
Field, 231
“Fighting gang,” 28
Fires, forest, 235–6
Fjeldberg, 264
Flagler, Henry, 240, 241, 249
“Flagler’s Folly,” 242, 249
Flat Creek Viaduct, 197
Floods, 219–20, 251
Florida East Coast railway, 240–49
Formosa, 291
Fort Augusta, 190
---- Johnston, 287
Fox, Sir Douglas, and Partners, 285
Foxwood Tunnel, 23
France, railway interests, 295, 299, 301–14
Fraser, James, M.I.C.E., 181–2
---- River Canyon, 239
Fremantle, 193
Fremont Pass, 168–9
Fritsch, Prof., 33
Fung Shui, influence of, 289, 296
Galera Tunnel, 135–6, 138, 274
Gales, Robert R., M.I.C.E., 253
Galilee, Sea of, 123
Ganges, bridges, 252, 253
Garry, Fort, 224
Gauges--
Metre, 215
Narrow-gauge system, 78, 105, 111
Standard, 267
Uniform, need for, 176
Wide, 48
Gellivare iron mines, 260
Gelpke, M. O., C.E., 33
Geraldton, 186, 187, 188, 189
German railway interests, 33, 295
Girouard, Sir Percy, 153
Gjeilo, 268
Gloggnitz, 92
Godavari Bridge, 250
---- River, 250
Gokteik Viaduct, 250, 254–9
Gold Range, the, 6, 238
Gold rush to--
California, 60
Colorado, 163
Klondyke, 103, 110
San Francisco, 65
Golden Gate, the, 63, 65
---- Horn, 64
Gondoroko, 158, 160
Göschenen, 35, 41
Göta Bridge, 260–62
---- River, 260–61
Gothenburg, 262
Gould, Jay, 47
Goz Abu Guma, 157
Grading, Corkscrew, 43, 124–5, 195, 233
---- Switchback, 219
---- Zigzag, 177–81, 187, 219
Grand Trunk railway, 48, 54, 58, 143
Grand Trunk Railway Co., 47
Grant, General, 68–9
Grattoni, engineer, 32
Gravehals Tunnel, 264–6
Great Britain, railway interests, 91, 104, 144, 147, 154–5, 157,
214–23, 254, 276, 295, 300
---- Lakes, the, 47, 58, 162, 311
---- Northern railway, 21, 308, 311–14
---- Salt Lake, 70
---- Wall of China, 297, 298
---- Western railway, 173
---- “Zigzag,” the, 179–80
Greymouth, 194
Guilds, Chinese, 15, 16
Gulf Stream, 103
Gwaai River, 142
“Hadj,” the, 117
Haifa, 122
Halfa, 158
Hamilton, 47, 48
Hand-signalling, 202
Hanging Bridge, the, 164–7, 109
Hankow, 299–301
Harbin, 293, 299
Harriman, E. H., 28–9, 72
Harte, Bret, 70
Havana, 241
Hawkesbury Bridge, 182
---- River, 182
Head hunters, 4
Hector, 231
Hedjaz Peninsula, 123
---- railway, 117–27
Hellgate Canyon, 311
Hellwag, M., 40–42, 195
Hereros rebellion, the, 81–2, 84, 85
Heritier, Grand Duke, 200
High Nile level, 158
Hill, James J., 28, 29, 185, 311
Hindoos--
As traders, 287
Daily wage, 13, 14
Hoang-ho River, 271
Hobson, G. A., 144, 147
---- Joseph, 54
Hodges, James, 50
Hollenburger River, 94
---- Viaduct, 95
Holy railway to Mecca, 117–27
Hooghley River, 250–51
Horn, Cape, 60, 63, 65, 128, 129
Horne, W. C. Van, 236, 237
Hudson Bay, 224, 234
---- ---- Trading Co., 308
Humboldt River territory, 317
Huntington, Collis P., 59, 60, 62, 65, 72, 308
Huron, Lake, 54
Huvudnas Falls, 260
Hydraulic drills (Brandt), 88–90, 98, 265
---- shield, the, 54, 89
---- sluicing, 20–21, 321–2
Ibex, 163
Icebreakers, 200, 206–7
Ichine River, 202
Illecillewaet River, 238
Implements, 16
Inca, 274
India--
British, railway bridges, 250–59
Rivers of, 250–51
Indians--
Missouri, 64–9, 312
Pawnee, friendly, 66, 68
Rising, 1876–77, 310
Sioux, 67
Trails, 234, 316
Indus, 250
Infiernillo Bridge, 134
Innsbruck, 90
International Conference, the, 40
Ireland, Brunel’s work, 23–5
Irkutsk, 200, 201, 205
Irtych River, 201–3
Isonzo Gorge, 97
Italy, railway interests, 33, 35, 82–85, 217
Ito, Prince, 305
Iwakura, Prince, 306
Japan--
Modern developments, 297–307
Sea of, Insular railway, 305
South, rebellion in, 305
Jardine, Matheson & Co., Messrs., 290, 291, 295–6
“Jaws of Death,” the, 237
Johnson, Edwin F., 309
Jordan, River, 122, 123
Jubilee Bridge across the Hooghly, 250, 251
Judah, Theodore D., 61–4, 316
Julian Alps, the, 93, 97
Jumna River, 253
Kafue Bridge, 147
---- River, 147
Kaisim Pasha, 119–21
Kalgoorlie, 190, 192
Kalomo, 145–6
Karawanken railway, 94–8
---- Range, 93, 95
---- Tunnel, 95, 198
Katanga, 149
Kerma, 153
Key, Grassy, 247
---- Long, 247
---- West, 241, 246
Keys, the, 242, 247, 248–9
Khabarovsk, 201, 211, 212
Khartoum, 153, 156, 158, 160
---- Bridge, 157
Khilkoff, Prince M. I., 207–8
Kicking Horse Pass, 225, 230, 232–4, 316
Kilsby Ridge, 19
---- Tunnel, 19
Kimberley, 141
Kinambla Valley, 181
Kinder, C. W., 292, 297
Kindu, 151
Kioto-Otsu line, 306
Kitchener, Lord--
Australian railways, on, 190, 193
Expedition against the Mahdi, 153–4
Kituta, 149–50
Kivu, Lake, 150
Klagenfurt, 94
Klaus, 94
“Klondike,” 103, 108, 110–11
Knight’s Key, 249
Kobe, 305
Kobe-Osaka line, 305
Koppel, Arthur, 80
Kotlass, 212
Kowloon, 299, 300
Krasnoiarsk, 199, 200, 207
Krems Valley, 94
La Paz, 136, 279–80
La Prairie, 46, 58
Labour--
Brazilian Portugee, the, 223
Cape to Cairo, native record day’s work, 145–6
Chilian, 277
Chinese, 12–16, 223, 301
Female, 301
Indian coolie, 293
Italian, 82–5
Siberian exile, 210, 212
Landore Viaduct, 22
Land’s End, 244
Landslides, 138, 219–20
Lan-ho Bridge, 293–4
---- River, 293
Lansdowne Bridge, 250
Lao-Chay, 302
Las Cuevas, 274, 275
Lawley, A. L., 147
Lay, H. N., 304
Leadville, 163–4, 168–9
Lebarge, Lake, 104
Leopoldina railway, the, 214–23
Leslie, Sir Bradford, K.C.I.E., M.I.C.E., 251, 282–3, 287
Lewis & Clark, Messrs., 308
Li-Hung-Chang, 291–2, 295
Limbi, 287
“Limited,” the, on “Big Hill,” 231–2
Linz, 94
Lithgow Valley, 178
“Little Wonder,” the, 77
Liverpool, 208
---- & Manchester railway, 46
Livingstone, 139
Lobengula, 141
London & North-Western railway, 17, 76
---- to Vancouver in the ’fifties, 224
Los Andes, 270, 277
Lott, Julius, 89
Lucerne, Lake of, 43
Luchenza River, 286
Lucin Cut-off, the, 71–5
Ma’an, 122–4
“Machilla,” 283
Madras North-East line, 250
Mafeking, 141
Mahdi, the, 119, 152
---- Kitchener’s expedition, 153–4
---- Terms made with, 139
Mahommedanism, the Holy railway, 117–27
Maidenhead Bridge, 23
Makatote Gorge, 195
---- Viaduct, 195–6
Mallet locomotives, 297
Manchester & Liverpool railway, 17
Manchuria, 211, 212
Marshall Pass, 168
Mashonaland, 141
Matabele, the, 141
Matecumbe, Upper and Lower, 247
Matucana, 134
Maua, 216
Mecca, 121
---- the Holy railway to, 117–27
Mechanical percussion rock-drill, 36
Medina, 117, 126
---- -Saleh, 125
Meiggs, Henry, 129, 130–32, 133–135, 270
“Meiggs’ V-switch,” 130–32, 135–270
---- The “zigzag” system, 177
Meissner Pasha, H., 121, 124–6
Melbourne, 184, 190
Menai Straits Bridge, 50
Mendoza, 270, 273, 275
---- River, 271–2, 274
Meredith, J. O., 243–4
Metcalfe, Sir Charles, Bart., 145–146, 285
Metre-gauge, 263, 267
Mexican Central, the, 3
Mexico, 162
---- Native labour, 13
---- Gulf of, 240, 246–8
Miami, 240–41, 249
---- to Havana, Key West, 241–9
Miasma, 242–4
Midland railway (W.A.), 187, 189
Minaes, 214
Minnesota, 318
Mississippi River--
Bridges, 250
Scouring of the, 252
Missouri River, 61, 62, 64, 66, 250, 309, 312, 319, 322
“Mixed trains,” 294
Mjolfjeld, 268
Moberly, Walter, 6, 238
Moffatt, David H. M., 171, 172
“Moffatt” road, the, 162, 163
Mollendo, 136, 271, 279
Mongolia, beasts of burden from, 211
Mont Cenis “Fell” railway, 217
Montana, 229, 320
---- Hellgate Canyon, 311
---- Mineral wealth, 312
Montreal, railway enterprise in, 46–8
---- to Vancouver, 224
Morell, E., 305, 306
Morrison, G. J., 290
Mountain railways, the first, 91–2
---- sickness, 9, 136
Mouraviev-Amoursky, Count, 198
Mowbridge, 320
M’Swadzi River, 286
Mud-slides, 237
Muir, John, 190–91
Mukden, 293, 299
Muktar Bey, 126
Mules, Andine, 280
Mullan Tunnel, 311
Munich, 93, 101
Murchison Falls, 282
---- gold-fields, 188
Murzzuschlag, 92
Myssovaia, 201, 206
Naihati, 250
Namiti Gorge, 302–4
---- Valley, 302
Nanking, 296
Nankow Pass, 297–8
Naoyetsu, 307
Natal railways, 140, 155
Neccaraviglia, workman, 42
Nevada, 61
New South Wales railways, 176–84, 186, 219
---- York, 46, 59, 60, 155, 240, 241, 255
---- York to San Francisco, 15
---- Zealand railways, 193–7
Niagara Falls, 57
---- River suspension bridge, 57–58, 143
Nicholas II., 200
Nictheroy, 216
Nijneoudinsk, 199
Nikolsk, 212
Nile River, 154
---- Blue, 156–7
---- Expedition, 1885–6, 153
---- High level, 158
Nile Rapids, 160–61
---- steamers, 158
---- White Nile, 157–8, 160
---- Valley, 150, 152
Nippon Railway Co., 306
North Island (N.Z.) Trunk railway, 194
North, Major Frank J., 66–8
North Wales Narrow Gauge railway, 76–87
Northampton (W.A.), 187
Northern Pacific railway, 308–11
---- crisis, 239
Northern railway (W.A.), 188
North-Western State railway, 252
Norway, 260
---- Trans-Norwegian railway, 262
Norwegian Eastern railway system, 267
Nyasa, Lake, 282, 287
Nyasaland--
Negroes, 283
Railways, 281–8
Oakland, 315
Ober Villach, 101
Obi, 200
---- River, 201–3, 205
Ofoten, 260
Ogden, 75
Okuma, Count, 305
Omaha, 65, 68, 312
Omaruru, 82, 85, 87
Omdurman, 153, 154, 157
Omsk, 199
Ontario, Lake, 54, 57
Oodnadatta, 184
Opcina Tunnel, 97
Ophir Loop, 170–71
---- Mountain, 170
Orange Free State, 140
Oregon railways, 28–9
Orenburg, 199
Oriental Bank, 305
Oroville, 314, 316
Oroya, 136
---- line, 129–38, 177, 271
Osaka, 305
Osgood, J. O., 166–7
Ossouri railway, 201
Otago, 196
---- Central railway, 196–7
Otavi line, the, 79
---- the new “Copperado,” 79
Otira Gorge, 194, 195
---- Tunnel, 194–5
Otsu, 305
Ottoman Government, the, and the Bedouin, 118, 119
Ouguati, 82
Ovambo coolies, 83–4
“Overland Limited,” the, 75
“Overland Route,” 65–6, 71, 317
Pacific Central railway, 63, 65, 70, 198, 315
---- railway surveys, 309
---- Western railway, 308, 314–18
Pæons, 13
Palestine, 117, 119, 123
Panama, Isthmus of, 65, 240
Parahybuna River, 221
Paramatta, 176
Parisian Société de Construction des Batignolles, 303–4
Parkes, Sir Harry, 304–5
Pauling & Co., Messrs., 141
Pawnee Indians, 66, 68
Payment in kind, 287–8
Paznaun Valley, 90
Pears, A. G., 288
Pehtang, 291
Pekin, 296, 298–9
---- -Hankow railway, 299
---- -Kalgan railway, 295, 297
---- -Nanking railway, 296
Pennsylvania Steel Co., 254, 255–9
Penrith, 177
Pequop Range, 72, 317
Perth (W.A.), 187–9
Peru, 129
Peruvian Central railway, 136
---- Corporation of London, 135
---- Southern railway, 279
Peto, Betts & Brassey, Messrs., 47, 49, 52
Petropavlovsk, 199
Petropolis, 216, 221
“Phantom Curve,” 169
Placer River Valley, 113
Poncha, 168
Ponthierville, 151
Port Herald, 281, 282, 283, 284, 286, 287
---- Sudan, 160
Portland, Atlantic Coast, 29, 48
Portmadoc, 76
Portugal, railway interests, 295
Princeton, Dartmoor, 173
Promontory Range, 70, 71
Pueblo, 164, 171
---- and Arkansas railway, 164–7
---- to Leadville, 168
Puget Sound, 309, 318
Pullman car, the, on the Hedjaz railway, 126
Puno, 136, 279
Puy de Dôme, 145
Pyrhn Pass, 94
---- railway, 94
Queensland railways, 176, 182, 184
Rack system, the, 216, 221, 255, 273, 274, 277, 279, 307
Rainhill, 46
Raiz da Serra, 216
Rangoon, 255
Red Sea, the, 123, 158, 159
Reinunga Tunnel, 266–7
Rejaf, 160–61
Resurrection Bay, 112
Reuss River, 35
Rhodes, Cecil--
Cape to Cairo railway, 139–61
Death of, 149
Rhodesia, 141, 284
---- North-West, 145
Riggenbach system, the, 216
Rimac River, 130
Rinderpest, 141, 211
Rio de Janeiro, 214, 215
---- Bay of, 216–17
“Rio de las animas perdidas,” 170
“Riviera of America,” 249
Roa, 267, 269
Robinson, A. A., the Hanging Bridge, 165–7
“Rocket,” Stephenson’s, 46
Rockhampton, 190, 193
Rocky Mountains, the, 68, 136, 162, 164, 167–9, 170, 172, 173, 193,
230, 231, 312–13
---- avalanches, 5, 6
---- Bozeman Tunnel, 310–11
---- Mullan Tunnel, 311
Rogers, Major A. B., 234
Rogers’ Pass, 234
Rollins Pass, 163, 173–4
Rosenbach Valley, 95
Ross, Alexander M., 49, 50, 52
Rouses’s Point, 47
Royal Gorge, 164–7, 170
Ruapehu, Mount, 195
Ruo Bridge, 285–6
---- River, 285
Russia, Asiatic, 198
---- European, railways, 199, 205
Russo-Japanese War, 212
Sacramento, 63, 70, 71
Sahara, the, 79
St. Bernard Hospice, 163
St. Clair River, 54
---- Tunnel, 54–6
---- ---- Electrification, 56–7
St. Gotthard Tunnel, 88–90, 129, 195, 233;
footpath, 30–31;
financial arrangements, 31–4;
hindrances, 34–6;
drilling, 36–7;
labour, 37–8;
water, 38–9;
deficit, 39;
death of M. Favre, 40;
borings completed, 41–3;
the second track, 43–5
St. John’s, Quebec, 46, 58
St. Lawrence, Victoria Jubilee Bridge, 46–54
St. Paul Pass, 320–21
---- railway, 308
St. Petersburg, 203, 207
St. Pinnock Viaduct, 22
Salt Lake, 61, 71, 72, 73
---- ---- City, 71, 164, 171, 314, 317
---- ---- Desert, 318
Saltash Bridge, 23
San Bartholomé, 131
San Diabolo Range, 315
San Francisco, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 70, 198, 225, 241, 314, 315
Sarnia, 54
Sarras, 153
Scandinavia--
Climate, 103
Snow-ploughs, 260
Schwarzach St. Veit, 101
Schwitzer, J. E., 1, 233
Scottish Highlands railway, 173
Seattle, 107, 318
Selkirk Range, the, 6, 234–8
---- “Jaws of Death,” the, 237
---- Rogers’ Pass, 234
---- Snow-sheds, 24, 235–7
---- Split fences, 236
---- Stoney Creek Bridge, 237–8
Sella, Lake of, 42
Selzthal, 94
Semmering Pass, 92
---- Range, 91
Sennar, 156–7
Severn Tunnel, 276
Seward, 112, 113
Shanghai, 213, 290, 291, 296
Shanghai-Nangchow-Ningpo railway, 298
Shanghai-Nanking railway, 295
Shanghai-Woosung railway, 290–295
Shan-Hai-Kuan, 292, 294
Shellal, 158
Sher Shah, 252
Shiré River, 281, 282, 287
Siberia--
Central railway, 200, 203
Climate of Western, 204
Exiles as labourers, 210–12
Trans-Siberian railway, 198–213
Tundras, the, 18
Western railway, 200, 203
“Siberia,” disease, 211
Siberian Central railway, 200, 203
Sierras Main Range, grading and tunnelling, 314–18
Simplon Tunnel, 100
Sioule River, 145
Sioux, the, 67
Skaguay, 107, 108, 110, 111–12
---- railway from, 103–5
Slave-trade, Central Africa, 282–3
Smith, C. Shaler, 166
Smith’s Mill, 187
Snow-plough, the, 111, 173, 232, 268–9, 278
Snow-sheds, 235–7
Snow-slides, 236
Snowdon Station, 79
Soldier’s Leap, 278
Sommeiller, 32
Sone Bridge, 250
Sorochté, sickness, 9
South Boulder Canyon, 172
---- Island, N.Z., 194, 197
“Spiral” grading and tunnelling, 43, 195, 233
“Split fences,” 236
Spooner, C. E., 77
Stanford, Leland, 60, 62, 65, 70
Stanley, 139
Stanleyville, 151
Stattnitz, 94
Steel, first used for bridges, 260
Steelton, 254, 255, 258
Stelvio road, 163, 170, 277
Stephen, Mount, 230
Stephenson, George, 17, 19, 30, 46, 49–52, 308
Steyr River, 94
Stoney Creek Bridge, 237–8
---- ---- Plain, the, 123
“Straight Line,” the longest in the world, 270
Stretensk, 201, 211, 212
Styria, 91
Suakin, 159, 160
Sudan--
Railways, 153, 154, 156, 158
Upper, 157, 158
Work of the Government, 160, 161
Sudan Development and Exploration Co., 158, 160
“Sudd,” 160
Suez Canal, 212, 213
---- Gulf, 159
Sukkur, 250
Superior, Lake, 226–7, 230, 309
Swakopmund, 79, 81, 82, 84, 85, 87
Sweden, bridges, 260
Switchback grading, 219
Switzerland--
Alps, the, 162
Financing the St. Gotthard, 33
Railways, 216
Tunnelling in, 30
Sydney, 177, 190
---- railway to Paramatta, 176
---- railway to Queensland, 182
Tabuk, 124, 125
Tacoma, 318
Takasaki-Naoyetsu railway, 307
Tamboraque, 134
Tanganyika, 149–50
Tasmanian Sea, 193
Tauern Range, 93, 98
---- Tunnel, 98–101
Taugevand, 264, 265, 266
Tcheliabinsk, 200, 202
Tcheliabinsk-Kourgan, 199
Teichl River, 94
Telephone across Victoria Falls, first use, 143–4
Tennessee Pass, 169
Tessin River, 35
Texas forests, 73
Thompson River Canyon, 239
Thorndike, William, 135–6
Tientsin, 292
Tigris Valley, 123
Tioumen, 199, 205
Titicaca, Lake, 136, 137, 279
Tobol, the, 202
Tokio, 304, 305, 307
---- -Kakasaki railway, 306
---- -Sendai railway, 306
---- -Yokohama railway, 305
Tolosa, 274
Toltec Bridge, 169
---- Tunnel, 169
Tomsk, 199, 205, 213
Tong-King-Sing, General, 291–2
Tongshan, 291, 293
“Topographers’ Gulch,” 321
Torano Range, 317, 318
Toronto, 48
“Toy” railway, Festiniog, 76–9
Track-layer, the, 146
Training-bund, 252, 253
Trans-andine railway, the, 270, 274
Trans-Baikal railway, 201
Trans-Continental railway--
First Canadian, 224–39
Proposed Australian, 189–93
United States, first, 59–75
Trans-Norwegian railway, 262
Trans-Siberian railway, 198–213, 293, 299, 300
Transvaal--
Cost of railways, 140
Negro labour, 283
Tremola River, 35
Trieste, 91, 92, 101
Trisanna Viaduct, 90
Tröllhätten, 262
---- Falls, 260
Tsumeb, 79, 85
Tuchili River, 286
Tugela Bridge, 155
Tupungato, 274
Turnagain Arm, 113
Two-foot gauge, 78
Uddevalla-Wenersborg-Herljunga railway, 260
Uganda, 160
Union Pacific railway, 63, 70, 171, 198
United Kingdom, mileage in 1870, 289
United States--
First trans-continental, 59–75
Mileage in 1870, 289
Railway interests, 112, 239, 295
Railways, 176, 185, 208
Upsallata Station, 273
Ural Mountains, 199, 201, 205, 213
Usakos, 86
Usamburu, 150
Usui Pass, 307
Valparaiso, 270
Vancouver, 107, 224
Vasquez, 174
Verrugas Bridge, 132–4, 136, 138
“Verrugas fever,” 133–5
Verrugas River, 132
Viaducts, overhanging principle, 257
Victoria, 176, 184
---- Bridge (Zambesi), 142–4, 157
---- Desert, 190
---- Falls, 142–4
---- Jubilee Bridge (St. Lawrence), 51–4
Vienna, 91, 93–4
Villa Bocage, 282, 287
Villach, 101
Vladivostok, 200, 201, 202, 211, 212
Vossevangen, 263, 264, 266, 267, 269
“V-switches,” 130–32, 180, 274
Wadi Haifa, 153
Waian timber trestle, the, 197
Wales, North, Toy railway, 76–87
Walkaway, 189
Walker, Messrs. C. H. & Co., 276
Wallula Pacific railway, 28
Wankie coalfield, 142
Wapata Mountain, 233
Wash-outs, 219–20
Wellington, 194
West Indies, 240
Westinghouse Electric Co., 56–7
White ants, 142, 284
White _de luxe_ express, 158
White Horse, 104, 105, 108, 109, 110
---- Horse summit, 110
White Nile Bridge, 157–8
---- Pass, 105, 110, 111
---- Pass and Yukon line, 105–12
---- Pass summit, 110, 111
“White Tiger,” the, 289, 296
Whitton, John, 178–80
Whitworth & Co., Messrs., 200, 206
Wicklow, 22–23
Windhuk, 82
Wingatui Viaduct, 196–7
Winnipeg, 224
Wochenier Tunnel, 97–8
“Wooden flanges,” 46
Woosung, 290, 296
Wurzner Save Valley, 97
Yablonovoi Range, 209
Yamagata, Prince, 306
Yarmuk River, 122
Yellow fever, 215
Yellow Gorge. _See_ Amarillo Gorge
---- River Bridge, 299
Yellowhead Pass, 230
Yellowstone River, 320
Yenisei Bridge, 204
---- River, 201, 204
Yokohama, 305
Yukon River, 104, 108
Yun-nan, 301–2
---- railway, 301–4
Yun-nan-Sen, 302
Zambesi River, 142, 147, 150, 281, 282
Zigzag grading, 177–81, 187, 219
---- the Great, 178–80
Zlatoost, 199, 202
Zyrkousounsk Mountain Chain, 206
THE END
_Rickard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay_
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.
The index was not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page
references. Inconsistent appearance of page ranges was not changed.
Page 64: “Golden Horn” was printed that way, but it refers to the
Golden Gate Strait in California; the Golden Horn is in Turkey.
Page 65: “’47” was printed that way, but gold was discovered at
Sutter’s Mill in January, 1848.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Railway Conquest of the World" ***
Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.