Tunnels.
8. The brief history of the construction of the Kilsby Tunnel of the London and North-Western Railway very strikingly demonstrates the latent difficulties which occasionally evade the investigations, baffle the calculations, and which, by chastening as well as by humbling, eventually elevate the mind of every man of science who has practically to contend with the hidden secrets of the crust of the earth which we inhabit.
The proposed tunnel was to be driven about 160 feet below the surface. It was to be, as indeed it is, 2399 yards 2 feet 6 inches in length, with two shafts of the extraordinary size of 60 feet in diameter, not only to give air and ventilation, but to admit light enough to enable the engine-driver in passing through it with a train to see the rails from end to end.
In order correctly to ascertain, and honestly to make known to the contractors, the nature of the ground through which this great work was to pass, the engineer in chief sank the usual number of what are termed “trial shafts,” and, it clearly appearing therefrom that the principal portion of the stratum was the shale of the lower oolite, the usual advertisements for tenders were issued, and the shafts, &c., having been minutely examined by the competing contractors, the work was let to one of them for the sum of 99,000l.
In order to drive the tunnel, it was deemed necessary to construct 18 working shafts, by which, like the heavings of a mole, the contents of the subterranean gallery were to be brought to the surface.
This interesting work was in busy progress, when all of a sudden it was ascertained, that at about 200 yards from the south end of the tunnel, there existed, overlaid by a bed of clay 40 feet thick, a hidden quicksand, which extended 400 yards into the proposed tunnel, and which the trial shafts on each side of it had almost miraculously just passed without touching.
The traveller in India could scarcely be more alarmed at the sudden sight of a crouching tiger before him, than the contractor was at the unexpected appearance of this invincible enemy. Overwhelmed at the discovery, he instantly took to his bed, and though he was liberally, or, to speak more correctly, justly relieved by the Company from his engagement, the reprieve came too late, for he actually died!
The question then arose whether, in the face of this tremendous difficulty, the execution of the Kilsby Tunnel should be continued or abandoned. The general opinion of the several eminent engineers who were consulted was against proceeding, and certainly the amount of the difficulties which were subsequently incurred, justified the verdict. But in science, as well as in war, the word “IMpossible” can occasionally, by cool and extraordinary exertions, be divested of its first syllable; and accordingly, Mr. Robert Stephenson offering, after mature reflection, to undertake the responsibility of proceeding, he was duly authorised to do so.
His first operation was of course to endeavour by the power of steam-engines—the comrades of his life—to lower the water with which he had to contend; and although, to a certain degree, this attempt succeeded, yet by the draining of remote springs, and by the sinking of the water in wells at considerable distances, it was soon ascertained that the quicksand in question covered several square miles.
The tunnel, 30 feet high by 30 feet broad, arched at the top as well as the bottom, was formed of bricks laid in cement, and the bricklayers were progressing in “lengths” averaging 12 feet, when those who were nearest the quicksand, on driving into the roof, were suddenly almost overwhelmed by a deluge of water which burst in upon them. As it was evident that no time was to be lost, a gang of workmen, protected by the extreme power of the engines, were with their materials placed on a raft; and while, with the utmost celerity, they were completing the walls of that short length, the water, in spite of every effort to keep it down, rose with such rapidity, that at the conclusion of the work the men were so near being jammed against the roof, that the assistant-engineer, Mr. Charles Lean, in charge of the party, jumped overboard, and then, swimming with a rope in his mouth, he towed the raft to the foot of the nearest working shaft, through which he and his men were safely lifted up into daylight, or, as it is termed by miners, “to grass.”
The water now rose in the shaft, and as it is called “drowned out” the works. For a considerable time all the pumping apparatus appeared to be insufficient. Indeed the effort threatened to be so hopeless that the Directors of the Company almost determined to abandon it, but the engineer-in-chief, relying on the power of his engines, prayed for one fortnight more; before that period expired Science triumphed over her subterranean foe, and—thanks to the inventors of the steam-engine—the water gradually lowered.
By the main strength of 1250 men, 200 horses, and 13 steam-engines, not only was the work gradually completed, but during night and day, for eight months, the astonishing and almost incredible quantity of 1800 gallons per minute from the quicksand alone was raised by Mr. Robert Stephenson and conducted away!!
Indeed such is the eagerness with which workmen in such cases proceed, that, on a comrade being one day killed at their side by falling down the shaft, they merely, like sailors in action, chucked his body out of the way and then instantly proceeded with their work. In the construction of the tunnel there were lost twenty-six men, two or three of whom were “navvies,” killed in trying, “for fun,”—as they termed it—to jump one after another across the summits of the shafts.
The time occupied from the laying of the first brick to the completion of the work was thirty months. The number of bricks used was 36,000,000, sufficient to make a good footpath from London to Aberdeen (missing the Forth) a yard broad!
On the completion of this great work the large populous village which had been constructed on its summit was of course suddenly deserted; it has since completely disappeared, and, instead of the busy scenes it once witnessed, there is now nothing heard on the dreary summit of the Kilsby Tunnel but the desolate moan of the rumbling train, or the occasional subterranean whistle of its engine; these noises being followed by the appearance of a slight smoke slowly meandering upwards from the two great shafts of the tunnel.
During the operations we have just described, an artificer who had been working in the tunnel was ascending one of the shafts when, the back of his coat happening to get into an angular crevice of the partition, called by miners a “brattice,” which separated the shaft from the pumps, it became so completely jammed therein that the man was obliged to let go the rope, and accordingly, while dangling over his head it rose to the surface, he remained, to the utter astonishment and dismay of his comrades, suspended about 100 feet from the bottom, until some of them descended and rescued him by cutting away the imprisoned piece of his coat, which, on being afterwards extricated, was long preserved in the engineer’s office as a trophy demonstrating the strength of good honest English broadcloth.
At the same shaft an accident of exactly a contrary nature subsequently occurred. In order to execute some trifling repair to the brattice, there was, during a desperate cold night, suspended, about half-way down the shaft, a temporary scaffolding on which several artificers were working by candle-light, when all of a sudden a well-known powerful “navvy,” named Jack Pierson, fell from the surface with such momentum, that, breaking through the frail scaffolding as if it had been tinder, he was in a few seconds heard to go souse into the water at a considerable depth beneath!
As soon as the men on the scaffold had recovered from their surprise they naturally all at once were animated with a desire to save their comrade. One lustily roared out for rope; another vociferously proposed something else; while several navvies, bawling from the surface, were each as eagerly and as loudly prescribing his own remedy. In the midst of this confusion the stentorian voice of Jack Pierson himself was heard, from the very bottom of the pit, calmly to exclaim,
“Darm your eyes, make less noise and pool me arout!!”
His rough command was instantly attended to, and he was moreover carried to his bed, where, poor fellow! he lay many weeks unable to move.
Besides the 1250 labourers employed in the construction of the tunnel, a proportionate number of suttlers and victuallers of all descriptions concentrated upon the village of Kilsby. In several houses there lodged in each room sixteen navvies, and as there were four beds in each apartment, two navvies were constantly in each; the two squads of eight men as alternately changing places with each other in their beds as in their work.
Such was the demand for lodging that it was, as we have stated, found necessary to construct a large village over the tunnel for the accommodation of the workmen, and, as they generally allowed themselves three meat meals a-day, it has been asserted that more beef was eaten at Kilsby during the construction of the tunnel than had previously been consumed there since the Deluge.
As these navigators are now before us, we trust that our readers will not only be curious but desirous to know a little more of the habits of a set of men who have lately added so materially to the prosperity of the country as well as to our luxuries, by the numerous railways which, by the honest sweat of their brows, they have one after another executed.
We need hardly say that, as regards their physical strength, they are the finest Herculean specimens of the British race; and, as is generally the case, in proportion as they are powerful so are they devoid of all bluster or bravado.
Those who have commanded large numbers of them state that they are not only obedient to all above them, even to their own “gangers,” but that, although they have—we think very justly—occasionally required a permanent increase of pay, they have never meanly taken advantage of a press of business to strike for wages. Indeed the conduct of a “navvy,” like his countenance, is honest and open. If from illness or misfortune he is unable to work, he and his family are maintained by his comrades; in truth the same provision is made among them for what are called by navvies their “tally-wives,” a description of relationship exceedingly difficult correctly to describe.
As they earn high wages, it is a fashion among them to keep dogs; and as rather a noble trait, we may mention that there have been several instances where 10l. has been in vain offered to “a navvy” to induce him to sell his dumb favourite.
Generally speaking they are not addicted to poaching; but when not at work they usually amuse themselves by playing at skittles, at quoits, by drinking, and occasionally by fighting; and although the latter species of recreation is no doubt reprehensible, yet surely it is better for a man to walk homewards at night with a pair of black eyes and a bloody nose, than with an I O U cheque in his pocket for ten thousand pounds, gained by what the fashionable world terms “at play” from a companion whose wife he has made destitute, and whose children he has probably ruined!
At a navvy’s funeral 500 of his comrades in their clean short white smock-frocks, with thin black handkerchiefs tied loosely round their throats, are seen occasionally in procession walking in pairs hand in hand after the coffin of their mate. In short, there exists among them a friendly “esprit de corps,” which not only binds them together, but renders it rather dangerous for any stranger to cheat, or even to endeavour to overreach them.
During the construction of the present London and North-Western Railway, a landlady at Hillmorton, near Rugby, of very sharp practice, which she had imbibed in dealings for many years with canal boatmen, was constantly remarking aloud that no navvy should ever “do” her; and although the railway was in her immediate neighbourhood, and although the navvies were her principal customers, she took pleasure on every opportunity in repeating the invidious remark.
It had, however, one fine morning scarcely left her large, full-blown, rosy lips, when a fine-looking young fellow, walking up to her, carrying in both hands a huge stone bottle, commonly called “a grey-neck,” briefly asked her for “half a gallon of gin;” which was no sooner measured and poured in than the money was rudely demanded before it could be taken away.
On the navvy declining to pay the exorbitant price asked, the landlady, with a face like a peony, angrily told him he must either pay for the gin or instantly return it.
He silently chose the latter, and accordingly, while the eyes of his antagonist were wrathfully fixed upon his, he returned into her measure the half-gallon, and then quietly walked off; but having previously put into his grey-neck half a gallon of water, each party eventually found themselves in possession of half a gallon of gin and water; and, however either may have enjoyed the mixture, it is historically recorded at Hillmorton that the landlady was never again heard unnecessarily to boast “that no navvy could ‘do’ her.”
A navvy at Kilsby, being asked why he did not go to church? dully answered in geological language—“Why, Soonday hasn’t cropped out here yet!” By which he meant that the clergyman appointed to the new village had not yet arrived.
The contrast which exists between the character of the French and English navigator may be briefly exemplified by the following trifling anecdote:—
In excavating a portion of the first tunnel east of Rouen towards Paris, a French miner dressed in his blouse, and an English “navvy” in his white smock jacket, were suddenly buried alive together by the falling in of the earth behind them. Notwithstanding the violent commotion which the intelligence of the accident excited above ground, Mr. Meek, the English engineer who was constructing the work, after having quietly measured the distance from the shaft to the sunken ground, satisfied himself that if the men, at the moment of the accident, were at the head of “the drift” at which they were working, they would be safe.
Accordingly, getting together as many French and English labourers as he could collect, he instantly commenced sinking a shaft, which was accomplished to the depth of 50 feet in the extraordinary short space of eleven hours, and the men were thus brought up to the surface alive.
The Frenchman, on reaching the top, suddenly rushing forwards, hugged and embraced on both cheeks his friends and acquaintances, many of whom had assembled, and then, almost instantly overpowered by conflicting feelings,—by the recollection of the endless time he had been imprisoned—and by the joy of his release,—he sat down on a log of timber, and, putting both his hands before his face, he began to cry aloud most bitterly.
The English “navvy” sat himself down on the very same piece of timber—took his pit-cap off his head—slowly wiped with it the perspiration from his hair and face—and then, looking for some seconds into the hole or shaft close beside him through which he had been lifted, as if he were calculating the number of cubic yards that had been excavated, he quite coolly, in broad Lancashire dialect, said to the crowd of French and English who were staring at him as children and nursery-maids in our London Zoological Gardens stand gazing half terrified at the white bear,
“Yaw’ve bean a darmnation short toime abaaowt it!”
In the construction of the London and North-Western Railway, the contractor at Blisworth also failed and also died.
Besides the perpendicular cutting which he had undertaken to execute, there was, on the surface of the rock through which it now passes, a stratum of about twenty feet of clay of so slippery a nature, that for a considerable time, in spite of all efforts or precautions, it continued to flow over into the cutting like porridge. The only remedy which could be applied was, at vast labour and expense, to remove this stratum for a considerable distance, terminating it by a slope at a very flat angle, all of which extra labour, trouble, and expense, we may observe, is not only unseen but unknown to the traveller, who, as he flies through the tunnel, if he looks at the summit at all, naturally fancies that it forms the upper extremity of the work.
In the construction of the tunnel at Walford an accident occurred of rather a serious nature. A mass of loose gravel concealed in the chalk, slipping viâ the shaft into the tunnel, suddenly killed eleven men, besides letting down from the surface a horse and gin.