The Railway Conquest of the World

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

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.