The Railway Conquest of the World

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

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.