"Consider the heavy nature of the works, sir," rejoined George, "and how much we have been delayed by want of money, to say nothing of the bad weather. The thing is impossible."
"Impossible!" cried Cropper; "I wish I could get Napoleon to thee; he would tell thee there is no such word as 'impossible.'"
"Tush!" exclaimed George, "don't tell me about Napoleon. Give me men, money, and material, and I'll do what Napoleon couldn't do—drive a railroad over Chat Moss."
He might have retorted, more significantly, by asking the directors what they meant to do; for Liverpool was tunnelled, and Chat Moss railed, before they could agree what kind of power to put on it. There were some who insisted upon using horse-power; but the majority thought that was out of the question. Meeting after meeting was held, debate followed debate, and the whole body became more and more puzzled as the road itself neared completion.
Some kind of machine, but what? Ah, that was the question. You would naturally have thought a locomotive, of course. But no; since parliamentary opposition raged against it, steam had lost ground in the public estimation, and it was very slow in getting back to favour. Locomotives, or travelling engines, as they were called, were hid in a cloud of doubts; and more than ever since the parliamentary debates. They were dangerous, they were frightful, "they could never go fast enough," their utmost speed would not be ten miles an hour. Some of the most distinguished engineers would give no opinion of them at all. They had none. It was certainly hard to patronize them, in spite of their indifference, and possibly their sneers. Certainly, if the poor locomotive depended upon their verdict its fate was sealed.
One staunch friend remained. Stephenson stood faithfully by "Puffing Billy," puffing away in his far off Northumberland home. He never flinched advocating its principles, and urged the directors to try one on the road. They at last ordered one to be built, one that would be of service to the company, and no great nuisance to the public. It was built, and excellent service it did, drawing marl from the cuttings and excavations to fill up the bogs and hollows. Nevertheless, it settled nothing, and convinced nobody not already convinced.
Meanwhile the directors were deluged with projects, plans, and advice for running their road. Scheme upon scheme was let loose upon them. Some engines to go by water-power; some by gas; some by cog-wheels. All the engineering science in the kingdom was ready to engineer for them in its own way; but who among all could pronounce the best way, and, upon the whole, decide which was the right motive power?
A deputation was despatched to Darlington and Stockton to inspect the fixed and locomotive engines employed on that road. But the deputation came back differing so among themselves that the directors were more puzzled than ever. Two professional engineers of high reputation were then sent, who on their return reported in favour of fixed engines: for safety, speed, economy, and convenience, fixed engines by all means; reiterating again and again all the frightful stories of danger and annoyance charged upon steam. They proposed dividing the road into nineteen stages, of a mile and a half in length, and having twenty-one stationary engines at different points to push and draw the trains along. The plan was carefully matured.
Poor Stephenson! how did he feel? "Well," he said, with the calm earnestness of a man of faith, "one thing I know, that before many years railroads will become the highways of the world."