"A horse railway?" asked Pease.
"A locomotive engine is worth fifty horses," exclaimed Stephenson; and once on the track, he launched out boldly in its behalf.
"Come over to Killingworth and see my 'Puffing Billy,'" said George; "seeing is believing." And Mr. Pease, as you may suppose, was quite anxious to see a machine that would outride the fleetest horse. Yet he did not need "Puffing Billy" to convince him that its constructer knew what he was advocating, and could make good his pledges. The good Quaker's courage rapidly rose. He took a new start, and the consequence was that all other plans and men were thrown aside, and Stephenson was engaged to put the road through much in his own way.
The first thing to be done was to make an accurate survey of the proposed route. Taking Robert with him, who had just come from college, and who entered as heartily into the enterprise as his father, with two other tried men, they began work in good earnest. From daylight till night the surveyors were on duty. One of the men going to Darlington to sleep one night, four miles off, "Now, you must not start from Darlington at daybreak," said Stephenson, "but be here, ready to begin work, at daybreak." He and Robert used to make their home at the farm-houses along the way, where his good-humour and friendliness made him a great favourite. The children loved him dearly. The dogs wagged their approving tails at his approach. The birds had a delighted listener to their morning songs, and every dumb creature had a kind glance from his friendly eye.
But George was not quite satisfied. He wished Mr. Pease to go to Killingworth to see "Puffing Billy," and become convinced of its economical habits by an examination of the colliery accounts. He promised, therefore, to follow George thither, along with a large stockholder; and over they went in the summer of 1822.
Inquiring for Stephenson, they were directed to the cottage with a sun-dial over the door. George drove his locomotive up, hoisted in the gentlemen, harnessed on a heavy load, and away they went. George no doubt showed "Billy" off to the best advantage. "Billy" performed admirably; and the two wondering stockholders went home enthusiastic believers in locomotive power.
A good many things had to be settled by the Darlington project. One was the width of the gauge; that is, the distance between the rails. How wide apart should they be? Stephenson said the space between the cart and waggon wheels of a common road was a good criterion. The tram-roads had been laid down by this gauge—four feet and eight inches—and he thought it about right for the railway; so this gauge was adopted.
One thing which hampered Stephenson not a little was the want of the right sort of workmen—quick-minded, skilful mechanics, who could put his ideas into the right shape. The labour of originating so much we can never know. He had nothing to copy from, and nobody's experience to go by. Happily he proved equal to his task. We can readily imagine his anxiety as the work progressed. Hope and fear must have in turn raised and depressed him. Not that he had any doubts in regard to the final issue of the grand experiment of railroads. They must go!
Dining one day at a small inn with Robert, and John Dixon, after walking over the route, then nearly completed—"Lads," he said, "I think you will live to see the day when railroads will be the great highway for the king and all his subjects. The time is coming when it will be cheaper for a working-man to travel on a railway than to walk on foot. There are big difficulties in the way, I know; but it will surely come to pass. I can hardly hope to live to see that day, much as I should like to do so; for I know how slow all human progress is, and how hard it is to make men believe in the locomotive, even after our ten years' success in Killingworth."
While the father roughed it through, Robert's health failed. His close application to business made sad inroads upon a frame naturally more delicate than his father's; and an offer to go out and superintend some mining operations in South America was thankfully accepted, in the hope that a sea-voyage and less exciting labours might restore him.