On his way, at a poor little comfortless inn, in a poor little comfortless sea-port on the Gulf of Darien, where he was waiting to take ship, he met two strangers, one evidently an Englishman, who by his shabby appearance looked as if the world had gone hard with him. A fellow-feeling drew the young man towards his poor countryman, and on inquiry who should it prove to be but the old Cornwall tin-miner, Captain Trovethick, whose first steam-carriage had awakened so much curiosity in London nearly a quarter of a century before!
He had sown his idea to the winds. Others had caught it up, cherished it, pondered over it, examined it, dissected it, improved it, embodied it, and by patient study and persistent endeavour had reduced it to a practical force. And Robert Stephenson was now on his way to inaugurate it as one of the great commercial values of the kingdom, and of the world. The poor inventor, what had he done meanwhile? While others worked, had he slept? Oh no. He had tried an easier and a shorter cut to fame and fortune. You remember he left his "dragon," as some people called his locomotive, in London, quite careless what became of it, and went scheming and speculating in other things. Several years after, in a shop window, it attracted the attention of a French gentleman passing by. He was from Peru, and had just come to England to get a steam-engine for pumping water from some gold-diggings in the New World. Delighted with the model, he bought it for twenty guineas. Taking it with him to Lima, an engine was built on the plan of it, which worked admirably. The gentleman was then sent back to England to hunt up and bring out the inventor himself. The captain was found, and came forth from his obscurity into sudden notice and demand. The gentleman engaged him to make five pumping-engines according to his model; which he did, and shipped them to Lima, the captain himself soon following.
At Lima he was received with great honours and a public rejoicing. A guard of honour was appointed to wait on him; and, in view of the wealth he was supposed to be able to engineer from their mines, a massive silver statue of him, as the benefactor of Peru, began to be talked of.
Of course poor Trovethick thought his fortune made, and no doubt looked back with pity on his humble English life. Friends at home spread the news of his successes; and when they stated that the smallest estimate of his yearly income amounted to one hundred thousand pounds, no wonder he was pronounced a success! Tardier steps to fortune seemed tedious, and many of his old associates perhaps sighed over the wholesome toil of a slower-paced prosperity.
Years passed on, and the poor captain next turns up at Cartagena, penniless and pitiable! In crossing the country, he had lost everything. Fording rivers, penetrating forests, and fighting wild beasts, had left him little else than a desire to reach England again; and Robert Stephenson gave him fifty pounds to get home with. Sudden fortunes are apt as suddenly to vanish, while those accumulated by the careful husbandry of economy, industry, and foresight reward without waste: so character is stronger than reputation—for one is built on what we are, the other on what we seem to be; and, like a shadow, reputation may be longer or shorter, or only a distorted outline of character. One holds out because it is real; the other often disappears because it is but a shadow.
Robert reached home in December 1827, right heartily welcomed, we may well believe, by his father, who was thankful to halve the burden of responsibility with such a son. To build the prize locomotive was his work.
Stephenson had long been a partner in a locomotive factory at Newcastle, which had hitherto proved a losing concern to the owners. There was little or no market for their article; but they struggled on, year after year, waiting for better times. Nobody saw better times but Stephenson. He saw them ahead, shooting through the gloomy clouds of indifference and prejudice. And now he calculated it was very near. So he sent Robert to Newcastle to take charge of the works there, and construct an engine that would make good all his words.
It was a critical moment, but he had no fears of the result. Robert often came to Liverpool to consult with his father, and long and interesting discussions took place between father and son concerning the best mode of increasing and perfecting the powers of the mechanism. One thing wanted was greater speed; and this could only be gained by increasing the quantity and the quality of the steam. For this effect a greater heating surface was necessary, and mechanics had long been experimenting to find the best and most economical boiler for high-pressure engines.
Young James, son of that Mr. James who, when the new Liverpool and Manchester route was talked of, was the first to discover and acknowledge George Stephenson's genius, made the model of an improved boiler, which he showed to the Stephensons. Perhaps he was one of the boys who went to Killingworth with his father to see the wonders of "Puffing Billy," and whose terrors at the snorting monster were only soothed by a pleasant and harmless ride on his back. Whether this gave him a taste for steam-engines we do not know. At any rate he introduces himself to our notice now with a patented model of an improved boiler in his hand, which Stephenson thinks it may be worth his while to make trial of. "Try it," exclaimed the young inventor—"try it, and there will be no limit to your speed. Think of thirty miles an hour!"
