The next morning it was ordered to be in readiness to answer the various specifications of the offer. It snorted and panted, and steamed over the race-ground in proud trim, drawing about thirteen tons weight. In twenty trips, backward and forward, its greatest speed was twenty-nine miles an hour—three times greater than Nicholas Wood, one of the judges, declared to be possible. Its average rate was fifteen miles—five miles beyond the rate specified for the prize. The performance appeared astonishing. Spectators were filled with wonder. The poor directors began to see fair weather; doubts were solved, disputes settled; the "Rocket" had cleared the track for them. There could no longer be any question how to run the road. George Cropper, who had steadily countenanced stationary engines, lifted up his hands exclaiming, "Stephenson has at last delivered himself!"

The two other locomotives, however, were allowed to reappear on the stage; but both broke down, and the "Rocket" remained victor to the last. It had performed and more than performed all it promised, fulfilled all the conditions of the directors' offer, and was accordingly declared to have nobly earned the prize—five hundred pounds.

But the money was little, compared with the profound satisfaction which the Stephensons felt at this public acknowledgment of the worth of their lifelong labours. George's veracity, skill, intelligence, had all been doubted, denied, derided by men of all classes. Even old friends turned against him, and thought his mind was crazed by "one idea." He had to struggle on alone; faithful to his convictions, patiently biding his time, yet earnestly pleading his cause on every suitable occasion. He had a blessing for the world; and he knew when it felt its want of it, it would have it. That time had come. The directors flocked around him with flattering congratulations. All shyness and coolness vanished. Friends were no longer few. The shares of the company immediately rose ten per cent. Men and means were at his disposal. George Stephenson was a happy man.

The "Rocket" had blown stationary engines to the winds. And Steam that day, on the land as well as on the water, took its place as one of the grand moving powers of the world.

CHAPTER IX.
OPENING OF THE NEW ROAD—DIFFICULTIES VANISH—A
NEW ERA.

There was no more waiting for work at the locomotive factory in Newcastle. Orders immediately arrived from the directors to build eight large engines for the new road, and all the workshops were astir with busy life. The victorious little "Rocket" was put on the road, and sensibly helped to finish it. Neither faith, nor men, nor means were now wanting, and the labour in every part went heartily on.

In June a meeting of the directors was held in Manchester, when the "Rocket" made a trip from Liverpool to that city with a freight and passenger train, running through in two hours. Chat Moss never quivered. And the directors, I dare say, would have been very glad to forget their disconsolate meeting on the edge of it, when they nearly voted themselves beaten by the bog, only Stephenson would not let them.

On the 15th of September 1830, there was to be a public opening of the road, and preparations were made at each end, and all along the way, for the grand event. The occasion awakened a deep and universal interest. It was justly regarded as a national event, to be celebrated with becoming honours. The Duke of Wellington, then Prime Minister, was present; also Sir Robert Peel, and Mr. Huskisson, whose stirring words had revived the drooping spirits of the directors after their defeat in Parliament, and whose influence had served to get their Bill successfully through at last. No one, perhaps, had watched the progress of the enterprise with deeper interest than Mr. Huskisson, or rejoiced more in the vanquishing of one difficulty after another to its final finishing. Great numbers came from far and near, who, assembling by the slow mode of travel of those days, took time accordingly.