the road is “locked” against it; and when at “Safety,” the road is open,—the signal and the points exactly corresponding.
The Electric Telegraph has also been found a valuable auxiliary in ensuring the safe working of large railway traffics. Though the locomotive may run at 60 miles an hour, electricity, when at its fastest, travels at the rate of 288,000 miles a second, and is therefore always able to herald the coming train. The electric telegraph may, indeed, be regarded as the nervous system of the railway. By its means the whole line is kept throbbing with intelligence. The method of working the electric signals varies on different lines; but the usual practice is, to divide a line into so many lengths, each protected by its signal-stations,—the fundamental law of telegraph-working being, that two engines are not to be allowed to run on the same line between two signal-stations at the same time.
When a train passes one of such stations, it is immediately signalled on—usually by electric signal-bells—to the station in advance, and that interval of railway is “blocked” until the signal has been received from the station in advance that the train has passed it. Thus an interval of space is always secured between trains following each other, which are thereby alike protected before and behind. And thus, when a train starts on a journey, it may be of hundreds of miles, it is signalled on from station to station—it “lives along the line,”—until at length it reaches its destination and the last signal of “train in” is given. By this means an immense number of trains can be worked with regularity and safety. On
the South-Eastern Railway, where the system has been brought to a state of high efficiency, it is no unusual thing during Easter week to send 600,000 passengers through the London Bridge Station alone; and on some days as many as 1200 trains a-day.
While such are the expedients adopted to ensure safety, others equally ingenious are adopted to ensure speed. In the case of express and mail trains, the frequent stopping of the engines to take in a fresh supply of water occasions a considerable loss of time on a long journey, each stoppage for this purpose occupying from ten to fifteen minutes. To avoid such stoppages, larger tenders have been provided, capable of carrying as much as 2000 gallons of water each. But as a considerable time is occupied in filling these, a plan has been contrived by Mr. Ramsbottom, the Locomotive Engineer of the London and North-Western Railway, by which the engines are made to feed themselves while running at full speed! The plan is as follows:—An open trough, about 440 feet long, is laid longitudinally between the rails. Into this trough, which is filled with water, a dip-pipe or scoop attached to the bottom of the tender of the running train is lowered; and, at a speed of 50 miles an hour, as much as 1070 gallons of water are scooped up in the course of a few minutes. The first of such troughs was laid down between Chester and Holyhead, to enable the Express Mail to run the distance of 841 miles in two hours and five minutes without stopping; and similar troughs have since been laid down at Bushey near London, at Castlethorpe near Wolverton, and at Parkside near Liverpool. At these four troughs about 130,000 gallons of water are scooped up daily.
Wherever railways have been made, new towns have sprung up, and old towns and cities been quickened into new life. When the first English lines were projected, great were the prophecies of disaster to the inhabitants of the districts through which they were proposed to be forced. Such fears have long since been dispelled in this country. The same prejudices existed in France. When the railway from Paris to Marseilles was laid out so as to pass through Lyons, a local prophet predicted that if the line were made the city would be ruined—“Ville traversée, ville perdue;” while a local priest denounced the locomotive and the electric telegraph as heralding the reign of Antichrist. But such nonsense is no longer uttered. Now it is the city without the railway that is regarded as the “city lost;” for it is in a measure shut out from the rest of the world, and left outside the pale of civilisation.
Perhaps the most striking of all the illustrations that could be offered of the extent to which railways facilitate the locomotion, the industry, and the subsistence of the population of large towns and cities, is afforded by the working of the railway system in connection with the capital of Great Britain.
The extension of railways to London has been of comparatively recent date; the whole of the lines connecting it with the provinces and terminating at its outskirts, having been opened during the last thirty years, while the lines inside London have for the most part been opened within the last sixteen years.
The first London line was the Greenwich Railway, part of which was opened for traffic to Deptford in February 1836. The working of this railway was first exhibited as
a show, and the usual attractions were employed to make it “draw.” A band of musicians in the garb of the Beef-eaters was stationed at the London end, and another band at Deptford. For cheapness’ sake the Deptford band was shortly superseded by a large barrel-organ, which played in the passengers; but, when the traffic became established, the barrel organ, as well as the beef-eater band at the London end, were both discontinued. The whole length of the line was lit up at night by a row of lamps on either side like a street, as if to enable the locomotives or the passengers to see their way in the dark; but these lamps also were eventually discontinued as unnecessary.