During the railway-making period the navvy wandered about from one public work to another—apparently belonging to no country and having no home. He usually wore a white felt hat with the brim turned up, a velveteen or jean square-tailed coat, a scarlet plush waistcoat with little black spots, and a bright-coloured kerchief round his herculean neck, when, as often happened, it was not left entirely bare. His corduroy breeches were retained in position by a leathern strap round the waist, and were tied and buttoned at the knee, displaying beneath a solid calf and foot encased in strong high-laced boots. Joining together in a “butty gang,” some ten or twelve of these men would take a contract to cut out and remove so much “dirt”—as they denominated earth-cutting—fixing their price according to the character of the “stuff,” and the distance to which it had to be wheeled and tipped. The contract taken, every man put himself on his mettle; if any
was found skulking, or not putting forth his full working power, he was ejected from the gang. Their powers of endurance were extraordinary. In times of emergency they would work for 12 and even 16 hours, with only short intervals for meals. The quantity of flesh-meat which they consumed was something enormous; but it was to their bones and muscles what coke is to the locomotive—the means of keeping up the steam. They displayed great pluck, and seemed to disregard peril. Indeed the most dangerous sort of labour—such as working horse-barrow runs, in which accidents are of constant occurrence—has always been most in request amongst them, the danger seeming to be one of its chief recommendations.
Working, eating, drinking, and sleeping together, and daily exposed to the same influences, these railway labourers soon presented a distinct and well-defined character, strongly marking them from the population of the districts in which they laboured. Reckless alike of their lives as of their earnings, the navvies worked hard and lived hard. For their lodging, a hut of turf would content them; and, in their hours of leisure, the meanest public-house would serve for their parlour. Unburdened, as they usually were, by domestic ties, unsoftened by family affection, and without much moral or religious training, the navvies came to be distinguished by a sort of savage manners, which contrasted strangely with those of the surrounding population. Yet, ignorant and violent though they might be, they were usually good-hearted fellows in the main—frank and openhanded with their comrades, and ready to share their last penny with those in distress. Their pay-nights were often a saturnalia of riot and disorder, dreaded by the inhabitants of the villages along the line of works. The irruption of such men into the quiet hamlet of Kilsby must, indeed, have produced a very startling effect on the recluse inhabitants of the place. Robert Stephenson used to tell a story of the clergyman of the parish waiting upon the foreman of one of the gangs to expostulate with him as to the shocking
impropriety of his men working during Sunday. But the head navvy merely hitched up his trousers, and said, “Why, Soondays hain’t cropt out here yet!” In short, the navvies were little better than heathens, and the village of Kilsby was not restored to its wonted quiet until the tunnel-works were finished, and the engines and scaffoldings removed, leaving only the immense masses of débris around the line of shafts which extend along the top of the tunnel.
In illustration of the extraordinary working energy and powers of endurance of the English navvies, we may mention that when railway-making extended to France, the English contractors for the works took with them gangs of English navvies, with the usual plant, which included wheelbarrows. These the English navvy was accustomed to run out rapidly and continuously, piled so high with “stuff” that he could barely see over the summit of his load, the gang-board along which he wheeled his barrow. While he thus easily ran out some 3 or 4 cwt. at a time, the French navvy was contented with half the weight. Indeed, the French navvies on one occasion struck work because of the size of the English barrows, and there was an émeute on the Rouen Railway, which was only quelled by the aid of the military. The consequence was that the big barrows were abandoned to the English workmen, who earned nearly double the wages of the Frenchmen. The manner in which they stood to their work was matter of great surprise and wonderment to the French countrypeople, who came crowding round them in their blouses, and, after gazing admiringly at their expert handling of the pick and mattock, and the immense loads of “dirt” which they wheeled out, would exclaim to each other, “Mon Dieu, voila! voila ces Anglais, comme ils travaillent!”
CHAPTER XIV.
Manchester and Leeds, and Midland Railways—Stephenson’s Life at Alton—Visit to Belgium—General Extension of Railways and their Results.
The rapidity with which railways were carried out, when the spirit of the country became roused, was indeed remarkable. This was doubtless in some measure owing to the increased force of the current of speculation at the time, but chiefly to the desire which the public began to entertain for the general extension of the system. It was even proposed to fill up the canals, and convert them into railways. The new roads became the topic of conversation in all circles; they were felt to give a new value to time; their vast capabilities for “business” peculiarly recommended them to the trading classes; whilst the friends of “progress” dilated on the great benefits they would eventually confer upon mankind at large. It began to be seen that Edward Pease had not been exaggerating when he said, “Let the country but make the railroads, and the railroads will make the country!” They also came to be regarded as inviting objects of investment to the thrifty, and a safe outlet for the accumulations of inert men of capital. Thus new avenues of iron road were soon in course of formation, branching in all directions, so that the country promised in a wonderfully short time to become wrapped in one vast network of iron.
In 1836 the Grand Junction Railway was under construction between Warrington and Birmingham—the northern part by Mr. Stephenson, and the southern by Mr. Rastrick. The works on that line embraced heavy cuttings, long embankments, and numerous viaducts; but none of these
are worthy of any special description. Perhaps the finest piece of masonry on the railway is the Dutton Viaduct across the valley of the Weaver. It consists of twenty arches of 60 feet span, springing 16 feet from the perpendicular shaft of each pier, and 60 feet in height from the crown of the arches to the level of the river. The foundations of the piers were built on piles driven 20 feet deep. The structure has a solid and majestic appearance, and is perhaps the finest of George Stephenson’s viaducts.
