Towards the close of his life, he was afflicted by deafness, which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable in mixed society. Thanks to a healthy constitution, unimpaired by excess and invigorated by active occupation, his working powers had lasted longer than those of most men. He was still cheerful, clear-headed, and skilful in the arts of his profession, and felt the same pleasure in useful work that he had ever done. It was, therefore, with difficulty that he could reconcile himself to the idea of retiring from the field of honourable labour, which he had so long occupied, into a state of comparative inactivity. But he was not a man who could be idle, and he determined, like his great predecessor Smeaton, to occupy the remaining years of his life in arranging his engineering papers for publication. Vigorous though he had been, he felt that the time was shortly approaching when the wheels of life must stand still altogether. Writing to a friend at Langholm, he said, "Having now being occupied for about seventy-five years in incessant exertion, I have for some time past arranged to decline the contest; but the numerous works in which I am engaged have hitherto prevented my succeeding. In the mean time I occasionally amuse myself with setting down in what manner a long life has been laboriously, and I hope usefully, employed." And again, a little later, he writes: "During the last twelve months I have had several rubs; at seventy-seven they tell more seriously than formerly, and call for less exertion and require greater precautions. I fancy that few of my age belonging to the valley of the Esk remain in the land of the living."*[4]
One of the last works on which Mr. Telford was professionally consulted was at the instance of the Duke of Wellington—not many years younger than himself, but of equally vigorous intellectual powers—as to the improvement of Dover Harbour, then falling rapidly to decay. The long-continued south-westerly gales of 1833-4 had the effect of rolling an immense quantity of shingle up Channel towards that port, at the entrance to which it became deposited in unusual quantities, so as to render it at times altogether inaccessible. The Duke, as a military man, took a more than ordinary interest in the improvement of Dover, as the military and naval station nearest to the French coast; and it fell to him as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports to watch over the preservation of the harbour, situated at a point in the English Channel which he regarded as of great strategic importance in the event of a continental war. He therefore desired Mr. Telford to visit the place and give his opinion as to the most advisable mode of procedure with a view to improving the harbour. The result was a report, in which the engineer recommended a plan of sluicing, similar to that adopted by Mr. Smeaton at Ramsgate, which was afterwards carried out with considerable success by Mr. James Walker, C.E.
This was his last piece of professional work. A few months later he was laid up by bilious derangement of a serious character, which recurred with increased violence towards the close of the year; and on the 2nd of September, 1834, Thomas Telford closed his useful and honoured career, at the advanced age of seventy-seven. With that absence of ostentation which characterised him through life, he directed that his remains should be laid, without ceremony, in the burial ground of the parish church of St. Margaret's, Westminster. But the members of the Institute of Civil Engineers, who justly deemed him their benefactor and chief ornament, urged upon his executors the propriety of interring him in Westminster Abbey.
[Image] Telford's Burial Place in Westminster Abbey
He was buried there accordingly, near the middle of the nave; where the letters, "Thomas Telford, 1834, mark the place beneath which he lies.*[5] The adjoining stone bears the inscription, "Robert Stephenson, 1859," that engineer having during his life expressed the wish that his body should be laid near that of Telford; and the son of the Killingworth engineman thus sleeps by the side of the son of the Eskdale shepherd.
It was a long, a successful, and a useful life which thus ended. Every step in his upward career, from the poor peasant's hut in Eskdale to Westminster Abbey, was nobly and valorously won. The man was diligent and conscientious; whether as a working mason hewing stone blocks at Somerset House, as a foreman of builders at Portsmouth, as a road surveyor at Shrewsbury, or as an engineer of bridges, canals, docks, and harbours. The success which followed his efforts was thoroughly well-deserved. He was laborious, pains-taking, and skilful; but, what was better, he was honest and upright. He was a most reliable man; and hence he came to be extensively trusted. Whatever he undertook, he endeavoured to excel in. He would be a first-rate hewer, and he became one. He was himself accustomed to attribute much of his success to the thorough way in which he had mastered the humble beginnings of this trade. He was even of opinion that the course of manual training he had undergone, and the drudgery, as some would call it, of daily labour —first as an apprentice, and afterwards as a journeyman mason— had been of greater service to him than if he had passed through the curriculum of a University.
Writing to his friend, Miss Malcolm, respecting a young man who desired to enter the engineering profession, he in the first place endeavoured to dissuade the lady from encouraging the ambition of her protege, the profession being overstocked, and offering very few prizes in proportion to the large number of blanks. "But," he added, "if civil engineering, notwithstanding these discouragements, is still preferred, I may point out that the way in which both Mr. Rennie and myself proceeded, was to serve a regular apprenticeship to some practical employment—he to a millwright, and I to a general house-builder. In this way we secured the means, by hard labour, of earning a subsistence; and, in time, we obtained by good conduct the confidence of our employers and the public; eventually rising into the rank of what is called Civil Engineering. This is the true way of acquiring practical skill, a thorough knowledge of the materials employed in construction, and last, but not least, a perfect knowledge of the habits and dispositions of the workmen who carry out our designs. This course, although forbidding to many a young person, who believes it possible to find a short and rapid path to distinction, is proved to be otherwise by the two examples I have cited. For my own part, I may truly aver that 'steep is the ascent, and slippery is the way.'"*[6] That Mr. Telford was enabled to continue to so advanced an age employed on laborious and anxious work, was no doubt attributable in a great measure to the cheerfulness of his nature. He was, indeed, a most happy-minded man. It will be remembered that, when a boy, he had been known in his valley as "Laughing Tam." The same disposition continued to characterise him in his old age. He was playful and jocular, and rejoiced in the society of children and young people, especially when well-informed and modest. But when they pretended to acquirements they did not possess, he was quick to detect and see through them. One day a youth expatiated to him in very large terms about a friend of his, who had done this and that, and made so and so, and could do all manner of wonderful things. Telford listened with great attention, and when the youth had done - he quietly asked, with a twinkle in his eye, "Pray, can your friend lay eggs?"
When in society he gave himself up to it, and thoroughly enjoyed it. He did not sit apart, a moody and abstracted "lion;" nor desire to be regarded as "the great engineer," pondering new Menai Bridges; But he appeared in his natural character of a simple, intelligent, cheerful companion; as ready to laugh at his own jokes as at other people's; and he was as communicative to a child as to any philosopher of the party.
Robert Southey, than whom there was no better judge of a loveable man, said of him, "I would go a long way for the sake of seeing Telford and spending a few days in his company." Southey, as we have seen, had the best opportunities of knowing him well; for a long journey together extending over many weeks, is, probably, better than anything else, calculated to bring out the weak as well as the strong points of a friend: indeed, many friendships have completely broken down under the severe test of a single week's tour. But Southey on that occasion firmly cemented a friendship which lasted until Telford's death. On one occasion the latter called at the poet's house, in company with Sir Henry Parnell, when engaged upon the survey of one of his northern roads. Unhappily Southey was absent at the time; and, writing about the circumstance to a correspondent, he said, "This was a mortification to me, in as much as I owe Telford every kind of friendly attention, and like him heartily."
Campbell, the poet, was another early friend of our engineer; and the attachment seems to have been mutual. Writing to Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, in 1802, Campbell says: "I have become acquainted with Telford the engineer, 'a fellow of infinite humour,' and of strong enterprising mind. He has almost made me a bridge-builder already; at least he has inspired me with new sensations of interest in the improvement and ornament of our country. Have you seen his plan of London Bridge? or his scheme for a new canal in the North Highlands, which will unite, if put in effect, our Eastern and Atlantic commerce, and render Scotland the very emporium of navigation? Telford is a most useful cicerone in London. He is so universally acquainted, and so popular in his manners, that he can introduce one to all kinds of novelty, and all descriptions of interesting society." Shortly after, Campbell named his first son after Telford, who stood godfather for the boy. Indeed, for many years, Telford played the part of Mentor to the young and impulsive poet, advising him about his course in life, trying to keep him steady, and holding him aloof as much as possible from the seductive allurements of the capital. But it was a difficult task, and Telford's numerous engagements necessarily left the poet at many seasons very much to himself. It appears that they were living together at the Salopian when Campbell composed the first draft of his poem of Hohenlinden; and several important emendations made in it by Telford were adopted by Campbell. Although the two friends pursued different roads in life, and for many years saw little of each other, they often met again, especially after Telford took up his abode at his house in Abingdon Street, where Campbell was a frequent and always a welcome guest.