Quick moves the balanced beam, of giant birth,
Wields his large limbs, and nodding shakes the earth.
The clang of the hammer of the blacksmith—the whirl of the wheel of the grinding mill—the jerking of the punching machine, perforating thick sheet iron, as easily as a lady would put her needle through pasteboard—the buz in the engineers’ compartment—the pendulum-like tick, tick, tick, of the strikers pursuing their monotonous vocations—the enormous cranes, with their pullies, hooks, and ponderous weights attached, demonstrating the laws of gravitation—the miners, deep buried in the bowels of the mountain, the sound of whose strokes, forcibly reminds one of the fairies of by-gone days—the signal-flags floating in the breeze, and announcing in telegraphic language, “to all whom it may concern,” that it is high time to take care of “number one”—the blasting, which is on a most magnificent scale, report after report, making one almost feel as if we were in the vicinity of an embattled plain, and last, though not least, the strong, sleek, well-fed horses, prancing in their furbished harness—all, all are before you and around you. Nor are the workmen less striking and peculiar—the ease with which the most unwieldy hammers are heaved by them attest their prodigious strength and profound skill—some may be seen, high in the quarry, suspended by ropes, reminding one of the bye-gone practice of egg-taking from the high cliffs of the promontory, pushing down the rocks, loosened by the terrible blasting, shouting to each other as if they gloried in their elevated position—the engine drivers guiding their iron horses along the stages, while the sea roars 60 feet beneath them, meeting each other on the up and down lines, with all the pleasantry of stage-coach men of olden time; fear is not in their vocabulary; though the yawning gulf is beneath them, they sing, and smile, and whistle, as they sweep along the trembling stage, as if seated in their respective cottages, with their playful wives beside them, and their merry children round them.
But to return—to cut into so hard a rock the contractors have to adopt the process of blasting, which is carried on upon a magnitude which has never been equalled. To penetrate the rocks sets of workmen, in twos, are employed in different parts of the face of the mountain, and these men drive a heading or gallery into the solid rock, about five feet high and three wide, for a distance of 30 to 40 feet, which is accomplished chiefly by blasting. In the extremity of this gallery, which runs first horizontally, and is then sunk perpendicularly, the powder is placed in a wood-case or bag, and the hole being tamped or filled up with clay, it is fired by the galvanic battery. The charges vary from one to five tons of gunpowder, according to the face of the rock to be acted upon; and the quantities thrown down varies from six to thirty thousand tons in an explosion. One of these “headings” or “shots” as they are called, went off this day (Dec. 7, 1852). Sir Richard Bulkeley, Bart., the Rev. J. Williams, M. Errington Stanley, Esq., and G. F. Lyster, Esq., were present on the occasion, and took their station on a bridge to witness the “shot;” but on seeing the stones roll through the air, they deemed it prudent to act upon the well known maxim, “retreat is the better part of valour,” and instantly left their elevated position, and placed themselves beneath the abutment of the bridge. The writer, who was present, was a little amused to see such a fine illustration of the first law of nature—Self Preservation. As a proof of the fearful extent of these explosions, I would just observe, that although the bridge on which the aforesaid gentlemen stood was about 800 yards from the quarry, a stone fell within a few yards of it. The effect of these blastings on the rock are sometimes of a curious character, but generally speaking the rock when thrown down leaves the surface of the cliff smooth and perpendicular. The stones thrown out are generally large, many of them weighing twenty tons. Shafts are also sunk from 30 to 40 feet deep. The quantity of stone taken from the quarries is accurately weighed, and already about two million tons have been buried in the sea. During the past year the average deposit has amounted to 3,500 tons per day, and supposing that there have been 250 full working days, this would give a deposit for the year of 875,000 tons.
The mode of operation is as follows. The rough breakwater is formed by rubble-stones, brought from the mountain in waggons peculiarly constructed for the express purpose (the design of which, I understand, was furnished by the resident engineer, and proves the versatility of his genius), and dropped perpendicularly through the staging into the sea, and is then left to be dealt with by the sea, which arranges the deposit in a manner best suited to form a consolidated mass; and it is calculated that, when a sufficient portion of the mountain has been dropped into the sea, there will be formed a breakwater which will have an average base of from 400 to 500 feet, and this will gradually slope upwards to about 50 feet on the summit of the breakwater on which the stone pier will be built. But after all the sea is the great workman. We find the materials, and it makes the foundation; or as the celebrated French engineer, Monsieur Cachin, observes, “If man be strong enough to heap together rocks in the midst of the ocean, the action of the sea alone can dispose them in the manner most likely to ensure their stability.” This is now most effectually carried out by this new means of depositing stones. When a heavy sea comes on, it breaks over the ridges of rubble-rocks, which are interspersed amongst the timber of the staging, and gradually lowers them, carrying away ridge after ridge, until that which was far above the water is completely submerged; and the sea acting upon these stones gradually solidifies the mass, which binds itself into the clayey bottom of the harbour, and the whole becomes tenaciously cemented to the ground. And this process will go on until the deposit shall have formed a place sufficiently inclined to sustain the breaking of the sea without removal.
The slopes, it is understood, will be faced with dressed stone to a certain extent, similar to the fine specimen of beautiful workmanship, which has been executed for about 100 yards, at the seaward side of “Soldier’s Point.”
The present effective staff consists of eight locomotive engines, running on five lines of railway on the breakwater; a fixed engine for grinding, fifty horses, and 1,300 men; and the stores embrace all things requisite for conducting the work in a self-supporting manner. This mass of mind and matter is able every day to accomplish a removal into the sea of 4,000 tons weight of the mountain, and so the work proceeds.
The works are being carried on by the spirited contractors with the utmost expedition compatible with good workmanship. The present extent of the north breakwater is 3,700 feet, which leaves about 1,400 feet to be constructed. The east pier extends 1,000 feet, which is about half its intended length. [51] Attention has also been directed to the permanent wall of the great breakwater on the harbour side, with a view to find quay accommodation for vessels to discharge, and for steamers to take in coals. About 800 feet of this walling is now being levelled for the quay, on which cranes, &c., are to be placed immediately, and a connection may ultimately be made with the railway.
When the work will be ended is a wide question. It is said the Contractors are under an engagement to finish their work by the close of 1855. The works are certainly progressing satisfactorily, and on the part of the Contractors there is a desire to urge them forward as rapidly as it is possible to proceed. It is a work which all desire to see accomplished and in use at as early a moment as the works can be safely and scientifically completed.
The public mind exults in these vast undertakings, “vain man would” now-a-days not only “be wise,” but he would be powerful, and he delights, not merely in soliciting the aid of Nature, but in “attacking” it. When the whole undertaking is completed, protected by batteries, and ornamented with light-houses, observatories, and telegraphs, and adorned with promenades, and a Sailors’ Chapel, it will present a very interesting illustration of the success with which intellect and perseverance and enterprise have been crowned; and will be indicative not only of the wealth of the nation, but a proof of the mental over the physical world, worthy of Britain in the nineteenth century.
The words of the immortal Shakespeare, put into the mouth of one of his heroines, may, with a slight alteration, be applied to the New Harbour:—