Elizabeth Gaskell, Mary Barton (1848)
FASTER THAN EXPECTED: LIVERPOOL TO MANCHESTER
About the middle of 1829 the tunnel at Liverpool was finished; and being lit up with gas, it was publicly exhibited one day in each week. Many thousand persons visited the tunnel, at the charge of a shilling a head – the fund thus raised being appropriated partly to the support of the families of labourers who had been injured upon the line, and partly in contributions to the Manchester and Liverpool infirmaries. Notwithstanding the immense quantity of rain that fell during the year, great progress had been made; and there seemed every probability that one line of road would be laid complete between the two towns on the 1st of January, 1830. . . .
The public opening of the railway took place on the 15th September, 1830. Eight locomotive engines had now been constructed by the Messrs Stephenson, and placed upon the line. The whole of them had been repeatedly tried, and with success, weeks before. A high paling had been erected for miles along the deep cuttings near Liverpool, to keep off the pressure of the multitude, and prevent them from falling over in their eagerness to witness the opening ceremony. Constables and soldiers were there in numbers, to assist in keeping the railway clear. The completion of the work was justly regarded as a great national event, and was celebrated accordingly. The Duke of Wellington, then prime minister, Sir Robert Peel, secretary of state, Mr Huskisson, one of the members for Liverpool, and an earnest supporter of the project from its commencement, were present, together with a large number of distinguished personages. The ‘Northumbrian’ engine took the lead of the procession, and was followed by the other locomotives and their trains, which accommodated about 600 persons. Many thousands of spectators cheered them on their way – through the deep ravine of Olive Mount; up the Sutton incline; over the Sankey viaduct, beneath which a multitude of persons had assembled – carriages filling the narrow lanes, and barges crowding the river. The people gazed with wonder and admiration at the trains which sped along the line, far above their heads, at the rate of twenty-four miles an hour.
At Parkside, seventeen miles from Liverpool, the engines stopped to take in water. Here a deplorable accident occurred to one of the most distinguished of the illustrious visitors present, which threw a deep shadow over the subsequent proceedings of the day. The ‘Northumbrian’ engine, with the carriage containing the Duke of Wellington, was drawn up on one line, in order that the whole of the trains might pass in review before him and his party on the other. Mr Huskisson had, unhappily, alighted from the carriage, and was landing on the opposite road, along which the ‘Rocket’ engine was observed rapidly coming up. At this moment the Duke of Wellington, between whom and Mr Huskisson some coolness had existed, made a sign of recognition, and held out his hand. A hurried but friendly grasp was given; and before it was loosened there was a general cry from the bystanders of ‘Get in, get in!’ Flurried and confused, Mr Huskisson endeavoured to get round the open door of the carriage, which projected over the opposite rail; but in so doing he was struck down by the ‘Rocket’, and falling with his leg doubled across the rail, the limb was instantly crushed. His first words on being raised were, ‘I have met my death,’ which unhappily proved too true, for he expired that same evening in the neighbouring parsonage of Eccles. It was cited at the time as a remarkable fact, that the ‘Northumbrian’ engine conveyed the wounded body of the unfortunate gentleman a distance of about fifteen miles in twenty-five minutes, or at the rate of thirty-six miles an hour. This incredible speed burst upon the world with the effect of a new and unlooked-for phenomenon.
The lamentable accident threw a gloom over the rest of the day’s proceedings. The Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel expressed a wish that the procession should return to Liverpool. It was, however, represented to them that a vast concourse of people had assembled at Manchester to witness the arrival of the trains; that report would exaggerate the mischief if they did not complete the journey; and that a false panic on that day might seriously affect future railway travelling, and the value of the Company’s property. The party consented accordingly to proceed to Manchester . . .
Samuel Smiles, The Life of George Stephenson (1857)
RAILWAY SPEC
(I)
The extension of the railways had, up to the year 1844, been effected principally by men of the commercial classes, interested in opening up improved communications between particular towns and districts. The first lines had been bold experiments – many thought them exceedingly rash and unwarranted; they had been reluctantly conceded by the legislature, and were carried out in the face of great opposition and difficulties. . . . But when the lugubrious anticipations of the City men were found to be so completely falsified by the results, when, after the lapse of years, it was ascertained that railway traffic rapidly increased and dividends steadily improved, a change came over the spirit of the London capitalists: they then invested largely in railways, and the shares became a leading branch of business on the Stock Exchange. . . .
A share-dealing spirit was thus evoked; and a reckless gambling for premiums set in, which completely changed the character and objects of railway enterprise. The public outside the Stock Exchange shortly became infected with the same spirit, and many people, utterly ignorant of railways, knowing and caring nothing about their great national uses, but hungering and thirsting after premiums, rushed eagerly into the vortex of speculation. They applied for allotments, and subscribed for shares in lines, of the engineering character or probable traffic of which they cared nothing. ‘Shares! Shares!’ became the general cry. . . .
The game was open to all – to the workman, who drew his accumulation of small earnings out of the savings’ bank to try a venture in shares; to the widow and spinster of small means, who had up to that time blessed God that their lot had lain between poverty and riches, but were now seized by the infatuation of becoming suddenly rich; to the professional man, who, watching the success of others, at length scorned the moderate gains of his calling, and rushed into speculation. The madness spread everywhere. It embraced merchants and manufacturers, gentry and shop-keepers, clerks in public offices and loungers at the clubs. Noble lords were appointed as ‘stags’; there were even clergymen who were characterised as ‘bulls’; and amiable ladies who had the reputation of ‘bears’, in the share markets. . . .
Folly and knavery were, for a time, completely in the ascendant.
Samuel Smiles, The Life of George Stephenson (1857)
(II)
JEAMES’S DIARY
Considerable sensation has been excited in the upper and lower circles in the West End, by a startling piece of good fortune which has befallen James Plush, Esq., lately footman [footmen wore plush breeches] in a respected family in Berkeley Square.
One day last week, Mr James waited upon his master, who is a banker in the City; and after a little blushing and hesitation, said he had saved a little money in service, was anxious to retire, and to invest his savings to advantage.
His master (we believe we may mention, without offending delicacy, the well-known name of Sir George Flimsy, of the house of Flimsy, Diddler and Flash) smilingly asked Mr James what was the amount of his savings, wondering considerably how, out of an income of thirty guineas – the main part of which he spent in bouquets, silk stockings and perfumery – Mr Plush could have managed to lay by anything.
Mr Plush, with some hesitation, said he had been speculating in railroads, and stated his winnings to have been thirty thousand pounds. He had commenced his speculations with twenty, borrowed from a fellow-servant. He had dated his letters from the house in Berkeley Square, and humbly begged pardon of his master for not having instructed the Railway Secretaries who answered his applications to apply at the area bell [servants’ and tradesmen’s entrance].
Sir George, who was at breakfast, instantly rose, and shook Mr P. by the hand; Lady Flimsy begged him to be seated, and partake of the breakfast which he had laid on the table; and has subsequently invit
ed him to her grand déjeuner at Richmond, where it was observed that Miss Emily Flimsy, her beautiful and accomplished seventh daughter, paid the lucky gentleman marked attention.
We hear it stated that Mr P. is of a very ancient family (Hugo de la Pluche came over with the Conqueror); and the new brougham which he has started bears the ancient coat of his race.
He has taken apartments in the Albany, and is director of thirty-three railroads. He proposes to stand for Parliament at the next general election on decidedly Conservative principles, which have always been the politics of his family. . . .
Mr James: ‘Railway Spec is going on phamusly. You should see how polite they har at my bankers now! . . . How the ladies, & men too, foller and flatter me! If I go into Lady Binsis hopra box, she makes room for me, whoever is there, and cries out, “O do make room for that dear creature!” And she complyments me on my taste in musick, or my new Broom-oss [brougham horse], or the phansy of my weskit, and always ends by asking me for some shares. Old Lord Bareacres, as stiff as a poaker, as proud as Loosyfer, as poor as Joab – even he condysends to be sivvle to the great De la Pluche, and begged me at Harthur’s, lately, in his sollom pompus way, “to faver him with five minutes’ conversation”. I knew what was coming – application for shares – put him down on my private list. Wouldn’t mind the Scrag End Junction passing through Bareacres – hoped I’d come down and shoot there. . . .
‘Shall I describe that kitastrafy with which hall Hengland is familiar? My & rifewses to cronnicle the misfortins which lasserated my bleeding art in Hoctober last. On the fust of Hawgust where was I? Director of twenty-three Companies; older of Scrip hall at a primmium, and worth at least a quarter of a millium. On Lord Mare’s day [9 November], my Saint Helenas quotid at 14pm, were down at 1/2 discount; my Central Ichaboes at 3/8 discount; my Table Mounting & Hottentot Grand Trunk, nowhere; my Bathershins and Derrynane Beg, of which I’d bought 2000 for the account at 17 primmium, down to nix; my Juan Fernandez, my Great Central Oregons, prostrit. There was a momint when I thought I shouldn’t be alive to write my own tail! . . .
‘I did go into suvvis – the wust of all suvvises – I went into the Queen’s Bench Prison, and lay there a misrable captif for 6 mortial weeks.’
William Makepeace Thackeray, ‘Jeames’s Diary’, Punch, Vol. 9 (1845)
(III)
Among other great advantages afforded by railways has been that of opening out the great matrimonial market, whereby people can pick and choose wives all the world over, instead of having to pursue the old Pelion on Ossa or Pig upon Bacon system of always marrying a neighbour’s child. So we now have an amalgamation of countries and counties, and a consequent improvement in society – improvement in wit, improvement in wine, improvement in ‘wittles’, improvement in everything.
R.S. Surtees, Mr Facey Romford’s Hounds (1864)
SCIENTIFIC PROGRESS
(I)
[Not until 1832 were cadavers made legally available for research.] ‘Mary’s Ghost’: A Pathetic Ballad
’Twas in the middle of the night,
To sleep young William tried,
When Mary’s ghost came stealing in,
And stood at his bedside.
‘O William dear! O William dear!
My rest eternal ceases!
Alas! my everlasting peace
Is broken into pieces.
‘I thought the last of all my cares
Would end with my last minute;
But though I went to my long home,
I didn’t stay long in it.
‘The body-snatchers they have come [Burke and Hare]
And made a snatch at me;
It’s very hard them kind of men
Won’t let a body be!
‘You thought that I was buried deep,
Quite decent-like and chary,
But from her grave in Mary-bone
They’ve come and boned your Mary.
‘The arm that used to take your arm
Is took to Dr Vyse;
And both my legs are gone to walk
The hospital at Guy’s.
‘I vowed that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You’ll find it there, at Dr Bell’s,
In spirits and a phial.
‘As for my feet, the little feet
You used to call so pretty,
There’s one, I know, in Bedford Row,
The t’other’s in the City.
‘I can’t tell where my head is gone,
But Dr Carpuc can:
As for my trunk, it’s all packed up
To go by Pickford’s van. [furniture removers]
‘I wish you’d go to Mr P.
And save me such a ride;
I don’t half like the outside place
They’ve took for my inside.
‘The cock it crows – I must be gone!
My William, we must part!
But I’ll be yours in death, altho’
Sir Astley has my heart.
‘Don’t go to weep upon my grave,
And think that there I be;
They haven’t left an atom there
Of my anatomy.’
Thomas Hood (early nineteenth century)
(II)
BALLOONING
In the Great Exposition, we have had the pleasure of examining the new Aërial Machine invented by Mr E. Mason, of Brompton, together with the Locomotive Balloon, and Locomotive Parachute of Mr H. Bell, of Millbank. The former of these presents the appearance of a huge vegetable marrow, with a broad Dutch rudder at the stern, and an apparatus of revolving sails at each bow; Mr Bell’s invention is a long silver fish, for a boat, with revolving fans in place of fins for progression, and sustained by a balloon of blue silk. . . . Mr J. Brown of Leadenhall Street has a most solid-looking model, like a mahogany Dutch boat, sustained by an immense inflated bonnet or closed hood, and guided by a jib in front, with a tri-sail for a rudder. Mr H. Plummer has a machine to fly with wings only, the power to be derived from the action of springs, etc. Mr G. Graham exhibits a steering apparatus for a balloon. It resembles some enormous firework case, or skeleton of some great fabulous bird. These long wings are, in fact, to be used as immense oars, a project somewhat resembling that of Messrs Aine and Robert in 1784. Mr W. Sadd of Wandsworth exhibits a singularly light and curious aërial machine, evidently the result of immense consideration in its principles and details. . . .
A pamphlet has just been published by Mr Luntley, with a frontispiece of a very new kind of balloon, in form not unlike two bagpipes of the early Italian shepherds, sewed together. It is to be of prodigious magnitude. The principle of propulsion will be that of the screw; but the balloon is to be its own screw, and work itself, by rotation, through the air. A wheel and strap are to give the rotatory motion, and the inventor is convinced that one end of the bagpipe (or queer curled point) will propel, and the other attract the air in its embrace, which will enable the aëronaut to advance in any direction he pleases. His power is to be derived from steam; and the weight of cargo he expects to be able to carry (besides the weight of his machine and apparatus) is the moderate amount of twenty-seven tons – about the weight of six full-grown elephants, with their ‘castles’.
Richard H. Horne, ‘Ballooning’, Household Words, Vol. IV (1851)
FORWARD LET US RANGE
Let me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife,
When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life;
Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield,
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father’s field,
And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn,
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn;
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new:
Dickens's England: Life in Victorian Times Page 5
