Part 38

We thought that in entering this western part of the tunnel, we should get out of the rain; but we found streams of water occasionally coming through the brick-work, and especially through the stone at the heading, where the work of arching was going on. Quite a stream of water ran through the bottom of the tunnel, and I managed, in the course of my walk, to get my feet pretty thoroughly soaked. However, I had been wisely encased in a suit of old clothes, and when I emerged, there was more mud than clothing visible about me.

Climbing out of the western portal, we took the open road again, and went to what is known as the western shaft. The work through the demoralized rock and porridge was so slow that the engineers determined to sink a shaft farther up the mountain. It is about half a mile from the portal, and is three hundred and eighteen feet deep.

As soon as the shaft was sunk, the miners turned and worked outwards through the soft rock, cutting a small passage through to the western portal, so as to allow the water to drain off, and thus save the use of the pumps. In the other direction, that is, towards the east, the miners had found the solid rock of the mountain. At the time of my visit they were about half a mile from the bottom of the shaft.

[Sidenote: FLOODING A TUNNEL.]

Along our road forming the portal to the shaft, there was a small stream of water. My guide explained to me that in the great flood a year before, the water came down, tearing away the embankment which separated the brook from the tunnel. In a few minutes the embankment was all torn away, and the whole force of the stream was poured into the tunnel. An alarm was given as quickly as possible, and by running rapidly, the men who were working in the tunnel escaped, with the exception of one who was doing his first day’s work there, and was probably delayed by his unfamiliarity with the place. In a very short time the water completely filled the tunnel, and it was some weeks before the works were restored to their old condition.

Along this brook and around the west shaft there was quite a village occupied by the miners and their families. The town of North Adams provided a school-house and a school for the children, of whom nearly one hundred received instruction there during the week. For a part of the year the school-house was occupied at different hours, on Sunday, by two Sunday schools, one conducted by some of the Protestant churches, while the other is under the care of the Roman Catholics.

Around the shaft were the usual buildings and shops for the repair of tools, and for the ordinary machinery used about the mine. After a pleasant talk in the office of the superintendent, I was requested to dress in an oil-skin suit and a lantern, preparatory to going below. When all was ready, we went to the shaft, entered a cage, and descended. From the bottom of the shaft we struck out along the tunnel to make our way to the heading.

Our guide explained to us that there would be a blast in, about twenty minutes, and that we must move forward at good speed in order to see it. “Step right out without fear,” said he; “there is no danger of falling through, as the bottom is perfectly solid. You need not mind splashing those boots with water and mud, as they are used to it.”

[Sidenote: WALKING UNDER GROUND.]

I obeyed his directions and followed him, and I did some very rapid walking. The lanterns gave out just about light enough to make darkness visible. Away in the distance we could see the lights of the miners, and hear the noise made by the machinery and the tools of the workmen. An iron pipe six inches in diameter lay at one side of the floor, and through this was forced the air which furnished the power to the drilling machinery, and at the same time ventilated the tunnel. A channel had been cut in the solid floor to carry off the water which flowed in from various seams in the rock.

A short distance from the foot of the shaft were the stables, containing several mules, which were used for hauling the cars. The mules seemed to look at us with a desponding gaze, as if connecting us in some way with the outside world, which they would never see again.

“Did these animals,” said I, “come down in the cage where we descended?”

“Certainly,” said the assistant superintendent. “How else could they come down? They were sent down in that box, not all together, but only one at a time.”

I endeavored to ascertain how it was possible to pack a live animal into that cage without killing him. The assistant said it was easy enough if you only knew how, and could induce the animal to do as you wanted him to. “They are good mules,” said he, “and with a strong rope you can double them up any way, though they do not exactly like it. If they live two years longer, they will get out alive, otherwise they will die here. It does not pay to be hoisting live mules out, and lowering other live mules in. When they get here, they stay till we are through with them.”

About half way from the shaft to the heading we passed a couple of surveyors, who were making an alignment of the tunnel, to see that everything was correct. They had the ordinary instruments used for levelling purposes in the open air, but it seemed rather odd to find them using the same instruments by the light of lanterns, and laying out the track far down in the interior of the mountain. Every foot of the work of the tunnel had to be laid out with the utmost care, in order that the ends, when they met, could be made to join perfectly.

[Sidenote: SUGGESTION OF A VISITOR.]

There was a narrow track along the bottom of the tunnel, where cars drawn by mules, for the removal of the rock to the foot of the shaft, where it could be hoisted out. My guide told me that a recent visitor to the tunnel asked, with apparent innocence, why they hoisted out all that rock, and suggested that it would be much easier to dig a hole in the bottom of the tunnel, and bury it there; but he did not suggest what should be done with the rock which they removed to make the hole. We encountered several of these cars, and at one place were crowded rather closely against the walls.

Originally gunpowder was used for blasting purposes in the tunnel, but later in the work nitro-glycerine was adopted.

Several accidents with explosive materials occurred during the construction of the tunnel, one of the most serious being in 1869. The magazine where the nitro-glycerine was stored for operations on the eastern part of the tunnel, was about a quarter of a mile from the portal. Three of the miners went one morning to prepare the nitro-glycerine for the day’s use, and an explosion occurred, killing them all. Two of them were inside the building at the time, and nothing but a few pieces of them were found; the other, who was outside the building, was so badly disfigured that it was almost impossible to identify him, and the force of the explosion was so great that not a plank or a timber of the building remained.

[Sidenote: THE GREAT EXPLOSION.]

On the 19th of October, 1867, a terrible accident occurred at this shaft. A depth of nearly six hundred feet had been reached, and thirteen men were at work below. The gasoline apparatus used for lighting the works exploded, and set fire to the buildings. The engineer was badly burned, and driven from his post, and the men perished by suffocation. The shaft was soon filled with water, but it was not until next day that the fire was extinguished so that anybody could descend. A workman named Mallory was lowered, with three lanterns attached to him. Near the bottom two of his lanterns went out, and at a signal he was drawn up nearly insensible from breathing the foul air. He said there were fifteen feet of water in the shaft, and no signs of the men. It was necessary to erect buildings and machinery to clear the shaft, and it was not until a year after that the water was pumped out, and the bodies of the victims were recovered. They were all in a good state of preservation, but crumbled to pieces soon after exposure to the air.

As we neared the heading the noise increased. The shouts of the miners and the sound of the drilling machines overpowered any ordinary tones of the voice. The drilling machine was an iron frame, resting upon trucks, and was pushed as near as possible to the face of the rock. The drills were fastened to it in such a way that they could be turned upon any designated point. They were operated by compressed air, and worked with great rapidity, striking as many as three hundred blows to the minute. The quality of the rock was generally so hard that the drills became dull and blunt in a short time, and required to be sharpened; but they worked much more expeditiously than hand drills. Under the ordinary process of hand drilling it would take six weeks to accomplish the distance made in a single week by them.

When the drill-holes had been sunk to the required depth, the machine was moved back, and some plank doors were closed in front of it to prevent injury by the flying fragments of rock. Just as we reached the end of the heading the noise ceased, and the machine was drawn back, preparatory to blasting. The holes were cleared, and then three men came forward with the charges of nitro-glycerine in long tin tubes. These were put in the holes, the wires were fastened in their places, and then the men moved back; it is hardly necessary to say that I moved back at the same time, and quite as far as the workmen. Everything being ready, the signal was given.

“Look out that you are not blown down!” said my guide.

I did look out. There came a sound and a quick explosion, followed by the rumbling and crashing of the rock, and then a rush of air and smoke that almost threw me over.

The pressure of the air in the iron pipe for working the drills and ventilating the tunnel was about six atmospheres, or ninety pounds to the square inch. As soon as the blast was made, the air was turned on; the smoke from the blast was driven back, and the miners found themselves in a clear atmosphere.

After this blast it was intimated that there was nothing more to see, and we made our way out of the tunnel into the open air again, and back to the Wilson House.

On December 12th, 1872, the east heading was connected with the one driven east from the central shaft. The west heading was connected with the one driven west from the shaft on the 27th of November, 1873. This proved a splendid engineering feat.

The road bed was finished and the track laid early in 1875, and the first freight train passed through on the 5th of April of that year. The first passenger train was run through, July 8th, 1875.

[Sidenote: ACCIDENT AT THE CENTRAL SHAFT.]

Owing to the explosive action of nitro-glycerine the rock was broken for some distance beyond the limits planned in constructing the sides and arch of the tunnel, and there was constant danger of pieces of rock falling upon the track. The plan of arching it with brick was conceived of, and a contract was made in 1874, to do the arching and also to enlarge a portion of the tunnel at the eastern terminus. This work was completed, and the road is now in complete running order.

The cost of the work in the aggregate is nearly $15,000,000. The construction of the tunnel opens direct communication between Boston and Troy, and is of inestimable advantage to Massachusetts from a commercial point of view.

XXXIV.

THE MONT CENIS TUNNEL.

MOUNTAIN CHAINS BETWEEN NATIONS.—MONT CENIS.—CROSSING THE ALPS.—THE GREAT ALPINE TUNNEL.—LAYING OUT THE WORK.—THE ARC AND DORA.—DIFFICULTIES.—THE SURVEYS.—PENETRATING THE MOUNTAIN.—COMPLETION OF THE WORK.—THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.—ITS COST.—COST OF TUNNELS IN VARIOUS COUNTRIES.

It has been said with truth that “mountains interposed make enemies of nations.” In various parts of the world we find that mountain chains stand as barriers between different nations, and in many instances the boundaries thus formed by nature have remained unchanged for hundreds of years. On the map of Europe the most prominent mountain chain is that of the Alps, and it has stood as a separating line between nations for a long time. It is true that occasionally wars have been carried beyond these mountain chains, and conquests have been made in spite of them; but for practical purposes the chain of the Alps has been for centuries the separating line between France and Austria on the north, and Italy on the south. Sometimes the French possessions have extended to the south of the Alps, and sometimes Italy has extended her possessions to the north of that chain. Such possessions have never been held for a great length of time, and in one way or another they have fallen to the nation to whom they belonged by natural position.

Carriage roads were long since made across the Alps. In later years the railway has traversed these mountains, but the ascent is tedious and laborious, so that rapid communication was impossible. It remained for the science of the present day to overcome the obstacles which the mountains afforded, not by cutting away the Alps, but by piercing a passage through them.

More than twenty years ago the attention of the French and Italian governments was called to the necessity of a tunnel through the Alps by which France and Italy should be connected. The project was discussed for some time, and finally a convention was formed between France and Italy for the purpose of undertaking the work. Four or five years were consumed in surveys and in the contemplation of plans. All sorts of objections were made, and a list of these objections forms a humorous page. One man contended that the heat would be so great in the centre of the mountain that the men would be roasted alive while working in the tunnel. Another was positive that the noxious gases and vapors arising in the tunnel would suffocate everybody. Another contended that rivers of water would be found in the mountain so great that they would overwhelm the workmen, and convert the tunnel into an enormous spring. And so on, one after another, the objections were heaped up, and there was at one time a prospect that the work would not be undertaken.

[Sidenote: COMMENCEMENT OF THE WORK.]

The actual work on the tunnel was begun on the Italian side in 1857, and a little afterwards work on the French side also commenced. A great deal of labor had been performed in locating the tunnel. A mountain chain is not a single line of mountains, like a row of potato hills; but it consists of a central back-bone of mountains, with other and smaller mountains on either side, so that a chain may often be a hundred or more miles in width. Now, in piercing a chain like the Alps, it is necessary to find a way among the outlying hills on each side through the valleys of the rivers that flow from the central chain. In this way the open-air railway is brought to the foot of one of the mountains forming the great central back-bone.

But a difficulty arises in finding two of these valleys directly opposite each other. You may follow a valley until you get to the very base of one of the highest mountains of the range, but on looking to the other side you may find no corresponding valley.

It was this peculiarity of all mountain chains that greatly hindered the location of the Mont Cenis Tunnel. After much search, the best location was found to be by following the valley of the River Arc, on the northern side, and the River Dora, on the southern. A great many surveys were made, and it was finally discovered that the Arc and Dora, in their windings, were, at a certain point, less than eight miles apart. At this point, it was evident, Nature designed—if she had any design about it—that the great work should be constructed.

[Sidenote: VISITING THE MONT CENIS TUNNEL.]

In 1867, while travelling north from Italy to France, I determined to pay a visit to the Mont Cenis Tunnel. It was said to be quite difficult to obtain a permit to enter the workings; but perseverance and letters of introduction will accomplish a great deal, and after a little delay I obtained what I asked for. I found it more convenient to visit the northern end of the tunnel for the reason that on the Italian side the workings were sixteen miles away from the regular line of travel, while those on the northern side were directly on the route of tourists.

A railway over Mont Cenis was then under construction, and nearly completed; but as it was not open for travelling, I made the transit in a carriage, just as many thousands of people had made it before me. The railway over the Alps is of itself a curiosity. In some places the ascent equals one foot in ten, so that great power was required for the locomotives to enable them to drag their burdens upward. The track was narrow, and it was peculiar in having three rails instead of two. The wheels of the carriages run on two rails only, just like wheels of carriages on other railways. The central rail was intended for the use of the locomotives, to assist their power of traction. The wheels were arranged on these locomotives in such a way as to grip the central rail with tremendous force, and the brakes were also so arranged that by pressing this central rail they could bring the carriages to a sudden stop in case of accident.

The line of the railway over Mont Cenis follows very nearly the carriage road, and occasionally crosses it. In some places it passes through short tunnels, and in others it is roofed in to avoid injury by snow. In crossing the mountain by this railway very little time is saved over the ordinary carriage route, while the latter is very much to be preferred on account of its comfort and the advantage it gives for observing the scenery. We were a party of four, and after an unhappy night in a dirty hotel at Susa, an old town founded by the Romans, and containing some ruins dating from the time of the Romans, we started on our journey.

[Sidenote: A ROW WITH A LANDLORD.]

Our night had been unhappy. Our breakfast was still more unhappy, and our bill for what the landlord facetiously termed our “entertainment” was the worst feature of all. The discomfiture of his establishment was greater than the comfort of the best hotel in Paris, and he charged us about twice the rate that any Parisian landlord would dare to ask. We consoled ourselves and settled our breakfast by getting up a magnificent row with him, threatening to break his head, and talked at least fifteen minutes in mingled _patois_ of English, French, Italian, Russian, and Chinese. We did not succeed in having our bill reduced, but I am confident if what we said to that landlord remained ringing in his ears for twenty-four hours, it must have driven him to hopeless insanity.

We wound slowly up the mountain, with the top of our carriage thrown back, so that we could enjoy the view.

The Mont Cenis Pass is the least interesting of all the great passes of the Alps. Tourists complain of its tameness, but there are points where it is picturesque.

At places during the ascent we had some fine views of that portion of Italy which stretches away from the base of the mountain, and we tried to imagine that we could now and then catch a glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea. The rough mountains were piled above and around us, frequently in fantastic shapes, and we found the air getting steadily more and more cool as we made the ascent.

Finally on the summit, only a few hours after leaving a tropical temperature in Italy, we were riding amid fields of snow, and shivering in our travelling coats and thick shawls.

[Sidenote: DESCENDING THE MOUNTAIN.]

The ascent was slow, but the descent on the French side was rapid. As we passed the boundary between France and Italy, our driver gathered his reins, and the horses went at full speed down the magnificent road. We left a cloud of dust filling the air behind us, and were whirled along so rapidly that I sometimes thought we might be tossed over one of the precipices in some of the short windings of the road. At every half mile there is a small shed, or house, known as the “refuge.” It is intended for travellers who are overtaken on the mountain, during the winter season, by violent snow-storms.

As it was summer we had no occasion to seek these refuges, but it was easy to see that they were of great advantage in protecting and saving life during the severer portion of the year.

At Lans-le-bourg we stopped at the French custom-house to undergo an examination; but our baggage was so small in quantity, and we manifested such a readiness to submit it to inspection, that the officers of customs did not detain us. Behind us was a carriage, in which were two American ladies, and they drove up a few moments before we started. They had that enormous amount of baggage peculiar to their sex and race, and protested that their trunks contained nothing of value. But the custom officers were inexorable, and as we drove away, the trunks of the ladies were being unpacked, and were undergoing a rigid examination. If you wish to avoid trouble at custom-houses when travelling in Europe, never carry a large amount of baggage, and never show the least hesitation to open it for inspection. Many a time have I found my baggage passed without examination, while the next man’s would be overhauled, and, as nearly as I could judge, only for the reason that he urged the officers not to look at it, and assured them that it contained nothing contraband.

[Sidenote: SURROUNDINGS OF MONT CENIS.]

At Modane we found the base of operations for the northern part of the tunnel, and here we halted to make our investigations. By the way, I never have been able to make out why the name of Mont Cenis should be attached to the famous tunnel, since that mountain is about twenty miles away from it. The tunnel does not pass under Mont Cenis, but under three peaks called Col Frejus, Le Grand Vallon, and Col de la Roue, the first being on the French, the third being on the Italian slope, and the second about half way between the two. I suppose, however, that the tunnel was named after Mont Cenis because it is better known than any other summit or range in this neighborhood, and because it would be better to give it a name which does not belong to it at all, rather than naming it after any one of the three peaks deserving equal distinction.

Modane, or, more properly speaking, Fourneaux, was the base of operations. Fourneaux is a miserable little village in a narrow gorge in the valley of the Arc, and its inhabitants are chiefly remarkable for their deformity and idiocy. The Grand Vallon is eleven thousand feet above the sea level, and crowned with snow. Its sides are steep, and it would be quite impossible to carry a railway over it. The other mountains on the route are equally rugged in character, but their height above makes little difference with the workings carried on in their interior.

The Mont Cenis Tunnel is the largest in the world, extending from Fourneaux, on the French side, to Bardouneche, on the Italian side. When it was begun, with the ordinary system, of hand drills, it was found that at the ordinary rate of progress, it would take thirty or forty years to finish the work. With an ordinary tunnel, where the elevation of earth or rock is not very great, shafts are sunk along the line, as before stated; but in this case it was impossible to sink these vertical shafts, on account of the great distance. A necessity arose for penetrating the rock much faster than by ordinary means, and there was also a necessity for supplying the workmen with fresh air.

[Sidenote: SOMMELIER’S AIR COMPRESSOR.]