Part 39

These necessities led to Sommelier’s invention of drills worked by compressed air, and of the machinery for compressing the air. The machines have already been described in connection with the Hoosac Tunnel. A great many experiments were made before the air could be successfully used; but finally, when they were completed, the work progressed rapidly. By means of the compressors that were worked by a stream of water from the mountain, the air was reduced to one sixth of its natural bulk, and thus, when liberated, it exercised an expansive force equal to six atmospheres. The compressing machines used at most tunnels to-day are simply enormous and very powerful pumps, but the machine of Sommelier used the weight of water. Twenty or more large iron tubes were placed in an upright position. The “head” of the supply was far up the mountain side, and the water was brought to the machine in an iron pipe. A piston perfectly tight was fitted to the tube, the water was turned on, and its weight, added to the head it had received, compressed the air in the tube. As it was compressed, a valve was opened, through which it could escape into a reservoir. From this reservoir the air was conveyed in an iron pipe into the tunnel, where it was used to work the perforators.

We found that the entrance to the tunnel was quite a distance up the side of the mountain, and it was evident that considerable engineering skill would be required to bring the railway track thither when the work was completed. Opposite the mouth of the tunnel, my attention was called to a large target, made of boards painted white, and securely fastened against the rock. The target was used for the proper alignment of the work. At every foot of progress into the mountain, bearings were carefully taken. At night a Drummond light was placed in the centre of the target, so that it could be visible from the middle of the mountain.

It will be seen that it was a work requiring the utmost caution to lay out the route and direction of the tunnel through the mountain. A variation of a hundredth part of an inch at any point in the surveys would have changed the course of the working on one side or the other, so that the two ends would not meet. Bear in mind that these surveys were carried from the valley of the Arc to the valley of the Dora,—the opposite points being eight miles apart,—and the route lying, not through level fields and meadows, but over three rough and high mountains, where there was no path beyond that which the surveyors and their assistants laid out. And yet, so carefully was the work performed from the two sides, that the workings were brought together exactly, without a variation of a single foot.

[Sidenote: RULES IN REGARD TO VISITORS.]

The entrance to the tunnel is about twenty-five feet wide, and the same in height. To go inside the workings, you are clad with a rubber suit, and supplied with a lamp, and accompanied by a guide. For some time after the working began, almost any one could be admitted; but it was found that the workmen were greatly hindered by frequent visits, so that the rules became very strict. No one could enter the tunnel, unless employed there, without a pass from the management, though it was not very difficult for a journalist or a person of influence or prominence to obtain admission. As fast as the work progressed, a double railway was laid down to carry in the materials used in the working, and to bring out the broken rock. There was a narrow sidewalk of flagged stone on each side. The pipes for the air were ranged along the side of the tunnel, and between the lines of the rails, in a deep trench, were the gas and water pipes.

Like all tunnels this one was damp, from the streams of water coming through the roof; and if you wondered before entering, why you should be asked to wear a rubber coat, your wonder speedily ceased. At the time of my visit the workmen were nearly three miles from the entrance,—that is to say, the tunnel was finished for that distance,—while for about a quarter of a mile the men had cut the heading, but the upper part of the tunnel had not been opened.

The heading is the most difficult part of the work, and in all tunnel operations the workmen at the heading are kept sufficiently in advance of the enlargers, so that one party will not be in the other’s way.

The passage from the entrance through the finished portion was comparatively easy, but after you reached the newly-opened part you found it more difficult. There were wagons and men moving to and fro, and fragments of rock were lying everywhere about. The space was narrow, and every little while you found yourself running much nearer a man or a mule than you wished to; unless you moved about very carefully, you were under the risk of being run over by a mule, or crushed by the wheels of a wagon.

The perforators kept up a perpetual din, and you could hardly hear yourself speak; and I have heard persons aver that you could not hear yourself think. The drill of the Mont Cenis machine stands on a carriage, which the Italians call the “Affusto,” and it strikes about two hundred blows a minute. Its force upon the rock is about two hundred pounds.

A stream of water is thrown upon the rock into the drill-hole, to facilitate the perforating process.

The wear and tear of machinery in the tunnel were very great, owing to the hardness of the rock. Every fifteen minutes it was necessary to change the drills, and a great many _affusti_ were worn out.

[Sidenote: DESTRUCTION OF DRILLING MACHINES.]

It was estimated that by the time the tunnel was completed four thousand machines were utterly worn out. At the entrance of the tunnel we saw a great many of these disabled _affusti_, reminding us of worn-out carriages around a stable.

With the exception that the workmen were clad in different costumes, and were shouting in French instead of English, the work was very much like that already described in the Hoosac Tunnel. Accidents were much more frequent in the Mont Cenis Tunnel than in the Hoosac Tunnel, for the reason that much less care was taken. It was said that nearly twelve hundred men lost their lives in the tunnel, or in connection with it, during the time of its construction,—at least, some of the workmen said so,—while the guides and directors insisted that the loss of life had not been more than one tenth of the number. Owing to the hardness of the rock the cost of the work was very great. Taking the average of the whole length of the tunnel, it was one thousand dollars a lineal yard, making a total, in round numbers, of fifteen millions of dollars.

The expense was shared between the French and Italian governments, and the tunnel will form a bond of union between the two nations greater than could be made by any other use of the same amount of money. By the terms of the convention between the governments, the tunnel is to remain uninjured should France and Italy be engaged in hostilities against each other. The tunnel shortens the route of travel very materially, and where the route of travel is shortened the work of peace and good will among men is greatly facilitated.

[Sidenote: TUNNEL UNDER THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.]

A tunnel has been proposed for the Straits of Dover, between England and France, and several plans have been considered. The London Times stated, early in 1872, that a company has been formed and funds subscribed to the amount of some one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, with the immediate object of making a trial shaft, and driving a driftway on the English side about half a mile beyond low-water mark, with the view of proving the practicability of tunnelling under the Channel. The completion of this work will furnish data for calculating the cost of continuing the driftway from each shore to a junction in mid-channel, and capital will then be subscribed for that purpose, or for enlarging it to the size of an ordinary railway tunnel, as the engineers may deem most expedient.

The tunnel will be made through the lower or gray chalk chiefly, if not entirely, and by the adoption of machinery, of which the promoters of this company have recently made practical trials, it is expected the passage from shore to shore can be opened within three years from the time of commencing the work, and at a cost very considerably less than any previous estimates.

[Sidenote: COST OF TUNNELS.]

The same paper, referring to the proposed enterprise, gives the following details about railway and other tunnels: “The cost of existing tunnels has been governed by such various conditions of locality and soil, that they can have little bearing upon the present question. It may be worth while, nevertheless, to cite a few prominent examples. The Mont Cenis Tunnel has cost one hundred and ninety-five pounds per linear yard, which would amount, for a length of twenty-two miles, to seven millions four hundred and fifty thousand four hundred pounds. The three most costly tunnels made in England have been the Kilsby, the Saltwood, and the Bletchingley, each of which was executed in treacherous strata, giving out large quantities of water. In making the Kilsby Tunnel a hidden quicksand was discovered, by which the works were drowned out. For a considerable time all pumping apparatus appeared insufficient, but by the employment of one thousand two hundred and fifty men, two hundred horses, and thirteen steam engines, working night and day for eight months, one thousand eight hundred gallons per minute were raised from the quicksand alone. The cost of the work was raised from ninety thousand pounds, the original estimate, to three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, or one hundred and forty-five pounds per yard for two thousand four hundred yards. The same rate of expense for twenty-two miles would amount to five millions six hundred and forty-six thousand six hundred and twenty pounds. The Saltwood Tunnel cost one hundred and eighteen pounds per yard, the Bletchingley seventy-two pounds; or for twenty-two miles, four millions five hundred and sixty-eight thousand nine hundred and sixty pounds, and two millions seven hundred and eighty-seven thousand eight hundred and forty pounds, respectively.

“The cost of railway tunnels in France has varied from thirty pounds per yard—being that of Terre Noire, on the Paris, Lyons, and Mediterranean Railway, to ninety-five pounds per yard, that of Batignolles, near Paris, on the Chemin de Fer de l’Ouest. In Belgium, Braine le Comte Tunnel cost forty-six pounds per metre, and the tunnels on the Liège and Verviers line fifty pounds per metre. In Switzerland the very difficult Hauenstein Tunnel between Basle and Berne cost eighty pounds a yard.

[Sidenote: ESTIMATE OF THE CHANNEL TUNNEL.]

“In America, the Hoosac Tunnel, in Massachusetts, through mica slate, mixed with quartz, has up to this time cost one hundred and eighty pounds per yard, and the Moorhouse Tunnel, in New Zealand, through lava streams and beds of tufa, intersected by vertical dikes of phonolite, cost sixty-eight pounds fifteen shillings per yard. It will be a convenient standard of comparison for these amounts if we remember that twenty-five pounds per yard would represent very nearly a million sterling for the twenty-two miles. Any estimate for the Channel Tunnel must at present be purely conjectural, and an estimate professing to embrace contingencies must be more conjectural than any other; but it is reckoned that the work, if practicable at all, could be completed within five years of time, and for five millions of money.”

XXXV.

THE PARISIAN SEWERS.

THE SEWERS OF PARIS.—THEIR EXTENT.—A JOURNEY THROUGH THEM.—THE START AND THE MODE OF TRAVEL.—DESCRIPTION OF THE GREAT SEWER.—ACCIDENTS OF SEWER TRAVEL.—HISTORY OF THE SEWERS.—THEIR FIRST GREAT INSPECTION.—BRUNESEAU.—INUNDATION FROM THE SEWERS.—A MAN LOST.—HORRIBLE DEATH IN THE SEWERS.—THE OLD AND THE NEW.—THE EXCAVATIONS.—NATURE OF THE WORK.—BREAKAGE OF THE CANAL.—JEAN VALJEAN IN THE SEWERS OF PARIS.—HIS FIRST SENSATION.—CAUGHT IN A LABYRINTH.—THE SEWERS OF ST. DENIS, AND THE MARKETS.—CAUGHT IN THE WATER.—THE POLICE IN PURSUIT.—FRIGHT OF THE FUGITIVE.—THE QUICKSAND ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.—A HORRIBLE DEATH.—QUICKSAND IN THE SEWERS.—HOW IT WAS FORMED.—JEAN VALJEAN IN THE QUICKSAND.—HIS SUFFERINGS AND ESCAPE.

Paris, the gayest and brightest city in the world, has an underground life surpassing that of any other metropolis. Beneath the broad streets there are many miles of sewers constructed on a plan that furnishes a complete system of drainage. The total length of the Paris sewers is now about four hundred and thirty-four thousand yards, or three hundred miles. The length of galleries to be constructed in course of time is about two thousand yards more. To organize the network of sewers, the site of the capital has been divided into five basins, of which three are on the right and two on the left bank of the Seine.

Six great principal galleries, cutting the city nearly at right angles, and having for tributaries fifteen secondary galleries, out of which branch a multitude of galleries of less importance, constitute the principal arteries of the network. Three of the six principal galleries are on the right bank of the river: the first is that of the quays; the second descends the Boulevard de Sebastopol, and joins the first at the Place du Chatelet; and the third runs from the Place de la Bastille to the Place de la Concorde, through the streets St. Antoine and de Rivoli.

On the left bank the first gallery includes the line of the quays from the Pont d’Austerlitz to the Pont d’Iéna; the second follows the Boulevard St. Michel from the Place de l’Observatoire to the Pont St. Michel; and the third receives the Bièvre, and at the Rue St. Jacques joins the long gallery into which the sewer of the Boulevard St. Michel falls.

[Sidenote: IN THE SEWERS OF PARIS.]

The sewers, or at any rate a portion of them, are interesting places to visit, though nobody would care to live in them. Only a limited number of permissions are granted, and these only on stated days. I experienced considerable difficulty in securing a ticket, and it was only after exercising patience and perseverance to a liberal degree that my wishes were granted.

The ordinary route for visitors is to enter at the Place de la Concorde, or near the Madeleine Church, and come out at the Place du Chatelet. The sewer between these points is very broad and high, and is evidently the show-place of the whole system. In the centre is a canal about eight feet wide, and at its edges there are rails for the wheels of cars propelled by the workmen, who walk at the sides. The sidewalks are broad and carefully swept, so that one could walk upon them without difficulty. Visitors are generally seated in the cars and pushed along by the men to whom they are expected to give some money at the end of the journey. The car moves above the canal, and every visitor is surprised at the absence of foul odors and at the general cleanliness of the place. On each side of the larger sewers, and supported on iron posts, there are large pipes for the conveyance of water, and in some places the telegraph wires and gas tubes are visible.

[Sidenote: LADIES IN A SEWER.]

When everything is in order, there is very little to see, and a hundred yards or so are as good as the entire distance. The faint rumbling of the carriages can be heard overhead, but otherwise the silence is unbroken, save by the voices of the visitors and workmen, and the occasional sound of falling water. The party to which I was assigned was a serious one, and made very little noise, compared to one a little way in advance, and containing several ladies. The presence of lovely women can add a charm to a sewer, though I should hesitate to take a feminine acquaintance into such a place until I had first made the journey. We had no incident of importance greater than the loss of a hat, which was crushed beneath the car wheels, and the narrow escape of the owner from a tumble overboard as he attempted to clutch the falling article. The place was well lighted with gas; but I think everybody was glad to see the light of day as it streamed through the opening at the Place du Chatelet.

The sewers of Paris were begun several hundred years ago. The exact date is not known; in fact, their history is not exactly known, and some of it is mixed up with a great deal of fiction. In _Les Misérables_, Victor Hugo has given a graphic account of them, though, like much that he has written, the account is not always strictly true. (I quote his language.) He says, “The sewer of Paris, in the middle ages, was legendary. In the sixteenth century, Henry II. attempted an examination, which failed. Less than a hundred years ago, the cloaca, Mercier bears witness, was abandoned to itself, and became what it might.

“Such was that ancient Paris, given up to quarrels, to indecisions, and to gropings. It was for a long time stupid enough. Afterwards, ‘89 showed how cities come to their wits. But, in the good old times, the capital had little head; she could not manage her affairs either morally or materially, nor better sweep away her filth than her abuses. Everything was an obstacle, everything raised a question. The sewer, for instance, was refractory to all itineracy. Men could no more succeed in guiding themselves through its channels than in understanding themselves in the city; above, the unintelligible, below, the inextricable; beneath the confusion of tongues there was the confusion of caves; labyrinth-lined Babel.

[Sidenote: INUNDATION OF THE SEWERS.]

“Sometimes the sewer of Paris took it into its head to overflow, as if that unappreciated Nile were suddenly seized with wrath. There were, infamous to relate, inundations from the sewer. The inundation of 1802 is a present reminiscence with old Parisians. The mire spread out in a cross in the Place des Victoires, where the statue of Louis XIV. is; it entered the Rue St. Honoré by the two mouths of the sewer of the Champs Elysées, the Rue St. Florentin by the St. Florentin sewer, the Rue Pierre à Poisson by the sewer of the Sonnerie, the Rue Popincourt by the sewer of the Chemin Vert, the Rue de la Roquette by the sewer of the Rue de Sappe; it covered the curbstones of the Rue des Champs Elysées to the depth of some fourteen inches; and on the south, by the vomitoria of the Seine performing its function in the inverse way, it penetrated the Rue Mazarine, the Rue de l’Echaudé, and the Rue des Marais, where it stopped, having reached the length of a hundred and twenty yards, just a few steps from the house which Racine had lived in, respecting, in the seventeenth century, the poet more than the king. It attained its maximum depth in the Rue St. Pierre, where it rose three feet, above the flagging of the water-spouts, and its maximum extent in the Rue St. Sabin, where it spread out over a length of two hundred and sixty-one yards.

“At the commencement of this century the sewer of Paris was still a mysterious place. Mire can never be in good repute; but here ill-fame reached even fright. Paris dimly realized that she had a terrible cave beneath her. People talked of it as of that monstrous bog of Thebes which swarmed with scolopendras fifteen feet long, and which might have served as a bathing-tub for Behemoth. The big boots of the sewer men never ventured beyond certain known points. They were still very near the time when the scavengers’ tumbrils, from the top of which Ste. Foix fraternized with the Marquis of Créqui, were simply emptied into the sewer. As for cleansing, that operation was confided to the showers, which obstructed more than they swept out. Science and superstition were at one in regard to the horror. The sewer was not less revolting to hygiene than to legend. The Goblin Monk had appeared under the fetid arch of the Mouffetard sewer; the corpses of the Marmousets had been thrown into the sewer of the Barillerie; Fagon had attributed the fearful malignant fever of 1685 to the great gap in the sewer of the Marais, which remained yawning until 1833 in the Rue St. Louis, almost in front of the sign of the Gallant Messenger. The mouth of the sewer of the Rue de la Mortellerie was famous for the pestilence which came from it; with its pointed iron grating, which looked like a row of teeth, it lay in that fatal street like the jaws of a dragon blowing hell upon men. The popular imagination seasoned the gloomy Parisian sink with an indefinably hideous mixture of the infinite.

[Sidenote: THE BOLDEST MAN IN FRANCE.]

“One day in 1805, on one of those rare visits which the emperor made to Paris, the minister of the interior came to the master’s private audience. In the carousal was heard the clatter of the swords of all those marvellous soldiers of the Grand Empire; there was a multitude of heroes at the door of Napoleon; men of the Rhine, of the Scheldt, of the Adige, and of the Nile; companions of Joubert, of Desaix, of Marceau, of Hoche, of Kléber. The whole army of that time was there in the court of the Tuileries, represented by a squad or platoon guarding Napoleon in repose; and it was the splendid epoch when the grand army had behind it Marengo, and before it Austerlitz. ‘Sire,’ said the minister of the interior to Napoleon, ‘I saw yesterday the boldest man in your empire.’ ‘Who is the man?’ said the emperor, quickly; ‘and what has he done?’ ‘He wishes to do something, sire.’ ‘What?’ ‘To visit the sewers of Paris.’

“That man existed, and his name was Bruneseau.

[Sidenote: WORK OF THE INSPECTOR.]

“The visit was made. It was a formidable campaign; a night battle against pestilence and asphyxia. It was at the same time a voyage of discoveries. One of the survivors of this exploration, an intelligent working-man, then very young, still related, a few years ago, the curious details which Bruneseau thought it his duty to omit in his report to the prefect of police, as unworthy the administrative style. Disinfecting processes were very rudimentary at that period. Hardly had Bruneseau passed the first branchings of the subterranean network, when eight out of the twenty laborers refused to go farther. The operation was completed; the visit involved the cleaning; it was necessary, therefore, to clean, and at the same time to measure; to note the entrance of water, to count the gratings and the mouths, to detail the branchings, to indicate the currents at the points of separation, to examine the respective borders of the various basins, to fathom the little sewers ingrafted upon the principal sewer, to measure the height of each passage under the keystone, and the width, as well at the spring of the arch as at the level of the floor; finally, to determine the ordinates of the levellings at a right angle with each entrance of water, either from the floor of the sewer or from the surface of the street. They advanced with difficulty. It was not uncommon for the step-ladders to plunge into three feet of mire. The lanterns flickered in the miasms. From time to time, they brought out a sewer-man who had fainted; at certain places, a precipice. The soil had sunken, the pavement had crumbled, the sewer had changed into a blind well; they found no solid ground; one man suddenly disappeared; they had great difficulty in recovering him. By the advice of Fourcroy, they lighted from point to point, in the places sufficiently purified, great cages full of oakum and saturated with resin. The wall, in places, was covered with shapeless fungi, and one would have said with tumors; the stone itself seemed diseased in this irrespirable medium.