February 21, 1804 CE, Mining town of Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales, Britain
“We’re idiots!” Richard Hill, who ran the Plymouth Ironworks, cursed under his breath. “To run a carriage on the tram line with a...with an engine! What can it do that a horse can’t, pray?” He sputtered. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this nonsense; who cares about what some fool of an engineer says? Trevithick is an idiot, and we’re going to lose 500 guineas each...”
To his left, a stocky, well-fed man’s harsh features broke into a triumphant grin. “Got the money?” Richard Crawshay of the Cyfarthfa Ironworks asked. “Because, really...ever hear of wagons running on steam and coal, all by themselves? What are they? Ghosts?” His friends cackled.
“Keep your peace, Crawshay,” counselled a third man standing next to Richard Hill. He was dressed simply but elegantly in a topcoat and boots, but his normally pleasant face was haggard as he crossed the small yard, toward a group of men working industriously. “All right, lad?” He asked a tall, gaunt man who appeared to be their leader.
The tall man, bending over a massive wheel, straightened with a smile. “Right and tight, Mr. Homfray, Sir,” he assured, trying to wipe clean his coal-smeared face. “She’ll run,you’ll see.” He went back to tightening a screw; issued orders to shovel more coal, and fiddled with a steam pressure gauge.
Samuel Homfray of the Penydarren Ironworks stared at the bulky iron carriage parked on the tram line, its large wheels, pipe; stove and the billowing steam, the five wagons behind the “engine” brimming with iron, the 70 men milling about, waiting to get on to the wagons… and felt a sudden, sharp stab of fear.
“This is all a mistake, Trevithick,” he mumbled, suddenly. “Let’s just call it off. There’s no way your precious engine can pull a load such as this. No machine can do what only man or beast can.”
Richard Trevithick, inventor and mining engineer peered down at the nervous man. “It’ll work, Sir, never you fear.” He gazed across the yard at Richard Crawshay whose expression was clearly sceptical. “You’ll make your 500 guineas.”
“It’s not the money...” Homfray began, before being interrupted by Richard Hill.
“It is the money,” spat the other man.
Homfray sensed the engineer’s spirits begin to flag and his sudden pessimism vanished. “You’re about to do something new, Trevithick,” he looked squarely into the younger man’s eyes. “You know what you’re doing, which is why I brought you here. Do not lose heart.”
Trevithick swallowed, and stared at the men loading the wagons, chattering, laughing, staring at him, the tracks; everything. They doubted him, he knew. Nothing like this had ever been done before. People from even the surrounding villages had begun to arrive, attracted by the spectacle of “wagons driven without horses”.
An iron resolve gripped him, “We’re ready, Sir,” he said, in a steady voice.
Shouts; people scurrying here and there; ladies exclaimed and pointed; ragged children shrieking and suddenly, 70 men had crowded into the wagons; Homfray, Hill and Crawshay climbed aboard as well as a man called Giddy, a government engineer.
Orders were given, steam billowed even more. “Start!” Trevithick shouted.
In anticipation
A moment of tense silence. Everyone held their breath, waiting. Would this weird contraption move? How could it, without horses? Who would drive it? How would it stop and start?
One minute. Two. Four. Seven. Nothing.
“Oy, this here’s just a crock of nonsense,” came a young voice and then there was a chorus of cackles and mocking shouts. “Get a move on, boy. Will this pile of junk never budge?”
“Hey, Trevithick has this thing reached Cardiff yet?” rang out Crawshay’s voice, followed by a wave of laughter, and Trevithick felt his face flame with embarrassment.
And then, it happened. A creak...a crank...and then the huge wheels turned with a groan. There was a loud whistle, a puff of white steam, and the engine began to pull the carriage forward, much to the exhilaration of the passengers. Homfray was jubilant; Hill was relieved; Giddy was, well, giddy with excitement, and Crawshay looked like someone had stolen his favourite toy. And Trevithick?
Trevithick couldn’t stop tears of happiness flowing down his cheeks. They lasted all nine miles, from Penydarren to Abercynon — all 10 tons, five wagons and 70 men, in roughly four hours. Without horses or pack animals, with an engine. A steam engine. What a marvellous feat, people murmured, awed. Nothing would ever be the same again.
The wagons ground to a halt on their return journey — a bolt sheared; a boiler leaked and the resulting fire took hours to put out. The wagons didn’t get back to Penydarren until the next day.
But the “puffing devil” as the crew immediately christened it, had made it.
“You lost the bet,” Crawshay barked as the wagons clattered back into the yard of Penydarren. “Your engine broke down before it returned. Fork out the money.”
“But the bet was for the wagons to run, drawn by the steam engine,” Hill protested. “And they did. You were there!”
“Tell you what,” Crawshay drawled. “You needn’t pay in return for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The rights for the steam engine. The right for your what did you call it?”
“The train,” Trevithick answered, grinning. “The first ever, moving train.”
Historical Note: Richard Trevithick (April 13, 1771 – April 22, 1833) is known as the first to invent and demonstrate a fully functional, high-pressure steam engine, conducting the first train run in the world, in Wales even before George Stephenson, which makes him the Father of Railways. Interestingly, Trevithick didn’t do well in school. And the bet mentioned in the story is absolutely true, though there’s no information about how it was resolved.
