CHAPTER XIV.
THE TOWER SUBWAY AND LONDON DOCKS.
London Apoplectic—Early Subways—The Tower Subway—London Breweries in the time of the Tudors-The West India, East India, and
London Docks—A Tasting Order for the Docks—The "Queen's Pipe"—Curious "Treasure Trove."
It has long been a question with English engineers,
whether, as the wealth and population of the City
increase, London must not some day or other be
double-decked. The metropolis is going plethoric,
to use a medical metaphor—it makes so much blood;
and if something is not done, a stoppage must
ensue. A person disposed to fat sometimes grows
larger the more depletive his diet; so increased railways (like the Metropolitan) seem rather to increase
than lessen the general traffic. When that undertaking was opened in 1863 it was feared that the
"buses" from Paddington and Oxford Street would
be driven off the line, for in the first year the railway carried 9,500,000 passengers. A little later it
carried nearly 40,000,000 passengers; and since it
began it has carried 150,000,000 persons to and fro.
Yet at the present moment there are more omnibuses on this line of route from the West to the
City than there were when the railway started, and
they are earning one penny per mile a day more
than they were before it was opened. These facts
seem almost astounding, but the surprise disappears
when we remember the fact, that in dealing with
London passenger traffic we are dealing with a
population greater than that of all Scotland, and
more than two-thirds that of all Ireland; a population, too, which increases in a progressive ratio of
about 42,000 a year. But with all this increase of
numbers, which literally means increase of difficulty
in moving about, the great streets most frequented
grow not an inch wider. Fleet Street and "Old
Chepe" are just as narrow as in the days of
Elizabeth, when the barrier stood at Ludgate; and
Thames Street, which is no wider than it was in the
days of Alfred, is congested with its traffic twelve
hours out of the twenty-four.
A few years ago Mr. Barlow, a very practical
engineer, came forward to meet this crying want, and
offered, at a cost of £16,000, in less than a year,
to bore a subway through the bed of the Thames.
The idea was not a new one. As early as 1799 an
attempt had been made to construct a tunnel under
the Thames between Gravesend and Tilbury; and
in 1804 a similar work was actually begun between
Rotherhithe and Limehouse, which, after proceeding
1,000 feet, broke in; fifty-four engineers of the
day deciding that such a work not only would
never commercially pay, but was also impracticable.
Brunel's scheme of the Thames Tunnel cost half a
million of money, and took twenty-one years' labour
to complete.
Mr. Barlow's tunnel, from Tower Hill to Tooley
Street, was of course looked upon as chimerical.
Mr. Barlow, with less ambition and genius, but
more common sense and thriftiness than his great
predecessor, took good care to remember that the
crown of Brunel's arches, in some places, came
within four feet of the river water. In the Tower
subway the average distance preserved is thirty feet,
and in no place is there less than eighteen feet of
sound London clay between the arch and the tideway. The cardinal principle of Mr. Barlow was
to sink deep into the London clay, which is as
impervious to water as stone, and in which no
pumping would be required.
The works were begun on February 16, 1869, by
breaking ground for the shaft on the north side of
the river; in February, 1870, numerous visitors
were conveyed from one shaft-head to the other.
The tunnel commences, as we have said, at
Tower Hill, where a hoarding encloses a small
square of ground, not larger than an ordinary
sitting-room, for which, however, the Government
made the Company pay at the rate of about
£240,000 an acre. In the centre of this is a little
circular shaft, about fourteen feet diameter and
sixty feet deep, and at the end of this, facing south,
a clean, bright, vaulted chamber, which serves as
a waiting-room. At the end of this chamber is
the tunnel, a tube of iron not unlike the adit
of a mine, which, in its darkness and silence,
heightened by the knowledge that this grimlooking road runs down deeply below the bed of
the river, gives it at first sight anything but an
inviting appearance. The length of the whole tunnel
is about 1,340 feet, or as nearly as possible about
a quarter of a mile. From Tower Hill it runs in a
south-west direction, and, passing under Barclay's
brewery, emerges under a shaft similar to that at
entering, but only fifty feet deep, and out of this
the passengers will come within a few yards of
Tooley Street, close to the railway station. From
the Tower Hill shaft to the centre of the river the
tunnel makes a dip of about one in thirty. From
this point it rises again at the same incline to what
we may call the Tooley Street station.
The method of constructing the tunnel, we need
hardly remark, from its excessive cheapness, was
simple in the extreme. It has been built in
18-inch lengths of cast-iron tubing, perfectly circular, each 18-inch circle being built up of three
segments, with a key-piece at the top, which, fitting
in like a wedge, holds the rest with the rigidity of a
solid casting. The cast-iron shield used for excavation was less than two and a half tons weight.
In front of the shield, which was slightly concave,
was an aperture about two feet square, closed with
a sliding iron water-tight door, and at the back of
the shield were iron sockets, into which screwjacks fitted, and, when worked by hand, forced the
shield forward. The mode of advance was this.
When a shaft on Tower Hill had been bored to a
sufficient depth below the London clay, the shield
was lowered and placed in its required position.
The water-tight door we have spoken of as in the
centre was then opened. Through this aperture
sufficient clay, just of the consistency of hard
cheese, was cut away by hand till a chamber was
made large enough for a man, who entered and
worked till there was room for two, and these soon
made a circular space exactly the size of the shield
and about two feet deep. This done, the miners
came out, and with their screw-jacks forced the
shield forward into the space which they had cut,
but with the long telescope-like cap of the shield
still over them. Under cover of this an 18-inch
ring was quickly put in and bolted together;
and while this was doing, the clay was being excavated from the front of the shield as before.
Thus every eight hours, night and day, Sundays
and week days, the shield went forward eighteen
inches, and eighteen inches length of iron was
added to the tube, which so advanced at the rate of
5 feet 4 inches every twenty-four hours.
The clay was so completely water-proof, that water
had to be sent down to the workmen in cans to
mix with the cement. No traces of fresh-water
shells were found; but very large clay-stones and
a great many sharks' teeth and marine shells. So
perfect were Mr. Barlow's calculations, that the two
opposite tunnels met within a quarter of an inch.
The small interval between the iron and the clay
was filled with blue lias cement, which coats the tube
and protects it from oxidisation. The gain to the
East-end of London by this successful and cleverly
executed undertaking is enormous, and the intercourse between the north and south banks of the
Thames is greatly facilitated; and the conception
has been seized upon by Mr. Bateman as the basis
of his well-known suggestion for a submarine tube
to carry a railway from England to France. The
Thames tube is 7 feet in clear internal diameter,
and it originally carried a railway of 2 feet 6 inches
gauge. On this railway formerly ran an omnibus
capable of conveying twelve passengers. The omnibus was constructed of iron; it was light, but
very strong, and ran upon eight wheels, and was
connected with a rope of steel wire by means of
a gripe that could be at any time tightened or
relaxed at pleasure, and at each end of the tunnel
this wire ran over a drum worked by means of a
stationary engine.
If the carriage was stopped in the centre of the
tunnel, the beat of the paddles of the steamers above
could be heard, and even the hammering on board
ships. In time there will be subways at Gravesend,
Woolwich, and Greenwich. The next to be formed,
however, is one from St. George's Church in the
Borough to Cannon Street. The Tower subway
is now only used for foot-passengers, at a charge of
one halfpenny.
On the river side, below St. Katherine's, says
Pennant, on we hardly know what authority, stood,
in the reign of the Tudors, the great breweries
of London, or the "bere house," as it is called
in the map of the first volume of the "Civitates
Orbis." They were subject to the usual useful, yet
vexatious, surveillance of the olden times; and in
1492 (Henry VII.) the king licensed John Merchant, a Fleming, to export fifty tuns of ale "called
berre;" and in the same thrifty reign one Geffrey
Gate (probably an officer of the king's) spoiled
the brew-houses twice, either by sending abroad
too much beer unlicensed, or by brewing it too
weak for the sturdy home customers. The demand
for our stalwart English ale increased in the time
of Elizabeth, in whose reign we find 500 tuns
being exported at one time alone, and sent over
to Amsterdam probably, as Pennant thinks, for
the use of our thirsty army in the Low Countries.
The exportation then seems to have been free,
except in scarce times, when it was checked by
proclamation; but even then royal licences to
brew could be bought for a consideration.
From the old brew-houses of Elizabeth in
London, that have long since passed into dreamland, we must now guide our readers forward,
under swinging casks and between ponderous
wheels that seem to threaten instant annihilation,
into the broad gateway of the London Docks, the
most celebrated and central of all the semi-maritime brotherhood. The St. Katherine's Dock, with
its twenty-four acres of water, can already accommodate 10,000 tons of goods, while the capital
of the Company exceeds two million pounds. But
all this dwindles into comparative insignificance
beside the leviathan docks we have now to decribe, which grasp an extent of 100 acres, and
offer harbour-room for 500 ships and 34,000 tons
of goods; the capital of the Company amounting
to the enormous amount of four millions. Yet
these again are dwarfed by the West India Docks,
their richer neighbours, which are three times as
extensive as the London Docks, having an area
of no less than 295 acres, with water to accommodate 400 vessels, and warehouse-room for
180,000 tons of merchandise; the capital of the
Company is more than six millions of pounds,
and the value of goods which have been on the
premises at one time twenty millions. Lastly, the
East India Docks occupy 32 acres, and afford
warehouse-room for 15,000 tons of goods.
The London Docks, built by Rennie, were
opened in 1805. In 1858 two new docks were
constructed for the larger vessels now built, and
they have 28 feet depth of water. The wool floors
were enlarged and glass-roofed in 1850. The
annual importation is 130,000 bales. The vast
tea warehouse, with stowage for 120,000 chests of
tea, was completed in 1845, at a cost of £100,000.
Six weeks are allowed for unloading a ship: a
farthing a ton per week is charged for the first two
weeks, then a halfpenny per week per ton. The
great jetty and sheds, built in 1839, cost £60,000.
"As you enter the dock," says Mr. Mayhew,
in a pleasant picture of the scene, "the sight of
the forest of masts in the distance, and the tall
chimneys vomiting clouds of black smoke, and
the many-coloured flags flying in the air, has a
most peculiar effect; while the sheds with the
monster wheels arching through the roofs look
like the paddle-boxes of huge steamers. Along
the quay you see, now men with their faces blue
with indigo, and now gangers with their long brasstipped rule dripping with spirit from the cask
they have been probing. Then will come a group
of flaxen-haired sailors, chattering German; and
next a black sailor, with a cotton handkerchief
twisted turban-like round his head. Presently a
blue-smocked butcher, with fresh meat and a
bunch of cabbages in the tray on his shoulder;
and shortly afterwards a mate, with green paroquets
in a wooden cage. Here you will see sitting on a
bench a sorrowful-looking woman, with new bright
cooking tins at her feet, telling you she is an
emigrant preparing for her voyage. As you pass
along this quay the air is pungent with tobacco; on
that, it overpowers you with the fumes of rum; then
you are nearly sickened with the stench of hides
and huge bins of horns; and shortly afterwards
the atmosphere is fragrant with coffee and spice.
Nearly everywhere you meet stacks of cork, or
else yellow bins of sulphur, or lead-coloured copper
ore. As you enter this warehouse the flooring is
sticky, as if it had been newly tarred, with the sugar
that has leaked through the casks; and as you descend into the dark vaults, you see long lines of
lights hanging from the black arches, and lamps
flitting about midway. Here you sniff the fumes
of the wine, and there the peculiar fungus-smell of
dry rot; there the jumble of sounds as you pass
along the dock blends in anything but sweet concord. The sailors are singing boisterous nigger
songs from the Yankee ship just entering; the
cooper is hammering at the casks on the quay;
the chains of the cranes, loosed of their weight,
rattle as they fly up again; the ropes splash in the
water; some captain shouts his orders through his
hands; a goat bleats from some ship in the basin;
and empty casks roll along the stones with a
heavy, drum-like sound. Here the heavily-laden
ships are down far below the quay, and you
descend to them by ladders; whilst in another
basin they are high up out of the water, so that
their green copper sheathing is almost level with
the eye of the passenger; while above his head a
long line of bowsprits stretches far over the quay,
and from them hang spars and planks as a gangway to each ship.
"This immense establishment is worked by from
1,000 to 3,000 hands, according as the business is
either brisk or slack. Out of this number there are
always 400 to 500 permanent labourers, receiving
on an average 16s. 6d. per week, with the exception
of coopers, carpenters, smiths, and other mechanics,
who are paid the usual wages of those crafts.
Besides these, there are many hundred—from 1,000
to 2,500—casual labourers, who are engaged at
the rate of 2s. 6d. per day in the summer, and
2s. 4d. in the winter months. Frequently, in case
of many arrivals, extra hands are hired in the
course of the day, at the rate of 4d. an hour. For
the permanent labourers a recommendation is required, but for the casual labourers no character
is demanded. The number of the casual hands
engaged by the day depends, of course, upon the
amount of work to be done; and we find that the
total number of labourers in the dock varies from
500 to 3,000 and odd. On the 4th of May, 1849,
the number of hands engaged, both permanent and
casual, was 2,794; on the 26th of the same month
it was 3,012; and on the 30th it was 1,189. These
appear to be the extreme of the variation for that
year."
There are few Londoners with curiosity or leisure
who have not at some time or other obtained. "a
tasting order for the docks." To all but the most
prudent that visit has led to the same inglorious
result. First there is "a coy, reluctant, amorous
delay," a shy refusal of the proffered goblet,
gradually an inquiring sip, then another; next
arises a curious, half-scientific wish to compare
vintages; and after that a determination, "being in
for it," to acquire a rapid, however shallow, knowledge of comparative ages and qualities. On that
supervenes a garrulous fluency of tongue that
leads to high-flown remembrances of Spanish and
French towns, illustrated by the songs of the
peasantry of various countries. Upon that follows
a lassitude and mute melancholy, which continues
till the cooper seems suddenly to turn a screw
which has long been evidently loose, and shoots
you out into the stupefying open air. The chief
features of such a visit are gravely treated by a
writer in Household Words:—
"Proceeding down the dock-yard," says the
writer in question, "you see before you a large area
literally paved with wine-casks, all full of the most
excellent wines. On our last visit, the wine then
covering the ground was delicious Bordeaux, as
you might easily convince yourself by dipping a
finger into the bunghole of any cask; as, for some
purpose of measurement or testing the quality, the
casks were most of them open. This is, in fact,
the great depot of the wine of the London merchants, no less than 60,000 pipes being capable of
being stored away in the vaults here. One vault
alone, which formerly was seven acres, has now
been extended under Gravel Lane, so that at present it contains upwards of twelve acres. These
vaults are faintly lit with lamps, but, on going in,
you are at the entrance accosted with the singular
demand, 'Do you want a cooper?' Many people,
not knowing its meaning, say, 'No, by no means.'
The meaning of the phrase is, 'Do you want to
taste the wines?' when a cooper accompanies you,
to pierce the casks and give you the wine. Parties
are every day, and all day long, making these exploratory and tasting expeditions. Every one, on
entering, is presented with a lamp, at the end of a
lath about two feet long, and you soon find yourselves in some of the most remarkable caving in
the world. From the dark vaulted roof overhead,
especially in one vault, hang strange figures, black
as night, light as gossamer, and of a yard or more
of length, resembling skins of beasts, or old shirts
dipped in soot. They are fed to this strange
growth by the fumes of the wine. For those who
taste the wines the cooper bores the heads of the
pipes, which are ranged throughout these vast cellars
on either hand, in thousands and tens of thousands,
and draws a glassful. These glasses, though shaped
as wine-glasses, resemble much more goblets in
their size, containing each as much as several
ordinary wine-glasses. What you do not drink is
thrown upon the ground; and it is calculated that
at least a hogshead a day is thus consumed."
In the centre of the great east vault of the wine
cellars, you come to a circular building without any
entrance; it is the root and foundation of the
Queen's Pipe. Quitting the vault and ascending to
the warehouse over it, you find that you are in the
great tobacco warehouse, called the Queen's Warehouse, because the Government rent the tobacco
warehouses here for £14,000 per annum. "This
one warehouse has no equal," says a writer on the
subject, "in any other part of the world; it is five
acres in extent, and yet it is covered with a roof,
the framework of which is of iron, erected, we believe, by Mr. Barry, the architect of the new Houses
of Parliament, and of so light and skilful a construction, that it admits of a view of the whole
place; and so slender are the pillars, that the roof
seems almost to rest upon nothing. Under this
roof is piled a vast mass of tobacco in huge casks, in
double tiers—that is, two casks in height. This warehouse is said to hold, when full, 24,000 hogsheads
averaging 1,200 pounds each, and equal to 30,000
tons of general merchandise. Each cask is said to
be worth, duty included, £200, giving a sum total
of tobacco in this one warehouse, when filled,
of £4,800,000 in value! Besides this there is
another warehouse of nearly equal size, where finer
kinds of tobacco are deposited, many of them in
packages of buffalo-hide, marked 'Giron,' and
Manilla for cheroots, in packages of sacking lined
with palmetto-leaves. There is still another warehouse for cigars, called the Cigar Floor, in which
there are frequently 1,500 chests, valued at £100
each, at an average, or £150,000 in cigars alone."
The dock kiln, or "the Queen's Pipe," are
objects of general curiosity not to be forgotten in
our description of the London Docks. The kiln
is the place where useless or damaged goods that
have not paid duty are destroyed. It is facetiously
called "the Queen's Pipe" by the Custom House
clerks and tide-waiters.
"On a guide-post in the docks is painted in large
letters, 'To the kiln.' Following this direction, you
arrive at the centre of the warehouse, and at the
Queen's Pipe. You enter a door on which is rudely
painted the crown royal and the initials 'V. R.,'
and find yourself in a room of considerable size, in
the centre of which towers up the kiln, a furnace
of the conical kind, like a glass-house or porcelain
furnace; on the door of the furnace is again painted
the crown and the 'V. R.' Here you find in the
furnace a huge mass of fire, and around are heaps
of damaged tobacco, tea, and other articles, ready
to be flung upon it. This fire never goes out day
or night from year to year. There is an attendant
who supplies it with its fuel as it can take it, and
men, during the day-time, constantly coming laden
with great loads of tobacco, cigars, and other stuff,
condemned to the flames. Whatever is forfeited,
and is too bad for sale, be it what it will, is doomed
to the kiln. At the other docks damaged goods, we
were assured, are buried till they are partly rotten,
and then taken up and disposed of as rubbish or
manure. Here the Queen's Pipe smokes all up,
except the greater quantity of the tea, which, having
some time ago set the chimney of the kiln on fire,
is now rarely burnt; and strange are the things that
sometimes come to this perpetually burning furnace.
On one occasion, the attendant informed us he
burnt 900 Australian mutton-hams. These were
warehoused before the duty came off. The owner
suffered them to remain till the duty ceased, in
hopes of their being exempt from it; but this not
being allowed, they were left till so damaged as to
be unsaleable. Yet a good many, the man declared, were excellent; and he often made a capital
addition to his breakfast from the roast that, for
some time, was so odoriferously going on. On
another occasion he burnt 13,000 pairs of condemned French gloves." (Household Words, ii. 357.)
THE TOWER SUBWAY.
THE THAMES TUNNEL (as it appeared when originally opened for traffic).
"In one department of the place," says the same
writer, "often lie many tons of the ashes from
the furnace, which are sold by auction, by the
ton, to gardeners and farmers, as manure and for
killing insects, to soap-boilers, and chemical manufacturers. In a corner are generally to be found
piled cart-loads of nails, and other pieces of iron,
which have been swept up from the floors, or which
have remained in the broken pieces of casks and
boxes which go to the kiln. Those which have
been sifted from the ashes are eagerly bought up
by gunsmiths, sorted, and used in the manufacture
of gun-barrels, for which purpose they are highly
esteemed, as possessing a toughness beyond all
other iron, and therefore calculated pre-eminently
to prevent bursting."