[Warning: the final paragraphs of this newspaper item, which was published in 1884, contains racial epithets and a crude, cruel attempt at humor based on a racial stereotype]
Some time ago I showed in these reminiscences that the first sea voyage ever made under steam was undertaken by a New York-built steamboat, sailin’ from the port of New York. I have since then investigated and have ascertained that the very first steam locomotive engine ever used in this country was built by a New York house, at an establishment doin’ business in the state of New York, and that this first steam engine was engineered by a New York man, although another man, not a New Yorker, has a right to share with him in the latter honor.
The facts regardin’ the first locomotive engines in this country are of interest not only to the great Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and to railroad men, but to the general public, who are always naturally interested in the early history of great Inventions.
The first locomotive built and used in America was a little and simple affair compared with the monster improved engines of to-day, and was called “The Best Friend.” It was constructed for the use of a Southern railroad, but was erected at the West Point Foundry, under New York auspices. The second engine made in this country was built at the same place and under the same auspices as the first, and was called “The West Point.”
The man to whom, more than any other one man, the introduction of the locomotive engine was due was Horatio Allen. If Allen had not been the unprejudiced, far-seein’ man he was, the era of locomotives might have been delayed for years. Of course, sooner or later, somebody else would have introduced the locomotive; but as a matter of fact and dates, Horatio Allen was the man to whom civilization is indebted for the first start given to steam locomotive engines.
People can hardly believe it now, but at first the idea of steam locomotives was scoffed and ridiculed, quite as much as steamboats had been, or as the telegraph was later on, or as the idea of balloon-vessels, air-ships is to-day. Everybody at first believed in horse-power for steady work. Some thought that steam might do for “a spurt”–might run an engine for a few minutes or a few miles, just as a race horse runs for instance, but as for dependin’ on “hot water” for long journeys or continued heavy pullin’, that was held to be silly–too silly for practical railroad men to take any stock in. So silly, in fact, that several men who expressed a certain belief in the capabilities of steam were voted out of the board of directors of the original Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which was constructed at first entirely for horse cars, like a surface city railroad now.
It was to a New York man that the change on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad was mainly due. I allude to Peter Cooper. The great philanthropist was as large in his head as in his heart, and took stock alike in steam, electricity, telegraphy and balloonin’. When the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad got as far constructed as Endicott’s Mills, thirteeen miles of road, Peter Cooper went to see it, and got, after a lot of opposition, permission to try a little locomotive of his own called “The Tom Thumb” on the road. It did so well that steam, not horse-power, was afterwards adopted on that line and all the other lines.
Previous to the introduction of steam-power a “horse locomotive” was invented by an ingenious chap, and used a while. This horse-power locomotive was worked by an endless chain arrangement, and did quite well. It actually drew on one occasion twelve people over twelve miles in one hour. This was considered a great achievement, as it really was, and the papers were full of it. Up to its date it was doin’ better than steam had ever done, and the horse-power, anti-steam-power advocates were as happy as a winnin’ party just after election.
Then another chap, spurred on by this excitement, invented another locomotive–a sort of wind locomotive engine–an engine moved by the power of the wind, like an ice boat. This was really sailin’ on dry land and became an accomplished fact; quite a successfully accomplished fact, too.
The apparatus consisted of a car on wheels, with several big sails attached to the body of the car. The inventor of this apparatus was smart enough to wait till a very windy day for tryin’ his initial trip, and, thanks to the wind, this trip panned out big. The wind-locomotive drew along fifteen persons over fourteen miles in less than one hour and ten minutes. A great hullabaloo was made over this achievement, and the cranks began to sing the praises of wind. Two days after the first trip there was another windy day, and so the inventor of the wind-locomotive tried his second trip. But this time he overdid himself, or, rather, the wind overdid him. There was too much wind. The unruly air got hold of the sails sideways, and overturned the car. Luckily, there was no one injured, but the point was taken out of the whole thing. Literally “the wind was taken out of the sails.” Before this second trip the wind-engine man could have got a big price for his invention, but after the second day, people kind of laughed at him. Before the second day, everybody wanted to go by wind, but after the second day nobody was willin’ to take their chances on wind.
So the inventor came to grief by gettin’ too much of the very thing he wanted. At last, horses and wind havin’ had their trial, it was determined to give steam a chance. The report of Horatio Allen on the comparative merits of horses, wind and steam power, as a means of locomotion, settled the matter in favor of steam. But looked at by the light of to-day, even the report of Mr. Allen in favor of givin’ steam a trial, reads like a very tame thing. Mr. Allen did not commit himself directly in favor of steam as the superior of everythin’ else; he merely took the safe and very “conservative” ground that while horse-power and wind-power had been tried for all they were worth, and everybody knew just what they could and could not do, steam-power had not been fully tried, and just what it could or could not do, was not exactly known. So, on the whole, he was in favor of givin’ steam a trial.
This wasn’t sayin’ much, it was true, but it was sayin’ what had common sense and the facts of the case to back it. So the report of Mr. Allen found favor in the eyes of railroad men, and steam got its chance.
Accordin’ly, the first two locomotive steam engines, “The Best Friend” and the “West Point,” were built at the then great West Point Foundry, and were sent on to be used on a Southern railroad–some South Carolina road, I think, which was the first railroad in this country to use steam locomotive engines on its track.
The engines were very rude and primitive affairs, not half the size, and not one-fourth as imposin’ and majestic lookin’ as the engines now in use. But they contained all the real essentials of a locomotive–a boiler, pistons, drivin’ rods and wheels, and did very well for a beginnin’. Their makers and the country were justly proud of ‘em. Their pictures were put in the papers (the pictures being about as big as the engines). Their movements were described in the columns of the press and their engineers became famous men–the envy of the ranks of mechanics and artisans.
Two different men, born in different parts of the country, claimed to have been the engineer of the first locomotive in America and the first of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers.
One of these two men was Nicholas Darrell, hailin’ from the South; the other was a man named Degnon, hailin’ from New York city. The claims of these two men to the honor of bein’ the first locomotive engineer have been written up, one side or the other, from time to time, and have not been thoroughly settled yet.
As far as I can find out, both men were first; that is, both Mr. Darrell and Mr. Degnon had charge of the first locomotive, Mr. Degnon taking it from New York to the Southern railroad it was to run on and startin’ it running; the other Mr, Darrell takin’ regular charge of the engine durin’ its regular trips on the road.
This supposition, which seems plausible and natural in itself, is the only one on which both parties can be reconciled. Mr. James Degnon of First street, New York, found and exhibited letters from his father, showin’ that he had temporary charge of “The Best Friend,” while hundreds of persons remembered havin’ seen Mr. Darrell in charge of the same engine.
Under the circumstances, the only way the two men can be set right is the supposition I have just stated, and which seems to have been borne out by the facts. The whole matter perhaps ain’t worth making much fuss about; yet still the old adage holds good in little things as in big–honor to whom honor is due.
Lately a third claimant for the honor of bein’ the first locomotive engineer in this country has been unearthed in Philadelphia. Some Quaker, lookin’ over old files, has come to the conclusion that the first railroad that ever used steam locomotives was a little road runnin’ from Philadelphia to Germantown, over which road, the Quaker claims, a steam engine was run a year before “The Best Friend” was built. But, even according to this Quaker’s researches, this first locomotive trip on the Philadelphia and Germantown road was a humbug–a farce–a funny farce, at that.
Accordin’ to the Quaker’s account, the engine went by fits and starts. It would huff and blow a while, go a half mile or so, and then give out, when the men in charge of the engine would jump off and give the engine a shovel along. (It was so small four men could push it quite easily). Then they would jump on and take another short ride–if the steam didn’t give out. Two or three times durin’ the trip, when the men got tired jumpin’ off and pushin’, they got horses and got ‘em to pull the locomotive along. Between steam-power and horse-power and push-power, it took over an hour to go the five miles between Philadelphia and Germantown. So on the return trip one of the engineers walked back.
This wonderful trip has never been proved to have taken place, save in the old Quaker’s published statement, and even if it did take place, it don’t deserve to count. So the case rests between Darrell and Degnon still.
But funny as the trip just described on the Philadelphia and Germantown railroad was, the fifteenth trip taken by “The Best Friend” engine was even funnier.
The history of this fifteenth trip of the first locomotive reads like a joke in a comic paper, but it really happened.
The steam valve on “The Best Friend” didn’t work very well, and the escapin’ steam made a tremendous noise. Now, there was a nervous darkey employed as firemen, on ‘The Best Friend,” and his ears were almost as sensitive as his shin. He found himself gradually gettin’ deaf from the noise of the escapin’ steam, so he got an idea into his woolly head how to stop the nuisance.
There were no regular conductors and brakemen on the first railroad trains, and the engineer had to be often conductor and brakeman both, as well as baggagemaster. One day there was “a heavy train,” for those days, attached to “The Best Friend”: three cars, containin’ twenty-two passengers and twelve pieces of baggage and freight. While Mr. Darrell was attending to his manifold duties on the train at one of the stations, he left the engine in charge of his highly-colored assistant.
As soon as this “cullud pusson” found himself in full charge, and saw that he was not likely to be disturbed for, say, fifteen minutes (trains didn’t run “on time” at that time, or make “close connections”), he proceeded forthwith to carry out the idea that he had got into his head about the noise made by the escapin’ steam.
He determined that it shouldn’t escape; so he got a piece of rope and tied it to the safety valve. This is absolutely true. But the steam busted the rope and made a noise, so the darkey tied two ropes this time to the safety valve, and to make assurance doubly sure, he got up on top the safety valve himself, and sat there for a while.
But only for a short while; for within five minutes the natural consequences ensued, and the boiler of “The Best Friend” burst–burst, however, downward, not upward, luckily for the darkey in question. The engine was demolished, and the man who sat on the safety valve went limpin’ along the rest of his life from a broken leg; no lives were lost, but nobody ever sat on a safety valve again.
[Editor’s notes: The public controversy between Degnon and Darrell played out in Scientific American and in newspapers, decades after the events took place. The 1831 boiler explosion of “The Best Friend” was reported at that time as being caused by the fireman blocking off the valve due to its deafening noise. Some reports said the fireman was killed; others that he lived, but that the blast broke his thigh. He was an enslaved African-American, reported as the property of a Mrs. Surr. The 1830 census includes a Lydia Surr in Charleston, with three enslaved people, all female.]
