Chapter IV

_In the Engine-room_

Before leaving the main deck, with its savory scents of scorching

oil, escaping steam, and soft-coal gas, let me describe some of

the sights, sounds, and activities which impressed themselves upon

the memory of the young "cub" during his brief career as an embryo

engineer.

The engine-room crew of a Mississippi steamer varies as the boat is a

side-wheeler or a stern-wheeler. In my day, a stern-wheeler carried

two engineers, a "first" and a "second". The former was chosen for

his age and experience, to him being confided the responsibility

of the boat's machinery. His knowledge, care, and oversight were

depended upon to keep the engines, boilers, etc., in good repair, and

in serviceable condition. The second engineer received less wages,

and his responsibility ended in standing his watch, handling the

engines, and in keeping enough water in the boilers to prevent the

flues from burning, as well as to avoid an explosion. If a rival boat

happened to be a little ahead or a little behind, or alongside, and

the "second" was on watch, the margin of water between safety and

danger in the boilers was usually kept nearer the minimum than it

would have been were the "chief" in command. It is very much easier

to get hot steam with little water than with much; and hot steam

is a prime necessity when another boat is in sight, going the same

direction as your own.

On the "Fanny Harris", the pilots always depended upon Billy Hamilton

when in a race, as he would put on the "blowers"--the forced draft,

as it is called in polite, though less expressive language--and never

let the water get above the second gauge, and never below the first,

if he could help it. Sometimes it was a matter of doubt where the

water really was, the steam coming pretty dry when tried by the

"gauge-stick"--a broom handle, which, pushed against the gauges, of

which there were three in the end of the boiler (three inches apart,

vertically, the lower one situated just above the water-line over

the top of the flues), opened the valve and permitted the steam and

water to escape into a short tin trough beneath. If a stream of water

ran from the first and second gauges when so tried, but not from

the third, there was a normal and healthy supply of water in the

boilers. If the water came from the first, but not from the second,

the "Doctor" was started and the supply increased. When it reached

the third gauge the supply was cut off. If, as I have seen it, there

was, when tried, none in the first or lower gauge, there followed a

guessing match as to just how far below the minimum the water really

was, and what would be the result of throwing in a supply of cold

water. The supply was always thrown in, and that quickly, as time

counts in such cases.

The pilot at the wheel, directly over the boilers, is in blissful

ignorance of the vital question agitating the engineer. He may at

times have his suspicions, as the escape pipes talk in a language

which tells something of the conditions existing below decks; but if

the paddle wheels are turning over with speed, he seldom worries over

the possibilities which lie beneath him. His answer to the question,

whether the water is below the safety point, comes as he feels the

deck lifting beneath his feet, and he sails away to leeward amid the

debris of a wrecked steamboat.

Probably four-fifths of the boiler explosions which have taken place

on the Mississippi River during the last eighty years--and there have

been hundreds of such--were the result of these conditions: low water

in the boilers, exposing the plates until red-hot, then throwing in

water and "jumping" the steam pressure faster than the engines or

safety-valve could release it, followed by the inevitable giving away

of the whole fabric of the boiler, wrecking the steamer, and usually

killing and scalding many of the passengers and crew.

On a side-wheel boat the make-up of the engine crew is different.

In addition to the first and second engineers there are two "cubs",

or "strikers". The stern-wheeler has two engines, but they are both

coupled to the same shaft, by a crank at each end. The throttle wheel

is in the centre of the boat. One man operates the two engines, and

assists at landings, but in a bad piece of river is helped by one of

the firemen, who is called aft by a little bell controlled by a cord

from the engine-room. This man "ships up" on the port side, while the

engineer "ships up" on the starboard. "Shipping up" was the term used

to describe the act of shifting the cam-rod from the lower pin on the

reversing lever to the upper, or _vice versa_. If done at a sudden

call, the engineer ran to one side and "shipped up", then across the

deck to the other, and then back to the centre to "give her steam".

That is all changed now by the adoption of an improved reversing

gear, similar to that on a railway locomotive, the throwing of a

lever at the centre of the boat operating the reversing gears on both

engines at once. Instead of the old-time "short-link", or "cut-off

hook", the equivalent of the "hooking-back" on a locomotive when

under way is performed by the engineer at the centre of the boat by

hooking back the reversing lever one, two, or three notches, exactly

as on the locomotive. Fifty years ago this simple device had not been

adopted on the river.

On the side-wheel boat, to get back to my subject, the engines are

independent--one engine to each wheel. One may be coming ahead while

the other is backing, or they may both be reversing at the same

time. A man is therefore required to operate each engine, hence the

necessity for a "striker", or "cub", to take one engine while the

engineer on watch takes the other. The engineer on duty, be he chief

or assistant, takes the starboard engine and controls the running

of the machinery and the feeding of the boilers during his watch;

the "cub" takes the port engine and works under the direction of

his superior on watch. As I have stated at the beginning of this

chapter, the handling of these powerful engines was hard work, even

for a grown man, when the river was low and the pilot was feeling his

way over a crossing in a dark night, with both leads going, and the

wheels doing much of the work of keeping the boat in the intricate

channel between the reefs. Then it was that the bells came thick

and fast--to stop, to back, to come ahead again, to slow, to come

ahead full steam, and again to stop and back and come ahead. Then

the cut-off hook was pulled up by a rope attached to the deck beams

overhead, and the heavy cam-rod was lifted from the lower hook to the

upper by main strength, or dropped from the upper to the lower with

scant regard for the finish on the bright work, to be lifted again at

the call of the next bell from the pilot, and all this a dozen times,

or even more, in making one crossing.

And all the time the "cub" was in deadly fear of getting his engine

caught on the centre, a calamity in both material and moral sense,

as a "centre" might mean the disablement of an engine at a critical

moment, throwing the steamer out of the channel, and hanging her up

for hours, or even for days, on a sand-bar. It might even have a

more calamitous sequence, by running her on the rocks or snags and

sinking her. Hence, for pressing reasons, the most acute alertness

was necessary on the part of the "striker". The moral obloquy of

"centring" an engine was so great among river men, especially

among engineers, that no "cub" ever again held his head high after

suffering such a mischance; and it was a proud boast among the

embryo engineers if they could honestly claim that they had never

"centred" their engine. On general principles they always boasted

of it as a fact, until some one appeared who could testify to the

contrary. I enter that claim here and now without fear of successful

contradiction. All my confederates in that business are now out of

commission.

One of the beauties of the puppet-valve engine, with its long

stroke[A] and consequent "purchase" on the shaft-crank, was that by

the aid of a billet of wood, about two and a half inches square, with

a handle whittled off on one end, and with a loop of cord to hang

it up by, or to hang it on one's wrist (where it was usually found

when the boat was navigating a crooked piece of river), an increase

of fifty per cent of steam could be let into the cylinder by the

simple device of inserting the club between the rocker-arm and the

lever which lifted the inlet valve, as graphically described in the

paper by Mr. Holloway, quoted in this chapter. If the valve were

normally lifted four inches by the rocker-arm, the insertion of the

club would increase the lift by its thickness. This additional power

fed to the cylinder at the right moment would drive the wheel over

the centre when reversed with the boat going upstream at a speed of

eight or ten miles an hour, against a four-mile current, with almost

absolute certainty. With a ten-foot wheel, and three buckets in the

water, one submerged to its full width of three feet, and the other

two perhaps two feet, it can readily be understood by an engineer

that to turn such a wheel back against the current required a great

expenditure of power at just the right time. The "club" of the

Western steamboat engineer solved the question of additional power

at the critical moment. No short-stroke engine would respond to such

a call. While this service tried the cylinders to their utmost--many

times a little beyond their utmost, with a consequent loss of a

cylinder head, and worse yet, a scalded engineer--the use of the club

was justified by experience; and results which, with finer and more

perfect machinery would have been impossible, were, day after day,

made possible by reason of the crudeness and roughness of this usage.

[A] The "stroke" of an engine is the distance traveled by

the cross-head of the piston in making a complete revolution

of the wheel--equal to twice the length of the crank on the

water-wheel shaft. If the crank is three feet long, the

stroke will be six feet. The stroke of the "Grey Eagle" of

the Minnesota Packet Company was seven feet; that of the "J.

M. White", lower river boat, was eleven feet. The cylinders

of course equaled the full stroke in length. The longer the

crank the greater the purchase, but at a consequent loss in the

number of revolutions of the wheel per minute.

The great steamers plying on Long Island Sound attain a speed of

twenty miles an hour, or even more. It is said that when under full

speed it is possible to turn the wheels back over the centre within

half a mile after steam has been shut off. Under ordinary conditions

it is not necessary that they should be handled any faster. But think

of the conditions under which a Mississippi River steamboat must

stop and back, or suffer shipwreck. And imagine, if you can, the

remarks a river pilot would make if the wheel were not turning back

within thirty seconds after the bell was rung. I think five seconds

would be nearer the limit for reversing and giving steam. In fact,

on all side-wheel boats, the levers controlling the steam valves are

attached to small tackles, and these are controlled by one lever, by

which the steam levers may be raised in an instant, without closing

the throttle at all, and the steam allowed to pass out through the

escape pipes while the engine remains passive.

Two ends are attained by this device: steam can instantly be shut

off, or as quickly given to the cylinders, thus making a saving in

time over the usual opening and closing of the steam ports by the

throttle wheel. Another advantage is, that this device acts as a

safety-valve; for, were the steam to be entirely shut off, and the

safety-valve fail to work, an explosion would certainly follow. By

opening all the valves at once, and permitting as much steam to

escape through the exhaust pipes as when the engine is in motion,

the danger of an explosion is minimized. At the call of the pilot

the levers can instantly be dropped and full steam ahead or reversed

given at once--of course at the expense of a good deal of a "jolt"

to the engines and cylinders. But the river engines were built to be

"jolted", hence their practical adaptation to the service in which

they were used.

J. F. Holloway, of St. Louis, who, in his own words, "was raised on

the river, having filled every position from roustabout to master",

in a paper read before the American Society of Mechanical Engineers

at St. Louis in May, 1896, contributes the following description of

a steamboat race as seen and heard in the engine-room--a point of

view somewhat lacking, perhaps, in picturesqueness to the ordinary

observer, but nevertheless very essential in winning a race. The

writer is evidently as thoroughly at home in the engine-room as he is

upon the roof:

"The reason which induced the builders of engines for these

Western river boats to adopt such peculiar construction could

hardly be made clear without a careful description of the

hull of the boats, and of the varying conditions to which

both engines and hulls are subjected, and under which they

must operate. The steam cylinders are placed on foundations

as unstable as would be a raft, and the alignment is varied

by the addition or removal of every ton of freight which the

boats carry when afloat, and they are further distorted when

aground, or when the boats are being dragged over sand bars

having several inches less of water on them than is required

to float the hull. While the calm study of the machinery of a

Western river steamboat while at rest would be an interesting

object lesson to any one at all interested in such matters,

it can only be seen at its best at a time when some rival

boat is striving with it for "the broom," and close behind is

slowly gaining, with roaring furnaces, and chimneys belching

out vast volumes of thick black smoke; when all on board,

from the pilot above to the fireman below are worked up to

the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and when engines, boilers,

engineers and all concerned in the management of the boat,

are called upon to show the stuff which is in them. I know of

no more exciting scene than was often to be witnessed in the

days of the old famous Ohio River ports, when a "ten-boiler"

boat was trying to make a record, or take a wharf-boat landing

away from some close-following rival steamer. To stand on

the boiler deck at such a time on a big side-wheel boat,

when in order to get ahead the pilot had made up his mind to

close-shave a "tow-head," or take the dangerous chances of

a new channel or a new "cut-off," and when all on board knew

the risk he was taking, and standing by to help him through,

or help _themselves_ if he failed, was exciting to a degree.

Then it was that the two most skilful and daring engineers

were called on watch, and took their stands alongside their

respective engines, stripped like gladiators for the tussle

which soon came as the clanging starboard bell rang out to

"slow down," and as the hasty ringing of the "jingler" over

the port engine meant "crack it to her." Then as the bow of

the big boat swung, all too slow to suit the emergency or the

impatience of the pilot, a stopping starboard bell would ring,

quick followed by a backing one which would set the engineer

to wrestling with his "hooks," one of which he hangs up with a

cord, and the other he picks up seemingly from somewhere on the

platform. As the suddenly stopped and quivering wheel in the

swift-flowing current hangs for a moment poised on the centre,

the engineer, grasping his ever-at-hand club of wood, quickly

thrusts it between the uprising rocker-arm and the lever that

lifts the inlet puppet valve, to which widened opening of the

steam-valve port the engine responds with a noise of escaping

steam not unlike the roar of an enraged elephant when prodded

with the iron hook of his keeper. The battle of the bells thus

begun, waxes more fierce as the excitement increases. There

are bells to the right, and bells to the left, and amid their

discordant jangle the engineers are working like mad as they

clutch the throttle, open or close "the bleeder," hook her on

"ahead," or stop and back, in such rapid succession as that

soon neither they, nor any one else, can tell how far behind

the bells of the pilot they are. Then soon amid the wild roar

of the pent-up steam as it rushes out of the safety-valve

pipes, the exploding exhausts of the engines which at the end

of each stroke sound as if the cylinder-head had blown off, and

to which is added the shrill noise of the warning bell which

calls to the firemen to "throw open the furnace doors," there

comes from out the huge trumpet shaped pipe above the head of

the engineers, and which leads down from the pilot-house, a

hoarse shout, heard above all else, partaking alike of command,

entreaty, and adjectives, urging something or other to be done,

and done quick, else the boat and all on board of her, in a

brief time will land in a place which by reason of the reputed

entire absence of water could not well be called a "port" (and

certainly is no port mentioned in the boat's manifests). This

battle of the bells and irons goes on until, if in a race, the

rival boat is passed or crowded to the bank, or the narrow

channel widens out into the broad river, when the discordant

jangle of the bells ceases, the tired engineer drops on the

quiet "cut-off hook," lays by his emergency wooden club, and

wiping the sweat from his heated brow, comes down from the

foot-board to catch a breath of the cool air which sweeps over

the guards, and to formulate in his mind the story which he

will have to tell of the race just over, or the perils just

past.

But the old-time flyers which before the war tore their way

up and down through the muddy waters of these Western rivers

are all gone, and the marvelously skilled pilots of those

days have gone too; the men who, through the darkest hours

of the darkest nights, knew to within a few feet just where

their boats were, and what was on the right or on the left, or

beneath them, which was to be shunned. The engineers too, who

with a courage born and nurtured amid the vicissitudes of a

backwoods life, and with an experience and skill the outgrowth

of trials and dangers gone through, have also passed away, and

to the generation of the present are unhonored and unknown, as

are the men who designed and built the hulls, and the workmen

who, with crude and scant tools, built for them the machinery

which they so well planned and handled.

Who they were, and where they lie, is known to but few, if any.

Did I but know their final resting-place, I would, like "Old

Mortality," wish to carve anew, and deep, the fading records

of their life and death, which time has so nearly obliterated,

and to herald abroad the praise and honor due them as the

designers, builders, and engineers, of the old-time Western

river steamboats."