Contract with Ormerod, Grierson & Co. Engine for Evan Leigh, Son & Co.
Engine for the Oporto Exhibition. Getting Home from Portugal.
I could do nothing with the engine in England unless it was put on
the market as a condensing engine. This fact was finally revealed to
me, and I applied myself to meet the requirement. The question as it
addressed itself to me was, not “How do you work your air-pump?” but
“How _are you going_ to work your air-pump?” My friends Easton, Amos
& Sons told me frankly that in their judgment I could not do it at
all. Their opinion was expressed very decidedly, that as a condensing
engine the high-speed engine was not to be thought of. This was not
surprising, seeing that the beam Wolff engines made by them ran at
only 25 revolutions per minute, which was the speed of beam-engines
generally, and all stationary engines were beam-engines; but it was
discouraging. I made up my mind that they did not know everything, and
I would show them a thing or two as soon as I got a chance. This I
found easier to get than I expected, when I had matured a satisfactory
system of condensation. My first plan was to use an independent
air-pump running at the usual slow speed and driven by a belt, the
speed being reduced by intermediate gearing.
I was able very readily to make an agreement on this basis with the
firm of Ormerod, Grierson & Co., of Manchester, for the manufacture of
the engines and governors, and we started on our first order on the
first day of January, 1864.
The ground occupied by these works bordered on the Duke of
Bridgewater’s canal from Liverpool to Manchester, where I one day saw a
cow and a woman towing a boat, a man steering.
A railway ran through these works, parallel with the canal, at about
300 feet distance, but it was not at all in the way. It was built
on brick arches, and the construction was such that the passing of
trains was scarcely heard. The arches were utilized for the millwright
shop, pattern shop, gear-cutting shop, and the storage of lumber and
gear-wheel patterns, the number and size of which latter astonished me.
On a previous visit Mr. Grierson had shown me several things of much
interest. The one most worthy of being related was a multiple drill,
capable of drilling ninety holes, ³⁄₄ inch diameter, simultaneously.
This had been designed and made by themselves for use in building a
lattice-girder bridge, for erection over the river Jumna, near Delhi,
to carry a roadway below and a railway above. The English engineers
then made all bridge constructions on this system, having no faith in
the American truss. One length of this bridge still stood in their
yard, where it had been completely riveted up for testing, after
which all the rivets would have to be cut out. The other lengths
had been shipped in pieces. The advantage of this multiple drill
was twofold--the ability to drill many holes simultaneously and the
necessary accuracy of their pitch.
I was especially interested in the massiveness of this tool and
impressed with the importance of this feature. The drills rotated in
place, and the table carrying the work was fed upward by two hydraulic
presses. The superintendent told me that they never broke a drill,
and that to exhibit its safety in this respect they had successfully
drilled a single hole ¹⁄₁₆ of an inch in diameter through one inch
of steel. He attributed this success partly to the steady feed, but
chiefly to absolute freedom from vibration. He said a toolmaker had had
an order for a similar drill, and on visiting this one pronounced its
great weight to be absurd. He made one weighing about half as much,
which proved a failure, from the liability of the drills to break. This
gave me one of the most valuable lessons that I ever received.
We soon had our first engine running successfully, in spite of some
annoyances. I insisted on having the joints on the steam-chest and
cylinder heads made scraped joints, but the foreman put them together
with the white and red lead putty just the same, so that work was
thrown away, and when we wanted to open a joint we had to resort to the
familiar wedges. The pipes were of cast iron, with square holes in the
flanges. The ends were left rough. They were put together with the same
putty. The joints were encircled by clips, which prevented the putty
from being forced outward to any great extent in screwing the flanges
together. What went inside had to work its way through as it was broken
off by the rush of steam and hot water. When the engine was started we
could not get much vacuum. On taking the pipes apart to find what the
matter was, we discovered that the workmen had left a wooden plug in
the condenser-nozzle, where it had been put to prevent anything from
getting in during its transportation. The proper mode of protection
would of course have been to bolt a board on the flange.
The worst trouble was from a blunder of my own. My exhibition engine
had cast-iron valves running on cast-iron seats, and the friction
between these surfaces under the steam pressure was so little that it
did not injure the governor action appreciably. But I could not let
well enough alone. Mr. Lee had told me that in the steam fire-engines
they used gun-metal valves on steel seats, which I thought must have
some wonderful advantages, so at considerable additional expense I
fitted up my first engine in the same way. The governor worked very
badly. I had the pleasure of demonstrating the fact that brass on steel
is the very best combination possible for producing friction. I went
back to cast-iron valves, when the trouble disappeared.
We had an order for an engine to drive the works of Evan Leigh, Son
& Co. Mr. Leigh was quite a famous man, the inventor of Leigh’s top
roller, used universally in drawing-machines. I was told he was the
only man then living who had invented an essential feature in spinning
machinery. I struck out a new design, which proved quite successful.
They wished to give 100 revolutions per minute to their main line of
shafting running overhead through the center of their shop. I planned a
vertical engine, standing on a bed-plate, which carried also an A frame.
The engine-room was located at the end of the shop. The line of shaft
passed through a wall-box and then 3 feet further to its main bearing
at the top of this upright frame. The latter was stayed from the wall
by two ample cast-iron stays. The fly-wheel was outside this frame and
carried the crank-pin. The shaft was continued quite stiff through the
wall-box, with long bearings. By this plan I got rid of gears. Belts
for taking power from a prime mover were then unknown in England. The
fly-wheel was only 10 feet in diameter, with rim 8×10 inches, and was
of course cast in one piece. It proved to be ample. The engine was the
largest I had yet made, 22 inches diameter of cylinder by 36 inches
stroke, making 100 revolutions. I was still tied to 600 feet piston
travel per minute. I did not venture to suggest any greater speed than
that; could not have sold an engine in Lancashire if I had.
I introduced in this engine a feature which I afterwards sincerely
wished I had not done, though not on my own account. This was a surface
condenser. It worked well, always maintaining a good vacuum. I shall
have more to say respecting this engine later, which will explain my
regret about the condenser. I had about this time the pleasure of a
visit from two American engineers, Robert Briggs and Henry R. Towne,
who were traveling together in England, and were at the trouble to look
me up. I took them to see this engine, and I am sorry to say they were
not so much carried away with the novel design as I was. But if I had
the same to do again I do not think I could do better.
The last time I saw that engine I found no one in the engine-room. I
inquired of some one where the engineer was, and was told I would find
him in the pipe-shop. I found him there at work. He told me he had not
been staying in the engine-room for a long time, he had “nowt to do,”
and so they gave him a job there.
When I went with Ormerod, Grierson & Co., they were deep in the
execution of a large order known as the Oporto Crystal Palace. Portugal
was behind every other country in Europe in its arts and manufactures.
In fact, it had none at all. At Oporto there was a large colony of
English merchants, by whom all the trade of the port was carried on.
These had conceived the idea of holding at Oporto an international
exposition, which idea was put into execution. Our firm had secured
the contract for all the iron-work for a pretty large iron and glass
building, and for the power and shafting for the Machinery Hall.
I was soon called on for the plans for an Allen engine to be shown
there. This was to be a non-condensing engine, 14×24, to make 150
revolutions per minute, and which accordingly was made and sent,
with two Lancashire boilers. I went on to attend the opening of the
exposition on the first of May, 1865, and see that the engine was
started in good shape.
I sailed from London on a trading-steamer for Oporto, and on the voyage
learned various things that I did not know before. One of these was how
to make port wine. I asked the captain what his cargo consisted of. He
replied: “Nine hundred pipes of brandy.” “What are you taking brandy to
Portugal for?” “To make wine.” “But what kind of brandy is it that you
take from _England_?” “British brandy.” “What is it made from?” “Corn.”
By this word he meant wheat. In England Indian corn is called maize. I
do not know whether “corn” included barley and rye or not.
We had the pleasure in Oporto of meeting a Portuguese inventor. In
England there then existed the rude method of announcing at each
principal seaport the instant of noon by firing a cannon by an electric
current from the Greenwich Observatory. The more accurate method now
in use substitutes sight for sound. This inventor proposed planting a
cannon for this purpose in an opening in a church tower, of which there
were plenty. The hammer, by the fall of which a pill of fulminate was
to be exploded and the cannon fired, was to be held up by a string.
The rays of the sun were focused by a burning-glass on a point, which
at the instant that the sun reached the meridian would reach this
string. The string would be burned off, and the cannon would go off.
In the rare case for Oporto of a cloudy day, or if for any reason
the automatic action failed, it would be the duty of a priest, after
waiting a few minutes to be sure of the failure, to go up and fire the
gun. The enthusiastic inventor urged it on the English. It was thought,
however, that the more feeble power of the sun’s rays in the higher
latitude of England would not warrant the application of this ingenious
invention there, and besides neither perforated church towers nor idle
priests were available for the purpose.
In order to get the full point of the following story it must be
remembered that at that time there was not a stationary steam-engine
in Portugal. English enterprise and capital had recently built a line
of railway between Lisbon and Oporto, and the locomotives on that line
furnished the only exhibition of steam power in the country. To the
educated classes of the Portuguese, therefore, the steam-engine to be
shown at the Oporto Crystal Palace was the object of supreme interest.
In one respect they used to have on the Continent a way of managing
these things which was better than ours. The exhibitions were
completely ready on the opening day. For example, in the French
Exposition of 1867, which was the last one I attended, the jurors
commenced their work of examination on the day after the opening, and
completed it in three weeks. The only exception, I think, was in the
class of agricultural machinery, the examination of which _had_ to wait
for the grain to grow. No imperial decree could hasten that. So the
Oporto Exposition was to be complete in all its departments when the
King of Portugal should declare it to be open.
I arrived in Oporto a week before the day fixed for the opening, and
found a funny state of affairs existing in the engineering department.
A very capable and efficient young man had been placed by our firm in
charge of their exhibit. I found his work finished. The engine and
shafting were in running order. Only the boilers were not ready, in
explanation of which I heard this statement: Some time previously an
Englishman had presented himself, bearing a commission, duly signed by
the executive officials, constituting him “Chief Engineer of the Oporto
Exposition,” and demanded charge of our engine and boilers, which were
all there was for him to be chief engineer of. Our man very properly
refused to recognize him, telling him that he had been placed in charge
of this exhibit by its owners, and he should surrender it to nobody.
But the new man had a pull. The managers were furious at this defiance
of their authority. On the other hand, the guardian of our interests
was firm. Finally, after much altercation and correspondence with
Manchester, a compromise had been arranged, by which our representative
retained charge of the engine and shafting, and the boilers were handed
over to the “chief engineer.”
I was introduced to this functionary, and received his assurance
that the boilers would be “in readiness to-morrow.” This promise was
repeated every day. Finally the morning of the opening day arrived.
The city put on its gala attire. Flags and banners waved everywhere.
The people were awakened to a holiday by the booming of cannon and the
noise of rockets, which the Portuguese sent up by daylight to explode
in the air. The King and Queen and court came up from Lisbon, and there
was a grand opening ceremonial, after which a royal procession made the
circuit of the building.
At the hour fixed for the opening the “chief engineer” was just having
a fire started under the boilers for the first time. I was, of course,
pretty nervous, but our man said to me: “You go and witness the opening
ceremonies. They will last fully two hours, and we shall doubtless be
running when you get back.” When at their conclusion I hurried through
the crowds back to Machinery Hall, there stood the engine motionless.
The door to the boiler-room was shut as tightly as possible, but steam
was coming through every crevice. I could not speak, but looked at our
man for an explanation. “The fool,” said he, “did not know enough to
pack the heads of his drum-bolts; he can get only two pounds of steam,
and it blows out around all the bolts, so as to drive the firemen
out of the boiler-room.” There was no help for it. The boilers had
to be emptied and cooled before a man could go inside and pack those
bolt-heads.
[Illustration: Attaching a Steam-drum to a Lancashire Boiler.]
I must stop here and explain how a steam-drum is attached to a
Lancashire boiler, or, at least, how it was in those days. The
accompanying section will enable the reader to understand the
description. The “drum” was of cast iron. The upper part, not shown,
was provided with three raised faces on its sides, to two of which
branch pipes were bolted, each carrying a safety-valve, while the
steam-pipe was connected to the third. The manhole was in the top. A
cast-iron saddle was riveted on the boiler, and was provided at the top
with a broad flange turning inward. This flange and the flange at the
base of the drum had their surfaces planed, and a steam-joint was made
between them with the putty. Square bolt-holes were cored in the flange
of the saddle, and corresponding round holes were bored in the flange
of the drum. The bolts were forged square for a short distance under
the heads, so that they would be held from turning in the square holes.
These bolts were inserted from the inside of the saddle, and were
packed by winding them, under the heads, with long hemp well filled
with this putty. As the nut on the outside was tightened the putty was
squeezed into the square hole around the bolt, and soon became hard.
This packing was what the “chief engineer” had omitted. The reader is
now prepared to appreciate the situation.
It was not long before the royal procession appeared at the extreme
end of the hall, the King and Queen in advance, and a long line of the
dignitaries of state and church, with a sprinkling of ladies, following
at a respectful distance. Slowly, but inevitably, the procession
advanced, between the rows of silent machinery and mad exhibitors,
until, arriving near us, the King stopped. An official immediately
appeared, of whom the King inquired who was present to represent the
engine, or at least I suppose he did, for in reply I was pointed
out to him. He stepped briskly over to me, and what do you think he
said? I defy any living Yankee to guess. With a manner of the utmost
cordiality, and speaking in English as if it were his native tongue,
he said: “I am extremely sorry that the neglect of some one has caused
you to be disappointed to-day.” _Me_ disappointed! It almost took my
breath away. Without waiting for me to frame a reply (I think he would
have had to wait some time), His Majesty continued cheerily: “No doubt
the defect will be remedied directly, and your engine will be enabled
to run to-morrow.” Then, looking the engine over quite leisurely, he
observed: “It certainly presents a fine appearance. I expect to visit
the exposition again after a few days, when I shall have more leisure,
and will then ask you to explain its operation to me.” He then turned
and rejoined the Queen, and the procession moved on, leaving me with
food for reflection for many a day. I had met a gentleman, a man who
under the most sudden and extreme test had acted with a courtesy which
showed that in his heart he had only kind feelings towards every one.
An outside imitation must have been thrown off its guard by such a
provocation as that. In reflecting on the incident, I saw clearly that
in stopping and speaking to me the King had only one thought, and that
was to say what he could to relieve my feelings of disappointment and
mortification. He had evidently been informed that I could not get
any steam, and took pains and went out of his way to do this; showing
a kindly and sympathetic feeling that must express itself in act and
conduct even towards a stranger. I left the next day for England with
some new ideas about the “effete monarchies,” and with regret that I
should see His Majesty no more.
One or two observations on the Portuguese peasantry may be interesting.
They did not impress me so favorably as did their King. On my first
arrival I wished to have the engine turned over, that I might see
if the valve motions were all right. The engineer ordered some men
standing around to do this. Six of them laid hold of the flywheel,
three on each side, and tugged away apparently in earnest. It did not
move. I looked at the engineer in surprise. He said, “I will show you
what is the matter,” ordered them all away, and himself pulled the
wheel around with one hand. Then he explained: “I only wanted you to
see for yourself what they are good for. We have had to bring every
laborer from England. These men are on the pay-roll, and spend their
time in lounging about, but no Portuguese man will work. Women do all
the work in this country.”
The exposition buildings were located on a level spot on a hilltop
overlooking the river Douro, at an elevation, I judged, of about 200
feet. They wished to surround them with a greensward. Between the heat
and the light soil, the grass could be made to grow only by continual
watering, and this is the way they did it. About 400 women and children
brought up water from the river in vessels on their heads. All day long
this procession was moving up and down the hill, pouring the water on
the ground, performing the work of a steam-pump and a 2-inch pipe.
I went to Portugal without a passport. Our financial partner told me it
would be quite unnecessary. He himself had just returned from Oporto,
where he went without a passport, and found that half a crown given
the custom-house inspector on his arrival and departure was all he
needed. I understood the intimation that if I got a passport, the fee
of, I believe, a guinea would not be allowed me. So, although I went
from London and could very conveniently have obtained a passport at the
United States legation, I omitted to do it.
On landing at Oporto the two-and-sixpenny piece opened the kingdom of
Portugal to me quite readily. Getting out, the process was different.
I found that the steamer on which I had come from London would not
return for a week or more after the opening of the exposition, and I
was impatient to get back. A line between Liverpool and Buenos Ayres
made Lisbon a port of call, and a steamer was expected _en route_ to
Liverpool in the course of three or four days after the opening; so
I determined to come by that. The morning after the opening I was
awakened early by a telegram informing me that the steamer had arrived
at Lisbon during the preceding night, having made an unexpectedly
quick run across the South Atlantic, and would sail for Liverpool that
evening. The railroad ran only two trains a day, and my only way to
get to Lisbon in time was to take the nine-o’clock train from Oporto.
The station was on a hill on the opposite side of the Douro. There
was only one bridge across the river, and that was half a mile up the
stream from the hotel and from the station. Oporto boasted no public
conveyance. So I hired a couple of boys to take my trunk down to the
river, row me and it across, and carry it up the hill to the station. I
got off with two minutes to spare.
On applying at the steamship office in Lisbon for a passage ticket,
I was informed by the very gentlemanly English clerk that they were
forbidden to sell a ticket to any one without a passport. “However,”
he added, “this will cause you no inconvenience. The United States
legation is on the second block below here. I will direct you to it,
and you can obtain a passport without any trouble.” By the way, how
did he recognize me as an American, and how was it that I was always
recognized as an American? I never could explain that puzzle.
On knocking at the door of the legation, it was opened by a colored
man, who informed me that this was a fête day, and that the minister
was attending a reception at the palace (this was the first time I ever
heard of a royal reception in the forenoon), but if I would call again
at three o’clock the passport would be ready for me. So, leaving with
him my address, I left, to amuse myself as best I could till three
o’clock.
On presenting myself at that hour I was informed by the same darkey
that the minister would not give me a passport; that he had bidden
him tell me he knew nothing about me; I might be an American or I
might not: at any rate, he was not going to certify that I was. I had
got into the country without a passport, and I would have to get out
without one for all him. I inquired if the minister were at home. “Yes,
sir,” replied the darkey, “he is at home, but he will not see you; he
told me to tell you so,” and with that he bowed me out and shut the
door.
I went back to the steamship office and reported my failure to my
friend the clerk. He drew a long whistle. “Not see you! What’s he
here for? He must be drunk; that’s it, he’s drunk.” After a minute’s
reflection he added: “We must see the Secretary of State; I am well
acquainted with him, and he will get you out of this mess directly. If
you will kindly wait till I have finished my correspondence, which will
occupy me for about half an hour, I will take you to his office. You
can amuse yourself with this copy of the _Times_,” handing it to me.
When we reached the office of the Secretary of State we found the
door locked. “Oh,” said he, “I had forgotten, this is a saint’s day,
and the public offices are closed. We must go to his house.” We found
the Secretary at home. I was introduced, and the Englishman told my
case, of course in Portuguese. As he proceeded I saw the official brow
darken. I woke up to the enormity of my offense. Little kingdom, big
dignity. I had defied their laws and corrupted their official. The case
looked serious. The Secretary, in fact, found it so serious that he did
not feel like taking the sole responsibility of its decision, but sent
out for two others of His Majesty’s advisers to consult with him. The
assembling of this court caused a delay of half an hour, during which
I had time to conjure up all sorts of visions, including an indefinite
immurement in a castle and a diplomatic correspondence, while the deuce
would be to pay with my business at home.
Finally the officials sent for arrived. The instant they entered the
room I was recognized by one of them. He had accompanied the King to
the opening of the exposition the day before, which the pressure of
public business or some game or other had prevented the Secretary of
State from doing. In fact, he had headed the procession behind their
Majesties and so had seen the graciousness of the King’s favor to me.
He spoke a few words to the Secretary of State, when, presto,
everything was changed. The court did not convene, but instead cordial
handshaking with the man on whom the beams of royal favor had shone.
I left my smiling friends with a passport or something just as good,
added my twelve pounds sterling to the account of the ship, and had
time before it sailed to eat a sumptuous dinner at the hotel. I was in
the land of olives, and ate freely of the unaccustomed delicacy, in
consequence of which I lost my dinner before the ship was well out of
the Tagus and have never cared much for olives since.
I was full of wrath against the United States minister, and determined
to send a protest to the State Department as soon as I reached
Manchester. But there I found something else to attend to and dropped
the matter. I read, however, with satisfaction, a few months after,
that the item of the salary of the minister to Portugal had been cut
out of the appropriation bill by the House of Representatives.