The Ways of the Steam Digger
To say that Jim could not have been put into better or more capable
hands is to tell only the truth. For Harry, the young American operating
the steam digger, was one of those eager, hard-working fellows who
strive their utmost, who are not satisfied unless they make the very
best of a task, and who, given a machine of great power, cause it to
produce the biggest results possible, consistent with proper management,
and who, unlike some, do not curtail its strength, and limit its output.
"You jest hop up there inside with me," he said, wiping the sweat from
his forehead, and tilting his broad sombrero hat backwards a little.
"It'll be close quarters, you bet; but when a chap's learning a job he
don't kick at trifles."
Jim obeyed his orders with alacrity. He clambered up into the narrow
cab, which was merely a metal framework bolted to the huge, sloping
steel girder which may be termed the backbone of the leviathan digger,
and seated himself upon a hard wooden seat barely wide enough for one
person. Just above his head was a toothed wheel, with another, very much
larger, engaging with it. Beside him, causing him to start when he
touched it, for it was very hot, were a brace of cylinders, with a
lever adjacent for operating the throttle. Right overhead was a roof of
split and warped boards, which helped to keep away the rays of the sun;
for on this isthmus of Panama the heat is fierce at times, and extremely
enervating.
"But, bless you, we don't notice it," said Harry, swarming up after him,
and seeing that he had noticed the shelter. "Most all of us wear a big
hat. In fact you can say as every white man does. Them dagoes don't;
they seem to like the sun, same as the Spaniards. Seen anything of 'em,
mate?"
Jim nodded. "Not much," he admitted. "There were a few aboard that ship,
and they didn't impress me much. They lost their heads and fought like
wild beasts."
"Aye, that's them all over; but they're good 'uns to work once they're
set to at it, and know you won't put up with any nonsense. I don't
suppose there was ever a part where gangs of them Spaniards works better
than they do here, and gives so little trouble. Now and agin there's a
rumpus, and the police has to intervene; but it ain't often. See 'em
over there."
Jim had been so occupied with his inspection of the giant digger that he
had hardly had eyes for his surroundings; but as Harry pointed, he swung
round in the cab and surveyed the scene. It was remarkable, to say the
least of it. Right behind him lay track on track of metal rails, all
running direct towards the Atlantic, and the majority of them on
different levels. They seemed to hug various gigantic steps, by which
the sides of the huge trench in which the digger was situated ascended
to level ground. Hundreds of cars were on these rails, with a little,
smoking engine at their heads, and a half-closed-in cab behind. Gangs of
European and black labourers were disposed here and there, some breaking
up rocks obstructing the tracks, others carrying lengths of double rail
track bolted together in readiness to be placed in position, while yet
again others were engaged in pouring a liquid into trenches at the side
of the cutting. Jim looked puzzled, and Harry laughed outright as he
caught a glimpse of his face.
"Gee! It do amuse me when strangers come along," he cried. "Guess this
here's an eye-opener. Any fellow can tell what we're doing, and why
we're doing it, except the reason for those men and the stuff they're
pouring into the trench. Say now, what's it for?"
Jim could not even hazard a guess. It was inexplicable, and seemed,
indeed, to be an idiotic proceeding. His face must have shown his
thoughts, for Harry burst into a loud guffaw, though, unconsciously,
pride again crept into his tones as he answered.
"Guess you ain't the first as thought there was madmen about," he said.
"But all that stuff being put into the trenches is jest part of this
almighty scheme. Without it we wouldn't be able to work; for that's a
gang from the sanitary corps, and guess they're nosing round most every
day. It's their particular job to see as there isn't a place where a
mosquito can breed, or where water can easily lay. Ef there's a spot
made in purpose to carry away water, same as that 'ere trench, where
some of it's bound to lay, why, they spreads kerosene along it, and no
self-respecting mosquito'll go near that stuff. It's a terror to 'em.
Guess this Panama zone, stretching five miles either side of the canal
line, fairly gives them insects the pip, it's that unhealthy for 'em. As
for us, we lives in comfort, and goes on living, which can't be said for
others who was here before us. But jest get a grip of that throttle
lever, and don't be skeared. Keep cool all the time, and when I cry
'stop', jest jerk it off. She'll come up short jest as ef she was alive,
and that's something, seeing as this is a hundred-ton digger. She's able
easy to cut her way into well over a thousand cubic yards of dirt in an
eight-hours day, and can sling some six hundred double horse loads into
them trucks. But we ain't dealin' with horses here. It's machines all
the time, machines, and men, I guess, to drive 'em."
It was grand to hear the fellow talk; unconsciously a glow crept into
Jim's face. To think that he, by the movement of his ten fingers, and by
the use of his own brain, could control such work, and then to remember
that every little task accomplished was setting his country nearer the
day of triumph. For triumph it must be: America, in spite of the
croakings of a few, cannot and will not fail. She may experience
setbacks; but she will prevail in the end. Her native determination and
the grit of her workers will compel her.
"You can jest see how we're moving," said Harry, placing a hand on a
second lever. "This here digger's set up on a truck heavy enough to take
it, with its boiler right away at the tail end of the truck, to
counterbalance the stuff we're lifting. We're on rails, as you can see,
with a second track beside us that holds a spoil train, as we calls the
trucks into which we chucks the dirt. Right clear afore us is the
ground we're digging, and you're jest going to take a bite fer yerself.
Watch that digger."
Jim cast his eyes upon the huge bucket with its steel cutting lip placed
at the end of a secondary beam slanting downwards from the lower part of
the main steel girder. Huge chains ran from the upper edge to the tip of
the girder, and, as Harry gently pushed his lever, the chains ran out
clanking, and the bucket descended till it bumped on to the ground. It
was now at the foot of a broken and steep slope some eight feet in
height, at the summit of which was the first of that series of big steps
ascending to the top of the lock cutting, and accommodating rail tracks.
Indeed a spoil train was crunching along it as he looked, while on half
a dozen others trains were to be seen. As to the sloping bank itself, it
ran on directly till it came to a dead end, where an army of men were
engaged in erecting the lake-end wall of the lock. Behind, it dwindled
into other banks, and was lost in the distance.
"Where we started, I guess," said Harry, following his gaze. "First the
dredgers got to work, then the steam shovels. You see, we cut deep down
in the centre first of all, and then take a step out at either side.
Then, while diggers get to work to cut other steps we go deeper again in
the centre. But let's get at this here bank. That bucket's drawn the
chains out by its own weight. This here lever controls a brake, and I
can stop the bucket at any point; but it's there, ready for digging.
Give her steam, and gently with it. Be ready to cut off if I shout."
Jim moved his lever ever so gently. The proposition was so new to him
that he felt somewhat timid of the results; but Harry was as calm as
ever. He watched the cutting edge of the bucket dig deep into the bank,
while Jim, watching it also, cast an eye upward at the chains where they
passed over the tip of the girder. Chug! chug! chug! they went, while
the massive beam trembled; but nothing could stop the irresistible
course of the digger. The bucket sheared its way upward through the
soil, and in a very little while had accomplished the whole height of
the bank; then, its work done, it shot upward, causing the machine to
shiver and shake.
"Cut her off," cried Harry, and obedient to the word Jim shoved the
lever over.
"Now take a grip of this here lever I've been holding, and pull it to
you. Give her steam."
Clank! clank! clank! Jim felt the gears engage as he shifted the lever,
and once more opened the throttle of the engine. Now he experienced a
new and altogether delightful sensation; for the huge mass of machinery
to which the cab was bolted, and which was situated on the front of the
heavy truck carrying the whole apparatus, swung round easily, the loaded
bucket well in front and overhead. Harry grinned: it amused him to watch
the delight on his pupil's face. But this was not the moment for
allowing his attention to become distracted. He kept a careful eye on
the bucket, and, a moment later, just as it began to swing over the dirt
truck placed on the side track, he pulled a rope, and with a loud
clatter the bottom of the bucket banged open and the dirt fell into the
truck.
"Stop her!" he shouted, and Jim at once closed his throttle. "This is
the boy that works the shutter for us. See here; pull it and give her
steam. Watch those two arms to which the bottom of the bucket are
bolted. This here gear just overhead works 'em and closes them over the
trigger. Gee! If you ain't working this here like an old hand. Now watch
it. That bucket's closed, and you've always to remember to close it
afore you swing the machine back again to its work, 'cos the edge of the
bottom comes low down and would foul the truck. That'd mean a bust up.
Now, round with her. Stop her; get a hold of the brake lever and let her
drop."
Confused at first, because of the multiplicity of movements, in an hour
Jim was quite at home with the machine. True, he made errors; for
instance, he forgot that very important movement to close the bucket,
and, as a consequence, though he missed the side of the truck he nearly
ripped off the head from a negro. But Harry was there to supervise, and
a quick movement on his part arrested the machine.
"Hi! What fo you gwine kill me, yo?" shouted the negro, who had been
untouched, as it happened. "Yo take care ob that great big playting ob
yours. Not here to dig niggers. Not like hab de head knocked off."
Harry roared. "It's only Joe," he shouted. "He's been as near a blow
afore now, and loves to make the most of it. See here, Joe," he
bellowed, "I ain't a-goin' to have my machine broken against that 'ere
hard head of yours. I'll have to be warning the foreman overseer to
shunt yer."
That brought a grin from the negro. He showed his teeth, and shook his
fist at Harry; but Jim knew his meaning well enough. The big fellow was
just like the rest of his people--just a big, strong, healthy baby, who
saw the fun in everything, and, if there were no fun, manufactured it
promptly.
"I's gwine to break yo into little pieces," he said, clambering on to
the cab and poking his face within an inch of Harry's. "Yo say I hab
hard head? Lummy! Me hab hard fist as well."
"Git out!" shouted Harry, striking at him with the slack end of the rope
that commanded the bucket trigger.
"Who's he?" demanded Joe, nodding at Jim, and suddenly changing the
conversation.
"Him? Why, Jim, of course. Saved Mr. Barton."
"Den I knows him."
To Jim's astonishment the negro stretched out a hand and shook his
eagerly. Then he explained the situation. "Know Tom and Sam," he said.
"Dey down here now, seein' tings. I show dem round. Tom mighty
impressed: he tink yo work de digger better'n Harry."
That brought an exclamation from the latter, while Joe jumped down from
the machine just in time to escape the swing of the rope. But his words
were true; close beside the digger were Tom and Sam.
"By de poker, but yo run him well!" shouted Tom. "Me's watched yo dis
last half-hour. Seems to Tom as ef yo soon have a job in the diggin'."
To the huge fellow everything that Jim did was well done, everything he
attempted was sure to be accomplished; and never for one moment did he
tire of watching his hero. But Jim had his lesson to learn, and for
another hour held to the work. By that time he had filled a whole spoil
train, and had watched another shunted into position.
"Ready to fill like the last," said Harry. "That's the proposition that
jest beat us at first. There wasn't enough trucks nor locomotives to
begin with, and not enough tracks, so these fine diggers wasted half
their time; but we've fixed it a while since. Soon as a train's loaded
it's pulled back, while an empty spoil train crosses the switches
behind. That comes over another switch just behind the digger, and so
right on alongside, the last truck just in position for loading, the
first 'way ahead. Then, as you've seen for yourself, we move along, a
few inches after every dig, filling the trucks as we go."
"And then?" asked Jim. "What happens? Where is the dirt taken? Who
unloads the trucks?"
"Gee! You are a chap fer questions. Where does it go? Away up there, at
the far end of the river gully, where the Lake of Gatun'll be, there's a
sight more dirt than this being taken from the isthmus. Some of that's
being dumped at the dam just away over our heads; some of it's being
emptied outside Panama, filling up a swamp through which the canal will
run. Reckon there won't be swamps when we're done. There'll be good hard
ground, and houses'll be built on a spot where there's fever nowadays.
We're using dirt at this end in the same way; but you was asking about
the dumping?"
Jim nodded, and looked at the spoil train being hauled away. "The gangs
of niggers do it, I guess," he said. "But it must take longer than the
loading by a long way; at least that's what one would imagine."
"Jest about seven minutes fer the whole train," smiled Harry. "My davy
on it! You ask how? Wall, listen here. I've been here a long while, and
in them days when we was fixed badly fer more trucks niggers did see to
clearing the spoil trains--and precious bad niggers they was, too, about
that time. Yer see, they mostly comes from the West Indian Isles, and
somehow the place didn't seem to suit 'em. They was too slack to work
much; but guess our officials fixed the trouble. They found it was the
food, and now every nigger employed on the works gets his meals regular
at a Commission barracks, and sech meals as gives him strength. But we
was talking of unloading. See that truck 'way in front of the trains,
the one just close to the engine? Wall, that's the Lidgerwood apparatus,
and guess it beats creation. There's a plough right forward of the
train, and a wire rope attached to it. When the spoil train has been
brought to the place where the dirt's to be dumped, niggers or Europeans
let down the truck ends, so's the whole train's one long platform. The
plough then gets pulled from end to end, and shoots the dirt out. Seven
minutes for a whole train, siree! Lightning ain't in it!"
Whistles sounded at this minute, and promptly Harry shut down his levers
and leaped from the cab.
"Guess you've done right well fer a first time," he said. "In a day
you'll be able to get to at it alone. Anyway, you've earned your grub.
Come along to the Commission hotel; there's meals there for all whites,
and no one can grumble at them."
Wherever he went Jim found something to interest him, so much so that
it was a matter of wonder to him that, though he had often been close to
the isthmus, he had had no idea of the extraordinary bustle taking place
there. It was so extremely surprising to find small towns sprung up
where he was assured there was but a single native hut before, to
discover buildings so temptingly cool and elegant in appearance, and to
learn that America not only employed labour, but provided quarters,
food, and recreation for her employees. And here was another example.
Harry took him away from the lock cutting, where one of these days a
double tier of three locks will elevate ships from the Atlantic, and
introduced him to his friends in one of the well-equipped hotels erected
for the accommodation of white employees. Hundreds of men were streaming
up the steps as they arrived, and passing in behind the copper-gauze
screens of the veranda. Jim noticed that all bore much the same
appearance--for the most part clean shaven, with here and there some
wearing moustaches and beards. Dressed in rough working clothes, with
broad-brimmed hats, none showed signs of ill health. There was a buzz of
eager conversation as they washed before the meal, and a loud clatter
from many tongues as they sat at the tables. As to the food, it was
plain, abundant, and well cooked.
"Costs jest fifty cents a day," explained Harry. "If you've finished
we'll get to the club. We usually go along fer a smoke at dinner-time.
'Sides, there's a cable of interest now and agin, and sometimes
letters."
A few minutes with Harry at the club served, in fact, to banish any
doubts which Jim may have had as to remaining on the isthmus. For here
was comfort and recreation at the same time, and plenty of men with whom
to make friends.
"This here's Jim, him as saved Phineas Barton," Harry told his comrades,
and the statement was at once sufficient to rouse interest. Hand-grips
were exchanged with our hero. The news of his presence spread round the
huge room, in which men were smoking or playing dominoes at little
tables, and one by one they strolled up.
"You're stayin' here?" asked one, and when Jim nodded, "I'm main glad:
Phineas is one of the best, and a chap who could go in for him as you
did must be one of the right kind. What are you going to do?"
"Steam digging, I hope," said Jim. "But of course I'm green yet."
"You'll do. If you've got the grit to face being sucked under by a
foundering ship, guess you've the gumption to run one of them diggers.
Anyway, I'm glad you're staying. Play yer a game of dominoes one of
these mornings."
"Say, siree, ken you sing any?" asked another, when he had shaken hands;
"'cos there's concerts here sometimes o' nights, and a new hand aer
wanted."
"Guess I can do a little," answered Jim, reddening; for here was a find.
No one loved a sing-song more than our hero, and, to give him only his
due, he had an excellent voice, badly trained, or not trained at all, to
be accurate, but pleasing for all that. "When I've put a little together
I'll buy a banjo," he told his interrogator. "I had one aboard the
ship, but guess it's deep down below the Caribbean."
"My, that are good news! Say, boys, here's one as can strum on a banjo."
The information was hailed with delight by those present, for a banjo
player was an acquisition indeed. These skilled white men engaged in the
Panama undertaking were as simple as well could be, and longed for
nothing more than mild recreation. After an eight-hours day of strenuous
work, and supper at the Commission hotel, it delighted them to gather at
one of the clubs and there listen to an impromptu concert. But the
midday halt was not the time for dawdling. Already the better part of
the interval was gone, and very soon the blowing of steam whistles
summoned the workers back to their machines; for nearly every one of the
white employees in that hotel managed some sort of machine.
"There's a heap of them engaged with the rock drillers," said Harry,
"and ef you go along the line to-morrow, towards Panama, and enter the
great Culebra cut, you'll see and hear 'em at work everywhere. Most
every night, when the whistles has blown and the men cleared off, you'd
think a battle was being fought over there, for there's dynamite and
powder exploding on every side, and huge rocks jest bounding down into
the trench. Gee! There is a dust up. But I war saying that most everyone
who's white has a machine to mind. Of course there are overseers, and
lots of officials. Then there's a small army kept going in the repair
shops 'way along over Panama direction, at Gorgona. That's a place as
would open the eyes of people at New York. I tell you, they turn out a
power of work there. See that machine down there running along the
rails? Wall, that's home-made, every stick and rod of it put together at
Gorgona, and, what's more, it's the invention of one of the employees
here."
He was bursting with pride, with a legitimate pride. There was no
conceit about Harry, but merely a robust belief in all that his comrades
did, and in particular in the brains and muscles at work on this giant
undertaking. With a sweep of his hand he pointed to a heavy truck, with
a crane-like attachment built on it, running along the rails on one of
the higher steps of the huge cutting on which he himself was engaged.
"Jest watch it," he invited Jim. "It's a treat to see it handle rails.
You see, our rails wants shifting constantly; for as the diggers clear
the dirt they naturally want to get forward or outward, as the case may
be, seeing that we cut our steps away to the side. Anyhow, there's need
to swap the rails from place to place and lay new tracks, and that 'ere
machine is a track layer, which handles the double lengths of bolted
rails as if they was sticks."
Jim was fascinated, indeed, as he watched this new wonder; for wonder
the machine undoubtedly was. As he looked he could realize that gangs of
men and much time might be needed to shift the lines of rails, and time,
he remembered, was an item of which his comrades were sparing. Bustle
was the order of the day, and of every succeeding day, on the isthmus.
As to the machine, it swung its arm over a long length of rail, fastened
its clutches upon it, and lifted the double track, ready bolted to its
sleepers, into the air. Then it trotted along the rails, and presently
deposited its burden somewhere else.
"And by the time it's nipped back for another length, and has brought
it, the track gang has got the lengths in line, and has bolted the
fishplates to it," explained Harry. "But that digger's waiting for us.
Git along, Jim."
Breezy was not the word for this young American. He seemed to enjoy
every minute of his life, and would have made an admirable companion for
one subject to depression. However, Jim was not that; our hero was
naturally inclined to jollity, if at times serious, as became his
position of responsibility, but with Harry beside him there was no
thought of seriousness. They made a laughing, jolly couple on the
digger. The hours flew by, so that Jim was astonished when the
five-o'clock whistles blew.
"How's he shaping?" he heard a voice ask, and, turning, found it was
Phineas Barton, with another white beside him.
"Shaping! Say, ef there's a digger going free he's fit to take it right
off, he's that careful," cried Harry. "See him at it, Major."
"You jest go along as you was before," he whispered in Jim's ear, as the
latter hopped back into the cab of the digger. "I ain't going to stay up
there alongside of you, 'cos there ain't no need; and you ain't got no
cause to feel flustered. The Major's one of the works bosses, and reckon
employment lays with him. He'll know in a jiffy that you're able to do
the work."
To tell the truth our hero felt somewhat scared at the moment, more
even than he had that morning when taking his place for the first time
on the machine. But he had perfect confidence now in his powers of
control, and, with that assurance to help him, struggled against the
unusual feeling of nervousness which had so suddenly attacked him, and
let the bucket of the digger rattle down to the bottom of the bank. Time
after time he dug his way upwards, and delighted Harry by his
management.
"Gee! Ef he ain't got some brass!" the latter exclaimed beneath his
breath, as the bucket swung out over the spoil train. "He's copying me
with a vengeance. I mind the time when I first started in at the
business, and it took me a sight longer to fix the emptying of that
bucket. But this here Jim has kind of tumbled to the knack. He swings
her out, and ain't stopped swinging afore he opens up and lets his dirt
drop. Ef that don't fix the Major, wall he don't deserve to have good
men."
As a matter of fact the official was a good deal impressed; but he was a
cautious man, and was not inclined to be taken in by a demonstration
which might prove to be somewhat freakish. He told himself that under
observation there are some men who do better than others, only to break
down on ordinary occasions, lacking the stimulus of a gallery to
applaud. He yet wanted to prove that this would-be employee had a head
on his shoulders, and though he had heard the tale of the rescue, he
determined to see if Jim could show coolness on dry land as well as in
the water. Therefore he strolled across to the head of the spoil train,
to find the driver had not yet quitted his post, in fact he was just in
the act of uncoupling from the train, but willingly obeyed an order.
Then the official strolled back, to find Jim still busy with the digger,
and, waiting a favourable opportunity, waved his arm. What followed made
Harry stand up on his toes with anxiety.
"He's sure to boss it!" he growled. "Gee, if I don't talk to that
driver! He knows as well as I do that he ought to blow his whistle afore
giving his engine steam to draw out. An old hand wouldn't be caught, but
most like Jim'll bungle it. He'll get his bucket opened over the train,
and the moving cars will catch it."
That, it was evident, was the intention of the Major. He was applying a
test which might well strain the cuteness of a raw hand; and, as it
happened, it was only watchfulness which saved Jim. Up came his bucket,
a mass of dirt tumbling from its edge, and round spun the machine,
swinging the bucket over the trucks. In a moment the bottom would fall
open. Harry could see him handling the rope which freed the trigger.
Then he gave a sigh of satisfaction, for Jim had observed the movement.
His hand left the rope, the bucket stopped in its swing, there was the
grinding sound of moving gears, and promptly the massive beam returned
on its axis.
"That train's moving," he shouted. "I might have had a jam up."
"You might, and no mistake," said Phineas, coming up to the side of the
cab. "You jest fixed the business nicely. Reckon if there had been a
bust-up the Major deserved to have to pay for the damage. Say, Major,
here's a hand wanting a job."
"Bring him to the office to-morrow; I'll take him," was the short
reply. "Usual terms; he can get on to a digger way up by Culebra."
Before Jim could thank him the official had departed, leaving our hero
still seated in the cab.
"You kin git down off that machine and eat a supper feeling you've
earned it," exclaimed Harry, coming up to him and gripping his hand.
"I'm main sorry though that you're to work at Culebra, 'cos it would
have been nice to meet of an evening."
"And no reason why you shouldn't," cried Phineas. "See here, Harry,
Jim's to live with me. He and his sister will have quarters at the
house, the two niggers and the Chinaman also. It's an exception, I know,
but there it is. Of course he'll get his dinner and supper way up at
Culebra; but he'll take breakfast with me, and of an evening he'll come
down to the club here. Guess you'll hear more of him."
That the arrangement was likely to prove satisfactory seemed certain,
and it may be imagined that Jim was filled with glee. He sat in
Phineas's parlour that night, behind the screen of copper gauze, with
his mind full of the morrow, wondering what Culebra would be like, and
whether the men working there could be half so pleasant as those he had
already met.