THE BREAKING STRAIN
The electric light at the forge test-house sparkled on polished metal
and touched the group by a big machine. Two were dark-skinned foreign
navy officers; another was consul for the foreign government. Jasper
Carson talked to an English naval architect and a steel inspector;
Ledward waited by the clerk’s table, on which were printed forms and
measuring tools. In the background a workman turned a wheel.
A weight travelled slowly along a shining beam. The machine’s jaws
moved apart and a small bar they gripped got longer; one saw the tough
steel stretch. By and by the machine clanged and the bar broke. Jasper
pointed to a scale, and taking out the broken pieces, gave them to the
clerk.
“Perhaps you would like to check the measurements and calculations,
gentlemen. We reckon by decimals,” he said.
The steel inspector and the naval architect went to the table. Jasper
gave the party cigars and Ledward lighted a cigarette. The forge was a
model forge, and Jasper knew the importance of clever advertisement.
He liked to convoy shipbuilders and foreign admiralty officers about
his works. They saw all he thought they ought to see, but as a rule he
fixed their visits for the evening. Jasper was a first-class showman,
and after dark operations at the forge were spectacular.
“Well? I hope the tests are satisfactory,” he said when the clerk gave
the others the printed forms.
“_Moi, je vous en félicite. C’est une merveille!_” a dark-skinned
gentleman replied in awkward French.
Jasper bowed. “You are polite, _Almirante_; but I think the steel is
pretty good. Our own stuff, from the beginning!”
“The stuff is first-class,” the English inspector agreed. “In fact,
for the high tensile strength the elongation is rather remarkable. The
usual plan, however, is perhaps to buy the raw material from the large
steelworks.”
“We do buy some soft-steel blooms, but where high tension is required
we cast the ingots. Although it’s possible one or two makers could
supply us cheaper, our plan gives us exactly the stuff we want.”
“Yours is a rather bold claim,” said the naval architect.
“Oh, well, since I talk to experts, for the most part we get what we
try for, but sometimes I admit we are baffled.”
“You are baffled?” said a foreign gentleman. “Have you not the
mechanical rule and the chemical formula?”
Jasper smiled. “Scientific rules are useful, but steel-making is not
altogether a mechanical process. Something depends on the workman’s
inherited, and perhaps instinctive, skill. There’s the weak link,
because human nature is not stable. Man goes by sight and touch, and,
so far as he is mechanical, a small defect puts the machine out of
gear. I expect bad cooking accounts for some bad steel.”
“I’ve known bad brewing accountable,” remarked the inspector.
“We use some precautions,” said Jasper dryly, and addressed the
foreigners. “The rules and formulæ help, but one is fronted by an
incalculable factor. Sometimes it’s human weakness; sometimes it’s the
contrary chance, that is as yet determined by rules we do not know.
When one gets old, one finds out that man’s knowledge is limited.”
“_Es verdad. Ya lo creo!_” said the dark-skinned admiral. “_Monsieur
est philosophe!_”
“I’m a steel-forger, and I agreed to show you the process by which we
make the goods you want,” said Jasper, smiling. “Lets go to the
casting-pit.”
They crossed a big open-sided shed and climbed to an iron platform
surrounding a circular pit. The evening was cold and a boisterous wind
blew about the forge and scattered clouds of iron scale. Naked lights
in long rows flickered and slanted; dazzling reflections leaped from
furnace doors, and a trail of radiance marked the passage of a
white-hot bloom. When the noisy truck vanished all by contrast got
indistinct but for the sparks that tossed about the crashing
steam-hammers.
Engines throbbed, heavy wheels rolled, and metal clanged on iron
floors. In the smoke and turmoil shadowy workmen moved about. For a
few moments Jasper leaned against the greasy rails and his glance
searched the forge, but Ledward knew he listened. The machines were
like an orchestra, and a jarring note would indicate that an
instrument was out of tune. Jasper knew the pitch of all; the
cold-saws’ thin treble, the roll-trains’ measured rumble, and hammers’
thunderous bass.
The platform was a semi-circle and on each side was a large,
pear-shaped iron vessel lined by fireclay. The vessels were pivoted
near the middle, and turned up and down. Above each was a hole in the
roof. Underneath, four or five yards below the platform, a row of
hollow iron molds, about three feet high, went round the pit. In the
gloom workmen waited.
“For soft steel we use the open-hearth, but for stuff like yours the
Bessemer process has advantages,” said Jasper, turning to the
pear-shaped vessels. “By comparison with a steelworks plant, our
converters are small. Well, we start with the melted pig-iron, a
special hæmatite mixture, and we burn up the sulphur, silicon, and so
forth——”
He signalled, and a man across the pit replied: “Mr. Marsden’s at the
cupolas. All’s ready, sir.”
A bell rang, and a converter tilted until the party looked into its
luminous red throat. Then the roof and floor and columns shone, and a
ladle swung across the pit. One did not see the stuff it carried, but
trembling illumination marked its track. The ladle turned up, and a
cascade of liquid iron poured into the converter’s mouth. Then it
vanished and, but for the ghostly, phosphorescent glow about the
converter, all was dark. The converter swung up, until its muzzle was
under the pierced roof, and the gloom was banished by a flood of
intense, overwhelming light.
A splendid pillar of flame leaped through the gap. One saw the flakes
of scale on the iron floor and the scratches in the plates. Ledward
noted the lines in Jasper’s face and thought him preoccupied. Carson
studied the tossing fire, and then touched Ledward.
“I don’t know who is blowing, but the fellow seems clumsy. Go for
Marsden; he’s at the cupolas.”
Ledward nodded and went down the steps. His shortest line was along
the platform, but by the converters the rail was cut and the smooth
plates were touched by puzzling light and shadow. Harry did not want
to risk a plunge to the pit. Crossing the floor, he found the manager
by the upright furnaces where the pig-iron was melted.
“Mr. Carson wants you. I think he’s not satisfied about the converter
man.”
“Black’s a first-class blower,” Marsden replied. “I’ll come along.”
When Ledward went off Carson resumed:
“The air blown into the vessel is burning up the impurities. As the
temperature rises they leave the iron and combine with the oxygen.
Each gives the flame its characteristic tint, and the blower goes by
time and color. If he did not stop at the proper moment, the iron
would burn——”
The flame lost its intense brightness and began to sink. Jasper pulled
out his watch.
“All now left is liquid iron, but since we want tough steel we must
back some carbon and a quantity of manganese.”
The converter tilted down and stopped. Its lowered mouth pointed
obliquely across the platform to the long crowded shed. But for the
white glow shimmering about the vessel, platform and pit were gloomy.
A bell rang and the ladle swung across the gap. A fresh load poured
from its brim and vanished in the converter. The empty ladle swung
back, and that was all.
Jasper frowned. The blow was not finished, and delay might spoil the
steel. All did not go as smoothly as he demanded at the forge. Yet
Marsden was works manager and Jasper must not meddle, unless he were
forced.
“You’re losing heat,” said the inspector. “The fellow’s very slow. By
George! he’s _turning on the blast_——”
To turn on the blast and turn up the converter was the proper course,
but the big vessel swung down for a few degrees and its mouth
commanded the forge. White reflections played about the fireclay and
Jasper and the inspector knew the fluid metal seethed to the brim. If
the full blast were turned on, the load would sweep the forge like an
exploding shell.
Jasper jumped for the blower’s platform. The inspector was not the
company’s servant, but he knew the risk the party ran and he pushed
the others behind an iron pillar. Jasper vanished in the dark, and the
converter began to swing. It went up smoothly, and when the flame
leaped out its muzzle pointed for the gap in the roof.
A shout pierced the throbbing roar, and a dark object reeled across
the platform. A man’s bent, black figure cut the dazzling background.
He stretched out his arm, as if to seize the rail, but by the
converter the rail was cut, and the man plunged into the pit. The
inspector jumped for the steps and workmen ran across the floor.
Ledward, returning with Marsden, saw Jasper fall, and when they
reached the casting-pit he lay by an ingot mold. Overhead the
converter throbbed and sparks came down in glittering showers.
Jasper’s eyes were shut, and but for the blood about his mouth his
face was colorless.
“Is he dead?” Ledward asked hoarsely.
Marsden felt for Jasper’s heart, and then drew his hand along his
slack body. He was cool and gentle, for a forge manager knows
something about broken men.
“I think not. To move him is risky, but we must get him out.”
He turned and waved back the men. Four of the works ambulance pushed
through the group. Marsden, kneeling by the ingot mold, gave some
orders, and in a few moments Jasper was on the stretcher. They carried
him to the office, Marsden telephoned, and soon afterwards a hospital
ambulance arrived.
“Go back to the visitors and persuade them Carson is not much hurt,”
Marsden said to Ledward. “Give them some wine, and when you get them
off ask for me at the hospital.”
As a rule Ledward’s nerve was good, but politeness cost him something,
and he was relieved to see the party go. Then he went to the hospital
and joined Marsden in the waiting-room. The night was cold, and
Ledward shivered. The room was bleak and very clean, like a prison.
“Have you seen the doctors?” he inquired.
“They haven’t finished their examination. I expect the house surgeon
will come down presently. The forge and the rolling mills are pretty
good customers.”
“Do you know why Carson fell?”
“All I saw you saw. Something went wrong and he was in time to turn up
the converter. Then perhaps he was dazzled by the flame; or perhaps
the jump to the platform shook him. The floor plates are greasy——”
Ledward nodded. “How do you explain the converter man’s slackness? Had
liquor something to do with it?”
“Not at all. Men who drink much don’t stop long at the forge. I expect
you think us an extravagant, drunken lot. It’s your folks’ point of
view.”
Ledward looked up rather haughtily. Marsden was a clever works
manager, but he was not cultivated and was sometimes aggressive.
“Our disputing about things like that will not help. I inquired——”
“Oh, well, I’m anxious, and perhaps I was nasty. Then I’m a
steelworker and I know the men; some went with me to a council school.
Anyhow our blowers, head-rollers, and hammer-men are aristocrats in a
highly skilled trade, and Black is a grim teetotaller. If he got his
way, back-street beerhouses and your fashionable clubs would be shut.
I imagine the man was ill, but I’m going to find out.”
“You’re a queer lot,” said Ledward, and stopped, for the house surgeon
came in.
“Mr. Carson’s obvious injuries are a broken arm and a broken rib,” he
said. “In themselves they are not dangerous, but for an old man the
shock is severe. I must not be technical, and perhaps if I state we
suspect some _complications_——In a day or two I may give you better
news, but Mr. Carson must stay with us.”
“I suppose we mustn’t recommend him to your particular care?” said
Ledward. “However, if to modify your ordinary arrangements would help,
the company would be glad——”
The doctor smiled. “Mr. Carson is our benefactor, but all our patients
are entitled to the best service we can give. So far as your seeing
him when he is able to see you and so forth goes, we will not stick to
the usual rules.”
He let them go, and when they were in the street Marsden said: “I’m
wanted at the forge. Will you come back with me?”
Ledward went, and for some time waited at the office. Then Marsden
came in and gave him a cigarette. The works manager was short and
lightly built, but his mouth was firm and his glance keen. Ledward
knew him sternly efficient.
“Until Carson is again about we must carry on,” he said. “His Canadian
speculations are the London office’s business; I’m responsible for the
forge. Well, in the North we’re blunt, and you begin to see how things
are done. The company’s a limited company, but the directors don’t
meddle; their part’s to approve. When you meet the gentlemen you’ll
reply to inquiries politely and not bother them. You will see
important customers and get the sort of orders we can profitably
execute.”
“The difficulty is, I don’t know the sort of orders——”
“_I’ll tell you_,” said Marsden. “When fresh transactions are
negotiated you will come to me.”
Ledward looked at him rather hard. “You consider you are entitled to
superintend?”
“I know my job; you don’t yet know yours. The office gang are useful
clerks, that’s all. Then the forge is Carson’s main support. For you
to cross me and let down the business would be risky.”
“Oh, well,” said Ledward, “I want your help, and since I’m a beginner
I must agree to your control. Have you inquired about the blower?”
“Black was ill. He has been ill for three or four months, and owns he
ought not to have taken the night shift. When he tried to turn up the
converter he got faint and his hand slipped.”
“But you don’t allow a sick man——”
“Until Carson sent for me I did not imagine Black was sick, but he has
done with the converter,” said Marsden grimly. “Well, you haven’t
smoked your cigarette, and perhaps the story’s interesting. You have
heard about our war-time extravagance, and all was not exaggeration;
but it was the extravagance of folks who, for once, were not forced to
pinch. On the whole, in the North we’re a parsimonious lot——”
“Anyhow, Black is parsimonious, and his wife had three hundred pounds.
When houses can be got, houses are our favorite speculation, and Black
joined a building club. He drew a lucky number and bought two
cottages. He claims he has not lost a shift since he began at the
forge, and I imagine he saved all the pay it was possible to save.
Well, he built and mortgaged, and built again, until he owns one side
of a new street. He had not, however, used the end plot, and the
plot’s important.
“Labor and stern economy imply some strain, and Black is not young. He
got tired and knew he soon must stop, but when he did stop he meant to
build a corner shop and round off the block. He was not much short of
the sum he needed, and although he was ill he carried on. Well,
there’s the story!”
Ledward got up and threw his cigarette in the grate.
“It looks as if the company and Carson must meet the bill; but I must
call at the newspaper office. We don’t want a disturbing paragraph
printed. I’ll see you in the morning.”