the iron puddler-第12章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


orn　are　full　of　coal。　The　people　call　it　black　stone。　They　do　not　know　that　it　will　burn。　We　will　go　back　there　with　our　American　knowledge　and　set　the　world　on　fire。〃

There　is　a　people　who　have　been　kicking　coal　around　for　five　thousand　years　and　have　not　yet　learned　that　it　will　burn。　Those　hills　produced　gypsies　who　travel　around　cheating；　dickering　and　selling　gewgaws　that　are　worth　nothing。　They　come　among　a　people　who　have　used　their　heads。　From　these　people　they　learned　to　heat　a　banana　stand　with　a　little　coal　stove。　Having　mastered　that　coal…stove　principle；　they　are　going　back　to　their　native　hills　with　black　magic　up　their　sleeves。

〃What　a　superior　man　am　I；〃　thought　that　young　tribesman　swollen　with　vanity；　although　he　had　done　nothing。

This　taught　me　that　some　of　these　thick…headed　tribes　can　be　all　swelled　up　with　pride　when　they　have　little　to　be　proud　of。



CHAPTER　XV

THE　IRON　BISCUITS


In　the　Sharon　town　band　I　played　the　clarinet　from　the　time　I　was　thirteen　until　I　left　that　town　several　years　later　to　chase　the　fireflies　of　vanishing　jobs　that　marked　the　last　administration　of　Cleveland。　A　bands…man　at　thirteen；　I　became　a　master　puddler　at　sixteen。　At　that　time　there　were　but　five　boys　of　that　age　who　had　become　full…fledged　puddlers。　Of　these　young　iron　workers；　I　suppose　there　were　few　that　〃doubled　in　brass。〃　But　why　should　not　an　iron　worker　be　a　musician？　The　anvil；　symbol　of　his　trade；　is　a　musical　instrument　and　is　heard　in　the　anvil　chorus　from　Trovatore。　In　our　rolling　mill　we　did　not　have　an　anvil　on　which　the　〃bloom〃　was　beaten　by　a　trip…hammer　as　is　done　in　the　Old　Country。　The　〃squeezer〃　which　combines　the　functions　of　hammer　and　anvil　did　the　work　instead。

When　I　became　my　father's　helper　he　began　teaching　me　to　handle　the　machinery　of　the　trade。　The　puddling　furnace　has　a　working　door　on　a　level　with　a　man's　stomach。　Working　door　is　a　trade　name。　Out　in　the　world　all　doors　are　working；　if　they　don't　work　they　aren't　doors　（except　cellar　doors；　which　are　nailed　down　under　the　Volstead　Act）。　But　the　working　door　of　a　puddling　furnace　is　the　door　through　which　the　puddler　does　his　work。　It　is　a　porthole　opening　upon　a　sea　of　flame。　The　heat　of　these　flames　would　wither　a　man's　body；　and　so　they　are　enclosed　in　a　shell　of　steel。　Through　this　working　door　I　put　in　the　charge　of　〃pigs〃　that　were　to　be　boiled。　These　short　pieces　of　〃mill　iron〃　had　been　smelted　from　iron　ore；　they　had　taken　the　first　step　on　their　journey　from　wild　iron　to　civilized　iron。　There　isn't　much　use　for　pig…iron　in　this　world。　You've　got　to　be　better　iron　than　that。　Pig…iron　has　no　fiber；　it　breaks　instead　of　bending。　Build　a　bridge　of　it　and　a　gale　will　break　it　and　it　will　fall　into　the　river。　Some　races　are　pig…iron；　Hottentots　and　Bushmen　are　pig…　iron。　They　break　at　a　blow。　They　have　been　smelted　out　of　wild　animalism；　but　they　went　no　further；　they　are　of　no　use　in　this　modern　world　because　they　are　brittle。　Only　the　wrought…iron　races　can　do　the　work。　All　this　I　felt　but　could　not　say　in　the　days　when　I　piled　the　pig…iron　in　the　puddling　furnace　and　turned　with　boyish　eagerness　to　have　my　father　show　me　how。　　Six　hundred　pounds　was　the　weight　of　pig…iron　we　used　to　put　into　a　single　hearth。　Much　wider　than　the　hearth　was　the　fire　grate；　for　we　needed　a　heat　that　was　intense。　The　flame　was　made　by　burning　bituminous　coal。　Vigorously　I　stoked　that　fire　for　thirty　minutes　with　dampers　open　and　the　draft　roaring　while　that　pig…iron　melted　down　like　ice…cream　under　an　electric　fan。　You　have　seen　a　housewife　sweating　over　her　oven　to　get　it　hot　enough　to　bake　a　batch　of　biscuits。　Her　face　gets　pink　and　a　drop　of　sweat　dampens　her　curls。　Quite　a　horrid　job　she　finds　it。　But　I　had　iron　biscuits　to　bake；　my　forge　fire　must　be　hot　as　a　volcano。　There　were　five　bakings　every　day　and　this　meant　the　shoveling　in　of　nearly　two　tons　of　coal。　In　summer　I　was　stripped　to　the　waist　and　panting　while　the　sweat　poured　down　across　my　heaving　muscles。　My　palms　and　fingers；　scorched　by　the　heat；　became　hardened　like　goat　hoofs；　while　my　skin　took　on　a　coat　of　tan　that　it　will　wear　forever。

What　time　I　was　not　stoking　the　fire；　I　was　stirring　the　charge　with　a　long　iron　rabble　that　weighed　some　twenty…five　pounds。　Strap　an　Oregon　boot　of　that　weight　to　your　arm　and　then　do　calisthenics　ten　hours　in　a　room　so　hot　it　melts　your　eyebrows　and　you　will　know　what　it　is　like　to　be　a　puddler。　But　we　puddlers　did　not　complain。　There　is　men's　work　to　be　done　in　this　world；　and　we　were　the　men　to　do　it。　We　had　come　into　a　country　built　of　wood；　we　should　change　it　to　a　country　built　of　steel　and　stone。　There　was　grandeur　for　us　to　achieve；　like　the　Roman　who　said；　〃I　found　Rome　a　city　of　brick　and　left　it　a　city　of　marble。〃

The　spirit　of　building　was　in　our　blood；　we　took　pride　in　the　mill；　and　the　mill　owners　were　our　captains。　They　honored　us　for　our　strength　and　skill；　they　paid　us　and　we　were　loyal　to　them。　We　showed　what　bee　men　call　〃the　spirit　of　the　hive。〃　On　holidays　our　ball　team　played　against　the　team　of　a　neighboring　mill；　and　the　owners　and　bosses　were　on　the　sidelines　coaching　the　men　and　yelling　like　boys　when　a　batter　lifted　a　homer　over　the　fence。　That　was　before　the　rattle　heads　and　fanatics　had　poisoned　the　well　of　good　fellowship　and　made　men　fear　and　hate　one　another。　Sometimes　the　Welsh　would　play　against　the　Irish　or　the　English。　At　one　time　most　all　the　puddlers　in　America　were　English；　Irish　or　Welsh。

In　these　ball　games；　I　am　glad　to　say；　I　was　always　good　enough　to　make　the　team。　After　telling　of　being　a　bandsman　at　thirteen　and　a　puddler　at　sixteen；　I　would　like　to　say　that　at　seventeen　I　was　batting　more　home　runs　than　Babe　Ruth　in　his　prime；　but　everything　I　say　must　be　backed　up　by　the　records；　and　when　my　baseball　record　is　examined　it　will　be　found　that　my　best　playing　on　the　diamond　was　done　in　the　band。



CHAPTER　XVI

WRESTING　A　PRIZE　FROM　NATURE'S　HAND


After　melting　down　the　pig…iron　as　quickly　as　possible；　which　took　me　thirty　minutes；　there　was　a　pause　in　which　I　had　time　to　wipe　the　back　of　my　hand　on　the　dryest　part　of　my　clothing　（if　any　spot　was　still　dry）　and　with　my　sweat　cap　wipe　the　sweat　and　soot　out　of　my　eyes。　For　the　next　seven　minutes　I　〃thickened　the　heat　up〃　by　adding　iron　oxide　to　the　bath。　This　was　in　the　form　of　roll　scale。　The　furnace　continued　in　full　blast　till　that　was　melted。　The　liquid　metal　in　the　hearth　is　called　slag。　The　iron　oxide　is　put　in　it　to　make　it　more　basic　for　the　chemical　reaction　that　is　to　take　place。　Adding　the　roll　scale　had　cooled　the　charge；　and　it　was　thick　like　hoecake　batter。　I　now　thoroughly　mixed　it　with　a　rabble　which　is　like　a　long　iron　hoe。


　　〃Snake　bake　a　hoecake；

And　lef'　a　frog　to　mind　it；

　　　　Frog　went　away；　an'

De　lizard　come　and　find　it。〃

Any　lizard　attracted　by　my　hoecake　would　have　to　be　a　salamander　that　fire…proof　creature　that　is　supposed　to　live　in　flames。　For　the　cooling　down　of　that　molten　batter　didn't　go　so　far　but　that　it　still　would　make　too　hot　a　mouthful　for　any　creature　alive。

The　puddler's　hand…rag　is　one　of　his　most　important　tools。　It　is　about　the　size　of　a　thick　wash…rag；　and　the　puddler　carries　it　in　the　hand　that　clasps　the　rabble　rod　where　it　is　too　hot　for　bare　flesh　to　endure。

The　melted　iron　contains　carbon；　sulphur　and　phosphorus；　and　to　get　rid　of　them；　especially　the　sulphur　and　phosphorus；　is　the　object　of　all　this　heat　and　toil。　For　it　is　the　sulphur　and　phosphorus　that　make　the　iron　brittle。　And　brittle　iron　might　as　well　not　be　iron　at　all；　it　might　better　be　clay。　For　a　good　brick　wall　is　stronger　than　a　wall　of　brittle　iron。　Yet　nature　will　not　give　us　pure　iron。　She　always　gives　it　to　us　mixed　with　the　stuff　that　weakens　itthis　dross　and　brimstone。　Nature　hands　out　no　bonanzas；　no　lead…pipe　cinches　to　mankind。　Man　must　claw　for　everything　he　gets；　and　when　he　gets　it；　it　is　mixed　with　dirt。　And　if　he　wants　it　clean；　he'll　have　to　clean　it　with　the　labor　of　his　hands。　〃Why　can't　we　have　a　different　system　than　this？〃　I　heard　a　theorist　complain。　〃I'll　bite；〃　I　said。　〃Why　can't　we？〃　And　I　went　on　boiling　out　the　impurities　in　my　puddle。

Man's　nature　is　like　ir