the iron puddler-第12节

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ounds；　my　porridge　is　pasty　iron；　and　the　heat　of　my　kitchen　is　so　great　that　if　my　body　was　not　hardened　to　it；　the　ordeal　would　drop　me　in　my　tracks。

Little　spikes　of　pure　iron　like　frost　spars　glow　white…hot　and　stick　out　of　the　churning　slag。　These　must　be　stirred　under　at　once；　the　long　stream　of　flame　from　the　grate　plays　over　the　puddle；　and　the　pure　iron　if　lapped　by　these　gases　would　be　oxidized？burned　up。

Pasty　masses　of　iron　form　at　the　bottom　of　the　puddle。　There　they　would　stick　and　become　chilled　if　they　were　not　constantly　stirred。　The　whole　charge　must　be　mixed　and　mixed　as　it　steadily　thickens　so　that　it　will　be　uniform　throughout。　I　am　like　some　frantic　baker　in　the　inferno　kneading　a　batch　of　iron　bread　for　the　devil's　breakfast。

〃It's　an　outrage　that　men　should　have　to　work　like　this；〃　a　reformer　told　me。

〃They　don't　have　to；〃　I　replied。　〃Nobody　forced　me　to　do　this。　I　do　it　because　I　would　rather　live　in　an　Iron　Age　than　live　in　a　world　of　ox…carts。　Man　can　take　his　choice。〃

The　French　were　not　compelled　to　stand　in　the　flame　that　scorched　Verdun。　They　could　have　backed　away　and　let　the　Germans　through。　The　Germans　would　not　have　killed　them。　They　would　only　have　saddled　them　and　got　on　their　backs　and　ridden　them　till　the　end　of　time。

And　so　men　are　not　compelled　to　face　the　scorching　furnaces；　we　do　not　have　to　forge　the　iron　that　resists　the　invading　cyclone　and　the　leveling　earthquake。　We　could　quit　cold　and　let　wild　nature　kick　us　about　at　will。　We　could　have　cities　of　wood　to　be　wiped　out　by　conflagrations；　we　could　build　houses　of　mud　and　sticks　for　the　gales　to　unroof　like　a　Hottentot　village。　We　could　bridge　our　small　rivers　with　logs　and　be　flood…bound　when　the　rains　descended。　We　could　live　by　wheelbarrow　transit　like　the　Chinaman　and　leave　to　some　braver　race　the　task　of　belting　the　world　with　railroads　and　bridging　the　seas　with　iron　boats。

Nobody　compels　us　to　stand　shoulder　to　shoulder　and　fight　off　nature's　calamities　as　the　French　fought　off　their　oppressor　at　Verdun。　I　repeat；　we　could　let　nature　oppress　us　as　she　oppresses　the　meek　Chineselet　her　whip　us　with　cold；　drought；　flood；　isolation　and　famine。

We　chose　to　resist　as　the　French　resistedbecause　we　are　men。　Nature　can　chase　the　measly　savage　fleeing　naked　through　the　bush。　But　nature　can't　run　us　ragged　when　all　we　have　to　do　is　put　up　a　hard　fight　and　conquer　her。　The　iron　workers　are　civilization's　shock　troops　grappling　with　tyrannous　nature　on　her　own　ground　and　conquering　new　territory　in　which　man　can　live　in　safety　and　peace。　Steel　houses　with　glass　windows　are　born　of　his　efforts。　There　is　a　glory　in　this　fight；　man　feels　a　sense　of　grandeur。　We　are　robbing　no　one。　From　the　harsh　bosom　of　the　hills　we　wring　the　iron　milk　that　makes　us　strong。　Nature　is　no　kind　mother；　she　resists　with　flood　and　earthquake；　drought　and　cyclone。　Nature　is　fierce　and　formidable；　but　fierce　is　man's　soul　to　subdue　her。　The　stubborn　earth　is　iron；　but　man　is　iron　too。



CHAPTER　XVIII

ON　BEING　A　GOOD　GUESSER


The　charge　which　I　have　been　kneading　in　my　furnace　has　now　〃come　to　nature；〃　the　stringy　sponge　of　pure　iron　is　separating　from　the　slag。　The　〃balling〃　of　this　sponge　into　three　loaves　is　a　task　that　occupies　from　ten　to　fifteen　minutes。　The　particles　of　iron　glowing　in　this　spongy　mass　are　partly　welded　together；　they　are　sticky　and　stringy　and　as　the　cooling　continues　they　are　rolled　up　into　wads　like　popcorn　balls。　The　charge；　which　lost　part　of　its　original　weight　by　the　draining　off　of　slag；　now　weighs　five　hundred　fifty　to　six　hundred　pounds。　I　am　balling　it　into　three　parts　of　equal　weight。　If　the　charge　is　six　hundred　pounds；　each　of　my　balls　must　weigh　exactly　two　hundred　pounds。

I　have　always　been　proud　of　the　〃batting　eye〃　that　enables　an　iron　puddler　to　shape　the　balls　to　the　exact　weight　required。　This　is　a　mental　act；an　act　of　judgment。　The　artist　and　the　sculptor　must　have　this　same　sense　of　proportion。　A　man　of　low　intelligence　could　never　learn　to　do　it。　We　are　paid　by　weight；　and　in　my　time；　in　the　Sharon　mill；　the　balls　were　required　to　be　two　hundred　pounds。　Every　pound　above　that　went　to　the　company　and　was　loss　to　the　men。

I　have　heard　that　〃guessing　pigs〃　was　an　old…time　sport　among　farmers。　To　test　their　skill；　each　farmer　would　guess　the　weight　of　a　grazing　pig。　Then　they　would　catch　the　porker；　throw　him　on　the　scales；　and　find　out　which　farmer　had　guessed　nearest　the　mark。　Sunday　clothes　used　to　be　badly　soiled　in　this　sport。

But　the　iron　worker　does　not　guess　his　pigs。　He　knows　exactly　how　much　pig…iron　he　put　into　the　boil。　His　guessing　skill　comes　into　play　when　with　a　long　paddle　and　hook　he　separates　six　hundred　pounds　of　sizzling　fireworks　into　three　fire　balls　each　of　which　will　weigh　two　hundred　pounds。

The　balls　are　rolled　up　into　three　resting　places；　one　in　the　fire…bridge　corner；　one　in　the　flue…bridge　corner；　and　one　in　the　jam；　all　ready　for　the　puddler　to　draw　them。

My　batch　of　biscuits　is　now　done　and　I　must　take　them　out　at　once　and　rush　them　to　the　hungry　mouth　of　the　squeezing　machine。　A　bride　making　biscuits　can　jerk　them　out　of　the　oven　all　in　one　pan。　But　my　oven　is　larger　and　hotter。　I　have　to　use　long…handled　tongs；　and　each　of　my　biscuits　weighs　twice　as　much　as　I　weigh。　Suppose　you　were　a　cook　with　a　fork　six　feet　long；　and　had　three　roasting　sheep　on　the　grid　at　once　to　be　forked　off　as　quickly　as　possible。　Could　you　do　it？　Even　with　a　helper　wouldn't　you　probably　scorch　the　mutton　or　else　burn　yourself　to　death　with　the　hot　grease？　That　is　where　strength　and　skill　must　both　come　into　play。

One　at　a　time　the　balls　are　drawn　out　on　to　a　buggy　and　wheeled　swiftly　to　the　squeezer。　This　machine　squeezes　out　the　slag　which　flows　down　like　the　glowing　lava　running　out　of　a　volcano。　The　motion　of　the　squeezer　is　like　the　circular　motion　you　use　in　rolling　a　bread　pill　between　the　palms　and　squeezing　the　water　out　of　it。　I　must　get　the　three　balls；　or　blooms；　out　of　the　furnace　and　into　the　squeezer　while　the　slag　is　still　liquid　so　that　it　can　be　squeezed　out　of　the　iron。

From　cold　pig…iron　to　finished　blooms　is　a　process　that　takes　from　an　hour　and　ten　minutes；　to　an　hour　and　forty　minutes；　depending　on　the　speed　and　skill　of　the　puddler；　and　the　kind　of　iron。　I　was　a　fast　one；　myself。　But　you　expected　that；　from　the　fact　that　I　am　telling　the　story。　The　man　that　tells　the　story　always　comes　out　a　winner。



CHAPTER　XIX

I　START　ON　MY　TRAVELS


Now　that　I　was　a　master　puddler；　I　faced　the　problem　of　finding　a　furnace　of　my　own。　I　saw　no　chance　in　Sharon。　Furnaces　passed　from　father　to　son；　so　I　could　not　hope　to　get　one　of　the　furnaces　controlled　by　another　family。　My　father　was　not　ready　to　relinquish　his　furnace　to　me；　as　he　was　good　for　twenty　years　more　of　this　vigorous　labor。

I　wanted　to　be　a　real　boss　puddler；　and　so；　when　I　was　eighteen　I　went　to　Pittsburgh　and　got　a　furnace。　But　a　new　period　of　hard　times　was　setting　in；　jobs　were　getting　scarce　as　they　had　been　in　1884。　That　was　the　year　when　we　had　no　money　in　the　house　and　I　was　chasing　every　loose　nickel　in　town。　The　mill　at　Sharon　was　down；　and　father　was　hunting　work　in　Pittsburgh　and　elsewhere。　Then　after　a　period　of　prosperity　the　hard　times　had　come　again　in　1891　and　'92。　My　furnace　job　in　Pittsburgh　was　not　steady。　The　town　was　full　of　iron　workers　and　many　of　them　were　in　desperate　need。　Those　who　had　jobs　divided　their　time　with　their　needy　comrades。　A　man　with　hungry　children　would　be　given　a　furnace　for　a　few　days　to　earn　enough　to　ward　off　starvation。　I　had　no　children　and　felt　that　I　should　not　hold　a　furnace。　I　left　Pittsburgh　and　went　to　Niles；　Ohio；　where　I　found　less　competition　for　the　jobs。　I　worked　a　few　weeks　and　the　mill　shut　down。　I　wandered　all　over　the　iron　district　and　finally；　deciding　that　the　North　held　no　openings；　I　began　working　my　way　toward　the　iron　country　in　the　South。

The　Sharon　mill　did　not　shut　down　completely。　The　owner　operated　it　at　a　loss　rather　than　throw　all　his　old　hands　out　on　the　world。　Twenty　years　later　I　met　him　on　a　train　in　the　West　and　we　talked　of　old　times　when　I　worked　in　his　mill。　As　long　as　he　lived　he　was　loved　and　venerated　by　his　former　employees。

Father　was　putting　in　short　time　at　Sharon　and　was　badly　worried。　He　was　thinking　of　setting　out　again　to　go　from　town　to　town　looking　for　work；　but　I　had　advised　him　against　it。　I　had　told　him　that　he　would　merely　find　crowds　of　idle　men　roaming　from　mill　to　mill　along　with　him。　My　brothers　gave　him　similar　advice。

〃Father；〃　we　said；　〃it　is　a　time　of　business　depression　and　wide…spread　unemployment。　If　you　went　to　Pittsburgh　you　might　find　a　few　weeks'　work；　but　it　would　not　pay　you　to　go　there　for　it。　You　would　have　to　lay　out　cash　for　your　board　and　lodging　there　before　you　could　send　anything　home　to　mother。　Keeping　up　two　establishments　is　harder　than　keeping　up　one。　You　have　a　home　here　partly　paid　for；　and　a　big　garden　that　helps　support　that　home。　It　is　better　for　you　to　stick　with　this　establishment　and　work　at　half　time　in　the　mill　than　to　roam　around　at　big　expense　seeking　full　time　in　some　other　mill。　There　may　be　no　mill　in　the　land　that　is　running　ful