Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

  Shaun explained that days before he and Patrick had connected the two main generators to the drive shafts of the twin engines; they were working perfectly. They had uncrated the third generator, manoeuvred it into the generator room, bolted it to the deck and made the connections. Shaun confirmed it was also working perfectly. Both Jack and Sandro were aware that the main generators would only produce power when the engines were running. They had been convinced that it was prudent to have the two main generators plus two other independent generators. There could be a time when they needed lots of power.

  It appeared that this afternoon Shaun and Patrick had started to dismantle the wooden packing around the second auxiliary generator and immediately realised they had sent the wrong one!

  ‘We've checked the invoice from the suppliers in Trieste and it says they supplied two identical generators as two separate items. We've checked the codes on the crates. Everything looks fine but some idiot packed the wrong generator!’

  Shaun looked up at Sandro then at Jack.

  ‘Patrick and I have checked out the engines, steering, pumps as well as the communication and navigation equipment. Everything is working perfectly. We could operate from the two main generators and have one of the two auxiliary generators operational, but we would both feel happier with the two we specified. What do you want us to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Can you talk to Marco and explain the problem? Ask him to contact the company in Trieste and find out when they can supply the correct generator? If they have the correct generator, ask if it would be possible to use the Blizbanci to return the one they sent and collect the correct one. It would be quicker for Sandro and me to collect it than to wait for it to be delivered. Shit, I thought things were starting to run too smoothly,’ Jack added. ‘Looks like we are going to be here for a bit longer,’ he said.

  Shaun was about to leave when Kev walked in with sheets of paper in his hand.

  'I’ve been talking to Marco,’ Kev announced. ‘He’s confident at sourcing all the items on your list – except the large water pump. He has only small stuff but can give us names and addresses of hire companies.’

  Almost as an afterthought he added:

  ‘It’s just the package from ArmourTech that we are waiting for?'

  ‘Shaun,’ said Jack as Shaun was about to leave. ‘Can you also ask Marco for names and places where we may be able to hire a large volume pump? Could I ask you or Patrick to track one down?’

  Chapter 12

  In search of a pump

  Marco had programmed the portable sat nav with five addresses, addresses of chandlers and hire companies in and around Split which could have a large volume, high performance pump. Shaun knew precisely what he was looking for and hoped to find it. They needed one or more high performance pumps to pump sea water out of the Pharmaco once they had her level with the water. The tricky part was to pump water out of the boat faster than it flowed back in! Jack and Sandro had calculated that the airbags could bring the superstructure just out of the water. Unfortunately, the sheer weight of the water inside would mean the gunnels would be at or around the sea water level. Even a small swell could mean water pouring back into the boat as they attempted to pump it out. Marco had several pumps but these were small, designed to pump out a few litres of sea water that had leaked into the bilges of a boat.

  The first two chandlers had no shortage of bilge pumps but nothing on the scale that Shaun needed. However, it was confirmed that one of the places on his list may have what he was looking for. He was lucky. On his third visit he found a Makita 75mm petrol driven pump. Bolted inside a rectangular tubular frame the engine and pump looked fairly new. He checked the laminated booklet clipped to the frame and it confirmed that this little thing could pump 1000 litres or a cubic metre of sea water a minute! If they could just get the lip of the cockpit a few centimetres out of the water the pump would do the rest. He also hired three five-metre lengths of hose that he could couple together. It was enough to get well inside the Pharmaco and allow the bulk of the water to be pumped out.

  Shaun knew that the Makita pump could do the job but couldn’t resist asking about the possibility of finding an even more powerful pump. The elderly guy writing out a receipt for the hire doubted it. The navy or fire brigade may have more powerful pumps but they wouldn't be for hire. However, he did give Shaun the name of a boat scrap yard, Brodski Rezervni Dijelovi, and the address. It was a few kilometres down the coast. They had second hand equipment and spares taken from scrapped boats. There he may find something.

  Shaun was feeling pretty pleased with the morning’s work as the sat nav guided him through a succession of narrow streets and along the waterfront. It all looked dilapidated as his electronic guide announced, “You have reached your destination”. Shaun pulled to the side of the road next to a high chain link fence supported by rusting, angle iron posts. He could tell this was the place. Through the fence he could see metal and wooden masts resting in stout metal racks. There was a small pile of solid rectangular life rafts alongside three or four faded plastic covers of inflatable life rafts. To his far right was a row of small cruisers that looked forlorn. He could see at a glance that the once crisp white plastic was now faded and powdery. The biminis and canvas dodgers protecting the cockpit from spray looked bleached, almost white, by the sun.

  Shaun walked towards what he guessed was the entrance. Two large rectangular gates guarded it. They were both made from the same rusting angle iron and covered in chain link. One of the gates was just open enough for Shaun to squeeze through. Ahead of him he could see an open door to a large corrugated iron industrial-size shed. Alongside the wall of the shed was an array of anchors that were scattered around. It was all small stuff for pleasure craft, not ocean-going ships. There were also piles of rusting anchor chains of different size and weight. Further on, past the door, he could see a shelf with dozens of propellers. They were all different sizes and specification. ‘Reckon you could pick these things up for a fraction of the price of a new one,’ Shaun said to himself as he walked into the shed. Just inside the door a young man sat sprawled in a large, heavily padded chair. Shaun guessed that once upon a time it was the prized "fighting chair" from an expensive sport fishing boat. This was the place of honour a tourist would sit while trying to reel in the “catch of the day”. The soiled and scuffed white leather had endured rough treatment over recent years. The once chrome frame and pedestal were rusted and marked.

  Shaun turned his attention to the man sitting in the chair and expected to be acknowledged as a potential customer. The slim guy looked to be in his early twenties. He was wearing pale blue jeans with rips in the knees and a matching Denim jacket with long sleeves. The cuffs were unbuttoned and rolled back. He needed a shave as Shaun could see the dark stubble which failed to hide a tattoo on his neck. Shaun waited to be acknowledged but the man in front of him seemed engrossed in the magazine he was reading and the music that Shaun could faintly hear from the earpiece linked to the mobile phone in the man’s jacket pocket. Shaun tapped his fingers on the table to attract the man's attention.

  In a slow practised move the man looked up and pulled one of the ear plugs out. Immediately Shaun could hear the “dum, dum, dum” of the base from the music being played.

  ‘Do you have any large, high performance pumps?’ asked Shaun.

  The man didn't bother to reply but with a gesture of his left arm and then wrist, indicated “down there and on the left”. Shaun turned and walked in the general direction. Around him were racks, shelves and stands displaying the variety of bits and pieces that sailors need. It didn't look like a busy place with a high turnover of stock! As Shaun approached the far wall he could see another opening on the left; he walked through. It was like being in a large, long abandoned store-room. About half the space was taken up by free standing metal shelving that looked like oversized library bookshelves. As Shaun walked between the racks he could see why he had been directed to the room. On every shelf ther
e were pumps of every make and size. There were bilge pumps and pumps for toilets. There were hand pumps, electrical pumps and those powered by petrol and diesel. A quick glance revealed that many had been cannibalized. The remains lay where they had been discarded. They were all covered in a layer of dust and grime that suggested no one had touched them for months, if not years. On the bottom racks was a row of compressors, together with small petrol and diesel engines which could drive water pumps. Again, everything was covered in dust and grime. At first Shaun thought he would be able to find another pump here. However, ten minutes later he decided that all of this kit had been picked over years ago. Most of it had items missing or damaged. Shaun was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was wasting his time. However, before he turned to leave he decided to check the furthest, darkest corners of the shed. Over the years Shaun had visited numerous scrap yards containing boats and cars. He had often found a prize buried in a corner.

  The problem was finding the corner! The racks were overflowing and it was obvious that over the years stuff had been dumped wherever there was a space. When the space ran out one thing was dumped on top of another. Fortunately, panels of translucent plastic sheets in the roof let light into the whole area. At a glance Shaun could see that the space between the racks and walls was overflowing with wooden boxes and wire crates full of stuff. As he scrambled over years of accumulated junk something caught his eye. It looked like several neat piles of motorcycle tyres about chest high. Shaun guessed these were not tyres but rolls of big bore flexible pipe! Big bore flexible pipe is usually linked to a big pump! Shaun needed to make space to see precisely what was buried in the corner. He climbed back over the pile of scrap parts until he was on level ground and then started stacking the boxes and crates to one side. He was gradually working his way back to the rolls of pipe. When the first roll of pipe was accessible he could see that lengths of rope held the coil together. He embraced it in a bear hug and tested its weight. On reflection he decided it would be better if he tilted the whole coil and rolled it on its edge like a large barrel. It was only after he had dumped the roll of pipe near the door and returned to the space that Shaun could see what he had uncovered.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  Jammed hard against the wall was the dull, dark, grey mass of a cast iron engine block. Gently Shaun wiped away the dust and grime from the top and front of the engine. There it was in the casting, sharp letters that proclaimed the name of the manufacturer: Moffat & Co., Glasgow. Shaun licked his thumb and rubbed at the almost concealed plate screwed near the base of the engine block. The tarnished brass plate repeated the name of Moffat & Co. together with a serial number and year of manufacture. Shaun smiled when he realised the engine had been commissioned at the same time as the Sultano.

  Shaun wrestled away another roll of pipe which was embedded between the rear of a rack and whatever it was covering. He dragged it into the open and turned to see what had been uncovered. In similar proportion to the engine block was a bank of radiators. A six cylinder diesel engine generates a lot of heat, especially when worked hard. However, Shaun knew that the radiators were designed to cool this monster. He dragged another large coil of pipe a few metres and positioned it next to the others. In less than ten minutes he had moved six coils of six inch pipe. He estimated each coil was about ten metres long. The whole lot was equivalent to sixty metres of reinforced pressure hose complete with couplings. It was just sad to see that each of the coils showed the signs of neglect; they looked perished. He knew that trapped between the layers of rubber there was a woven mesh of steel.

  In anticipation Shaun turned his attention to the other grey, cast iron mass that sat next to the radiators. In his early days in the British Navy he had seen lots of them but in the last ten or twenty years or so he couldn't recall seeing one, but he knew what it was. It was a massive, high pressure water pump. He knelt beside it and rubbed away at the brass plaque screwed near the base. There was the original serial number, date and rating.

  'Wow,' exclaimed Shaun. ‘Four thousand five hundred gallons per minute, you're a monster,' he smiled, 'but do you still work?' he asked.

  Shaun returned to the pickup that Marco had loaned him and collected his two tool boxes. He reckoned that the young guy still slouched in the fancy chair didn't even notice his passing. Shaun started work on the diesel engine. He selected a socket, clicked it into the wrench and took out all the nuts holding the rocker box in place. A tap with the small leather-faced mallet freed the grip of the steel cover on the gasket to reveal the row of valve springs and valves. They were all covered in thick black oil the consistency of treacle!

  'Good sign,' Shaun said to himself.

  He wedged the tip of a screwdriver into the end spring and rested the shaft on the top of the next one. Shaun applied just enough pressure to check that the valve was free. He could feel it slide up and down in its sleeve. He checked all the other valves.

  'So far so good,' he said to himself.

  Shaun removed the six injectors that delivered the fuel to the six cylinders. They were dirty but he had seen far worse. He laid them in a row inside the rocker cover. The same socket that had removed the rocker cover fitted the side cowling and he removed it easily.

  'I wonder if the priming handle is still around?' he asked himself.

  Shaun was aware that a priming handle, like a starting handle for an old car, was used to turn over the engine manually. There would be a narrow slot in the starting handle tube that slid over a corresponding spindle and slot on the engine shaft. A brass or soft metal blank of metal, or key, would fit into the two slots so the engine could be turned. It was this attention to detail for which Moffat & Co. was renowned. If there was a problem with the engine or the pump the soft metal would shear and there would be no damage to the engine or pump. Replacing a small metal key was infinitely cheaper than repairing the damage from a seized engine or pump!

  Shaun started to rummage in the spaces around the engine and pump. It was a long shot but worth a few minutes of his time. He pulled aside years of accumulated rubbish and there it was! Wedged behind the engine block was a sack containing the priming handle and half a dozen brass blanks. These were the keys he needed to turn the engine over. He slipped the key into the slot of the handle and then onto the engine spindle and started to turn the engine over. With the injectors removed there was no compression and so the engine should turn over easily. At first there was no movement and he feared it was seized solid. However, turning over a big engine, by hand, takes some effort. In the confines of the space he had created Shaun took a deep breath, tensed his arm and shoulder and applied pressure; nothing happened. Shaun released his grip, repositioned his feet and put both hands on the handle. He took another deep breath and heaved. This time the engine turned and continued to turn.

  ‘So, my beauty, you were just teasing me,’ smiled Shaun as he continued turning the engine over.

  Shaun replaced the fuel injectors, rocker cover and cowling and turned his attention to the pump. He removed the inlet manifold to expose the first impeller and stuck his fingers into the space. He could feel the still sticky gel that coated the impeller blades. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed:

  ‘Preserving fluid, this is looking good,’ he said to himself.

  He removed the case iron side cover to expose the complex array of gear wheels and rubber belts. Shaun could just fit the priming handle to the exposed spindle. Compared to turning over the six cylinder engine the pump was almost effortless. For a moment Shaun was tempted to wind up the handle and see how fast the pump would spin. He resisted the temptation since one or more of the rubber belts could be damaged. Shaun sat back on the floor, his back resting against a pile of boxes and crates.

  ‘I reckon I can get you back to full working order,’ he mused.

  Shaun got to his feet and reassembled the pump. He was just about to turn and collect his tool boxes when he decided to check the other spaces around
the engine and pump.

  ‘If they left the priming handle and keys what else did they leave?’ he asked himself.

  Leaning against the corrugated iron wall were several lengths of water pipe, each about two metres long; Shaun pulled them to one side.

  ‘I don't believe it,’ he exclaimed.

  Chapter 13

  A serious piece of kit

  Shaun had uncovered the nozzle of a water cannon and next to it stood the cast iron pedestal onto which it fitted. He moved to pick up the nozzle. It was well over a metre in length. It had that characteristic bulge near the base, like a giant snail shell, that held the final impeller which imparted the last bit of pressure before the water shot from the nozzle. It was heavy and he rested it on his knee and turned it in his hands. This time he didn't need to lick his thumb and rub the metal surface. He knew the last section of the nozzle was brass. He propped it against the wall and inspected the pedestal. Shaun could see how the nozzle fitted onto the pedestal; it looked complete. He could also see a dull brass plate screwed to the pedestal near the base. Shaun guessed it would reveal the same information as on the pump. This was an amazing find.

  Shaun knew the folklore surrounding the name of Jim Moffat. At the outbreak of World War II Jim had been released from his engineering apprenticeship and joined the Merchant Navy. He had worked in the engine room of ships in the Atlantic convoys and had been on one of the first Liberty ships which were mass produced by the Americans. The problem was that the first Liberty ships leaked like sieves and the one Jim was on had its pumps working flat out before they left port! In mid-Atlantic the incoming water was overcoming the pumps when, according to legend, Jim had a brainwave. He dismantled a large reciprocal pump, made a template for a vane of a centrifugal fan, cut out blanks of sheet steel from it, hammered them into the shape of a tulip petal and brazed them onto the spindle of the pump. He reassembled the pump and the water shot out at twenty times the previous rate. The only problem was that the makeshift mini-turbine wasn't balanced. As the cast steel spindle rotated it started to vibrate and risked shaking itself to bits! According to the story Jim drilled out the hole in the case iron casing, machined and fitted a bronze bush and the pump ran for days. It pumped out the bilges before it seized. On subsequent voyages Jim refined the concept of the centrifugal pump and set up Moffat & Co. after the war.