The Boss's Boy

by Roy F. Chandler

  Iron was news. "Are there mines, Pa? Are they dumping into the Juniata?"

  "No, no mines yet, but there might be. There are a number of simple furnaces starting up that are able to get pig iron from the ore, so probably. . .?" Big Matt let the thought run.

  The Boss's Boy returned to his story telling. "The mines are using their own coal to run their steam engines. The coal crushers and the graders are all steam powered, and they're claiming that stationary engines on wheels can haul loads that horses can't manage."

  Dead serious, Matt added, "They point out that an engine doesn't eat when it isn't working, and although engineers and mechanics have to be hired, they need only a few of them, and all of the wranglers, the animals, their feed and their farriers are gone for good.

  "The way I understand it is that they get a fire started under a boiler by using wood. When the flames get hot, they dump on coal and it catches. They claim the coal burns really hot and lasts a long time.

  "Compared to wood, coal doesn't take much storage space either, and it can sit out in the weather—which isn't good for wood at all. Most of the trees are gone for miles around the mines, anyway—used for shoring up mine tunnels, mostly. By using coal, most firewood chopping and hauling is eliminated."

  Matt paused to shake his head. "Those coal regions are really ugly, Pa. Everything is destroyed and dug up. I doubt anything will ever grow up there again.

  "Anyway, once you have steam coming out of the boiler, you pipe it to whatever you want to turn. On some engines, the steam enters against a piston that gets pushed to its end. A valve opens when the piston strikes it, and the steam enters from the other end and pushes the piston back. On other engines, the piston is pushed by the steam but gets moved back by the weight of a huge fly wheel that keeps things moving until the piston shoves again. They even have engines that have more than one piston, and they have tremendous power.

  "Hook wheels or some kind of gears to the revolving piston shaft and you can move heavy things including the engines, or so they claim. The rolling engines I saw didn't work all that well, but those engine-men believe in what they are doing, and the bigger mines are turning from horses and waterpower to steam.

  "Most of the engines on wheels that move coal have been fired by wood, but everyone up there believes that coal is coming on strong. One of the foremen loading along the Schuylkill River told me that there were a hundred barges shipping coal to Philadelphia, and a canal, and maybe a railroad, were being opened so that coal could be sent cross country to New York.

  "The same foreman said that big ships were carrying coal from the Pennsylvania fields to cities down south. It turned out that Uncle Brascomb already knew about it. He said the Feather Company had everything sewed up, and there was no room in the coal shipping business for a small company like ours."

  The older Miller pondered, "A hundred barges? Did you see any of them, Matt?"

  "Well, I didn't see most of them, but there are coal barges running up and down both the Schuylkill and the Delaware."

  China Smith said, "Baltimore would love to have a steady coal source. Once the Susquehanna canal is in, we'll get some of that trade from the mines. Until then, the river is too shallow with too many rocks for most of the year. All we'll get for now is the filthy runoff."

  "You are a believer in the future of coal, China?"

  "I know something about it, Captain. There is coal in Cathay, and they use it for metal working. England has been using coal for heating buildings since long before I went to sea. I expect coal-burning engines on wheels will develop and be useful before too long. If they've got some working now, a few years will see better ones, and even better after that. Yep, coal will get important."

  Matt had an offering. "Some coal is being moved on that railroad from Philadelphia to Columbia and then down the river to Baltimore and even to Annapolis. There are two engines that will run on rails coming in from England. They burn wood and maybe coal and are going to be tested on the Columbia railroad in place of the horses."

  Miller said. "We'll talk more about coal, but I will add that China and I have been looking into the possibility of opening an iron furnace along one of our local creeks where we would have waterpower to turn bellows. Most furnaces melt ore using charcoal, but maybe coal will be a cheaper answer. We'll look into it more later."

  China said, "I don't see how enough iron can be made to use railroads all over the country—whether horse-drawn or steam pulled. And, how can a whole bunch of furnaces make rails that will be so much alike that they will all fit together, and . . .?"

  China shook his head doubtfully. "Railroads will likely stay local." He shook his head again. "I can't imagine what it would cost to put in railroads through this mountain country."

  Matt said, "A man told me that the railroad engines can't pull uphill because their wheels skid on the smooth rails, but another claimed that eventually railroads will win out over canals because a railroad will be able to run all winter."

  Smith was skeptical. "A steam engine that can't run uphill will be able to hold onto rails frozen with ice and maybe buried in snow? Something is not right there, little Matt."

  With just a slight trepidation, little Matt chose to change the subject. "I noticed a lot of logs floating down the river, Pa."

  "Yep, they come by all the time. Men out fishing have to watch out for the floaters, and almost every day logs get stuck behind the dam just below the Clark's Ferry bridge and have to be cleared away before they make too big a tangle."

  China picked up the story. "Whole mountains are being logged out up along the west branch of the Susquehanna. In the spring, log rafts pass here by the dozens. Some of ‘em are huge with men camping on them so that they can be ready with push poles and sweeps to help the rafts get positioned before curves or spots too shallow to float over. The rest of the year, the river is too shallow, and only smaller rafting makes it through. The cut logs are stored upstream and dozens get loose and come down—serious hazards to the ferries, and big logs moving fast can damage bridge pilings, but there's nothing that can be done about it."

  Matt had raised the subject so that he could present an idea that had come to him while riding the canal boat.

  "Pa, why couldn't we put a man or two in a small boat. When likely logs come floating into the slow water above the dam, we could hook a line to them and muscle them to where we can use them?"

  China was doubtful. "And what would we do with them, Matt? We could only store so many along the bank before we would have to make our own log-float all the way to Baltimore, and that doesn't sound very profitable to me."

  Matt broke in. "We could just pull them into the slack water behind Halderman's Island, China. We could keep them there until we get our own sawmill going . . . "

  Big Matt said, "Whoa, son. Just what sawmill are you talking about? Are you and Brascomb opening some businesses that I haven't been told about?"

  Little Matt laughed along with his father.

  "That'll be the day, Pa, but seeing all that timber going downstream for somebody else to salvage got me to thinking about how easy it would be to throw a dam across a handy creek, put in an overshot waterwheel hooked to one of those new round saws, and . . ."

  China cut in. "A round saw? What's a round saw?"

  The Boss's Boy had to pause to gather his wits. The talk was going beyond gathering river logs, and he had planned to sort of ease into his overall plan. Too late now, he would have to lay it all out for his father's consideration.

  "Well, there's a new kind of sawmill, or maybe it's just one I haven't seen before. Instead of hooking a ram to vertical saw blades, the mill wheel's shaft is fitted with an iron disk that has saw teeth all around it. The mill wheel turns the saw, and you just feed logs into it making planks about as fast as you can get the logs in place."

  Matt had to stop to smile at his simplifications. "At least that's how the rig I saw worked." He shook his head in recognition of limited knowledge. "I'm sure th
ere is more to it than that, Pa, but I never saw a vertical mill that could begin to turn out perfectly straight planks the way the round saw did."

  The boss asked, "Where did you see this saw- mill, Matt?"

  "Over on the Delaware, Pa. It was run by some Germans, but I don't know who owned it."

  Then with renewed enthusiasm, "Why they just adjusted some stops behind a sort of edging guide and changed the cut to any thickness they wanted. It caught my eye, but I didn't see us getting into the business. Getting logs would take the profit, but if we got our logs darn near free, it could be another thing. So, when I saw the river logs just floating by I thought there might be a new business there."

  Big Matt was nodding interest, but it was China who spoke first. "Captain, we'd better ship this boy out to some distant place. He hasn't been home two hours, and he has already lined up a pair of businesses that need looking into. By tonight we'll have to hire another clerk just to keep track of the schemes young Matt has laid out."

  The father slid back in his chair, so Matt and China did the same. Lukey Bates quit leaning over Matt's shoulder and went to his desk.

  Matt had not expected that much attention would be paid to his ideas, but he had seen his father move fast when others would have pondered and weighed—like Uncle Brascomb always did. That kind of quick, on-the-spot decision-making was what put big Matt Miller out in front and made the Miller's most of their money. So maybe?

  Big Matt seemed to be studying his son, and that made young Matt nervous, but the waiting held hope that the older man really was considering the river coal and sawmill ideas.

  Finally, the Boss got to it. "If we went ahead with the river coal idea, what would we do with the coal, Matt?"

  Matt flushed a little because he did not have that answer well worked out. "We could sell some of it around here, Pa, but I know that locally there isn't much money to buy anything, so we would have to ship most of the coal down the canal to either Philadelphia or Baltimore where people have cash."

  Big Matt nodded agreement. "That is why state contracts for canal building are best. We get cash money without someone wanting to trade for something we will still have to sell.

  "Paying our workers takes regular cash outlays that can put pressure on a business, son, and you keep that in mind. Making sure that we do not get cash-short is Brascomb's specialty, and he earns his pay doing it. Keep that in mind as well when you are thinking hard thoughts about your uncle.

  "So, where will you get men to dig out river coal? And Matt, don't be looking at our regulars. They cost real money and have to produce even more money or they get let go."

  Matt was ready for that part. "I figure we could hire some of the old men that can't work hard anymore. All of them want to help their families, and a lot of them can work as long as they do not have to push real hard. What I would do is provide the boats to work out of and a couple of flats, sort of rafts, to pile the coal on. The coal diggers would get paid by the ton delivered to our balance scales, and they could set their own hours and work or not work as they saw fit."

  China groaned. "I can see it now. I'll have to build the boats and the rafts or nothing will float right."

  Matt grinned. "That was part of my plan all along, China." Matt kept his grin as he added, "If we had a working sawmill, we would have any kind of planks we would need for boats, Pa."

  Big Matt again nodded. "And if we had cheap coal, we might fire iron furnaces with it, mightn't we, son?"

  Little Matt nodded his own head. By golly, his father was thinking of going into the iron business.

  His thoughts turned. Let Uncle Brascomb choke on this kind of risk taking. He hoped his father would let him help with some of it. Matt dreaded the thought of being anchored to books beside Lukey Bates while the interesting and moneymaking stuff was going on up and down the rivers.

  Chapter 6

  When he came to the office, Big Matt could hear the shuffle of feet and fists hitting China's old sea bag. The bag had been stuffed with tanbark and hung from a tree limb, but over the years, young Matt had pounded the canvas into shreds, and Mrs. John McFee had first patched and finally completely covered the bag with cowhide.

  Big Matt could see China's mind following the sounds and judging the work and movements by what he heard.

  The boss turned to Lukey Bates who was deep into his ledgers. "What's little Matt doing out there instead of helping in here, Lukey?"

  Bates turned on his stool and made his thoughts plain. "Matt is about as useful as somebody who can't even read, Mister Miller. His mind wanders, and he makes mistakes—when he doesn't shove everything aside and want to talk about a scheme he has to dig down to Florida or maybe fly to the moon. I make more progress when he is out there dancing around than I do when he is at his desk."

  Big Matt's neck began to swell, so China Smith stuck in a soothing oar. "Lukey's not telling us something we didn't already know, Captain. Matt is not rigged for office work—any more than you are." China's opinion was a clincher, but he went on.

  "You ought to decide he knows enough about the bookkeeping end of the business and send him out where he can sweat and work on ideas. The Lord knows that he has a bucket of them, and some are not too bad."

  China saw the older Miller weighing his words, and Lukey, who would be pleased to have Matt somewhere else, added weight to the argument.

  "Matt could use more experience out on the jobs, Mister Miller. Sooner or later, that is where he will be, and we all know that he won't ever settle down behind a desk."

  Big Matt grumbled as he thought about it. "There isn't much for him to learn out there handling a pick or an ax. He's done all of that already. So . . ."

  China said, "Why don't I turn him over to a different foreman every few days and have them explain what is going on and where his gang is heading."

  Big Matt could see sense in the idea. "That would be smart, China, and while you are setting that up, tell him to stop this boxing exercise. The idea was to teach him enough to defend himself, not to become a pugilist."

  China grinned, "A pugilist? Damn, Skipper, you've got the language down pat—although most of the riffraff in the fight game call us Pugs not . . ."

  "I've got it, Smith, just straighten him out, and get him to doing something useful." Big Matt thought for a long moment, "And see that he doesn't get into a battle with John McFee's boy. That should have ended years ago."

  China turned toward a new scuffle of shadow boxing. "They haven't fought since they were boys before either of them began learning to be pugilists, Captain." Smith rolled the pugilist word as if it tasted good.

  The boss was already turning to other things, but he paused to add, "I've been thinking of making John McFee foreman of a small gang to keep around here, China. Small jobs pop up unexpectedly, and we have to scramble to find workmen. McFee could pick men that can do about anything, and when there is no work waiting we could keep them busy—maybe starting that boatyard up near Benvenue you are so hungry to get to."

  China liked that. The tiny community of Benvenue was perched on the point of Duncan's Island, and with the canals developing, the old seaman figured there would be a demand for well-built canal boats and certainly for boat repairs. If the Miller Company got started now, they would have a leg up on everybody else. There could be some money in the venture—which the Captain recognized or he would not waste time and labor on it. China headed for the training lot thinking about the boat works and wondering who he should send Matt to.

  As China came into view, Matt hammered three hard left hooks into the heavy bag that buckled the leather-bound cylinder in the middle. Although the tanbark filling had packed solidly and more had been added, the Boss's Boy hit hard, and China thought that the bag needed more weight—maybe sand in the bottom?

  The Captain's order that young Matt quit boxing drifted from his thoughts. Young Matt Miller liked it. So did China Smith, and unless the senior Miller twisted their arms, the training would continue�
�perhaps less openly and probably not during a workday.

  China said, "Nice hooks, Matt, but unwrap your hands. We're going upriver for the day."

  Matt was pleased. He had little idea how the canal building had advanced over the summer. The Millers had crews working along the canal line, and there were other interests he would like to look into.

  He said, "Let me change my pants, China. Pa will kill me if I tear up my decent clothes."

  As Matt hurried off, China thought about that. Most men owned two pair of pants. One pair they wore for work. The other was part of their suit and kept for Sunday meetings and funerals. Children were equipped the same, and women wore wash dresses year in and year out.

  Everything everybody owned was mended and patched. If something wore completely out, women sewed new clothes from whatever cloth they could find. Only the three of them, the Captain, little Matt, and himself had store bought clothes. Decently fitting clothing made them stand out, which could be good or bad—depending on the circumstances.

  Success in life, which to most meant having money, was both admired and resented. Wealth was respected but almost universally envied. A young man like the Boss's Boy would do well to dress much like the workers. Envy created hard feelings, and as easily as young Matt Miller fought, a wrong word here or there could have him squaring off against men he would not really wish to fight.

  Matt reappeared in a worn and patched pair of work pants that he had used the summer before. The pants were short in the leg, but almost everyone wore hand-me-downs, and the length would go unremarked.

  They walked the short mile to the Juniata crossing where the community of Benvenue and the first canal lock lay on Duncan's Island. The canal was dug the length of the island, and the great wooden aqueduct that crossed the Juniata River was already filled with water. The new canal turning pool was upriver and across the Juniata aqueduct.

  A boat could depart Columbia, far down the Susquehanna, and, never leaving a canal, work its way up the east side of that great waterway to the Juniata where the boat crossed and the canal resumed on the smaller Juniata River.