The Boss's Boy

by Roy F. Chandler

  Donovan and the Baron came quickly, and Matt asked, "Can we fix that, Alex?"

  "I'm not sure, Matt. Getting mortar to hold and harden in below-freezing weather is not the right way. We might be able to heat the rocks over fires or maybe warm the mortar, but I would have to talk it over with our stonemasons before saying for certain."

  "How about the Germans, Deiter? We have some that were masons in Europe. I mean the ones that have been cutting stone for our creek dam. They might know something."

  The Baron said, "I will ask, but this is huge damage, and I would not accept the task until you are sure we can deliver."

  Matt and the engineer Holcomb believed five piers were in desperate need of repair, and Thorpe made no argument.

  "Can you take on the job and complete it in time, Mister Miller? Thorpe was clearly anxious—as he should be. Losing a bridge would not be a small thing.

  Matt chose to speak honestly and without pretence. "I am not sure, Mister Thorpe. First, I will have to speak with my masons, and they will have to come out and look over the task. That will take some hours."

  Matt scrubbed at his chin in thought. "Give me those hours, and I will have a firm answer for you."

  He added, probably unnecessarily, "This will cost money, Mister Thorpe. We must stop all that we are doing and planned to do. There will be teams to hire and men to relocate."

  Thorpe gritted his teeth. "I understand all that you are saying and all of the thoughts behind your words, Mister Miller. If you do not grind the Commonwealth's nose in it, we must agree. We have no time to bargain, but Mister Miller, I can add that if you are successfully helpful in this matter, we at Harrisburg will remember, and we will be in your debt."

  The man shrugged in resignation and acceptance. "Assuming it survives the spring floods, I can see that this bridge will be in need of great rebuild. When those contracts are issued, your companies will be remembered, Mister Miller."

  Matt had only two foremen, Alex Donovan and Mickey McFee—plus the Baron. He gathered them at the headquarters and included one Irishman and two Germans who claimed to be experienced in cold weather building. He explained what was needed.

  "Most of the damage is about five feet above the ice—above where most things hit during normal fast and high water. As long as the ice holds, we can work on that damage from sleds or rafts. If we are not done before the ice starts out, we will have to work from above, and I fear the water will come up fast and probably higher than it ever has before. That high water might help save the bridge because out-going ice and floating trees will strike above our repairs—at least we can hope that will be the case.

  "Some rock damage is very high on the piers because stones closer to the water fell loosening everything above them. We will need a lot of stone to replace all that has disappeared, but I think we have enough at our dam site. We will use that stone, if you believe it is suitable."

  Alex asked, "How many men do you want to put on this, Matt? If you are going to take the job, I think we should go at it as hard as possible." He paused as if judging the weather. "We could get a warming tomorrow, and if we do, we might have only a day or two to work."

  Matt was clear. "We want everyone willing and able, Alex. You and Mickey choose five crews. Each one will have a pillar and, if we have them, each crew will need a man who knows how to build a stone wall."

  One of the Germans chose to speak, and Matt recognized him as Fritz Frownfelter, a stone worker from their dam preparations.

  Matt asked, "Herr Frownfelter?" But he had to wait for Deiter Haas's interpretation.

  Frownfelter said, "We should use German mortar, Mister Miller. Nothing else will set properly in this cold."

  Recognizing everyone's lack of under-standing, Frownfelter went on. "German mortar, as we call it, is used in the north of our country where it is often below freezing. The technique is to grind and filter the cement and sand even finer than usual. Egg whites in quantity are beaten into the water, but the mortar mix is kept very dry. The mortar must be so dry that it will only grip the stone. Wet mortar will freeze, and that means the mortar will swell in place and will be crumbly when dry. The drier the mortar we use, the less swelling will occur, and the stronger the stones will stand.

  "That means that we must build genuine stone walls, dry wall you call it, that will support itself without mortar, and that will require careful stonecutting and fitting. Our mortar will add to the strength of our repair, but it will not be the walls' only support."

  Matt asked, "You can mix this mortar, Fritz?"

  "Yah, Herr Miller."

  Matt turned to everyone. "Do we have enough stonemasons?" The foremen believed they did.

  "All right, we will get started. Alex, you and Mickey divide up the men. I want you to choose a foreman for each team, and I want those foremen to meet me here at the sleigh in an hour.

  "When they arrive, we will go out to the bridge and begin making plans and deciding how many teams of oxen or horses we will need.

  "I will listen to those men and return to pass the word to Lukey who will relay it to everyone. Meanwhile, get started on rounding up draft animals, sleds, and stones."

  Donovan and McFee disappeared. The Baron went to add a second horse to the sleigh. Matt wished they had ice shoes for the animals. He wanted no broken legs or tangled harness.

  Lukey said, "I've got to say that you make up your mind fast, Matt. I will add that you had better be right. This is going to cost serious wages and rentals for animals and sleds."

  Matt tried to sound positive, but it took some stilling of the flutters in his breast. What would his father and China say?

  Matt kept his words light. "Money is of no use unless it is used, Lukey."

  Bates' words were heavy. "Your Uncle Brascomb would not exactly agree, Boss's Boy."

  Chapter 18

  Mister Horace Thorpe had returned to Harrisburg to report their bridge findings and his employment of workers to begin immediate repairs.

  The Miller Company had requested a high price, but without options, Thorpe had agreed. Now he would have to convince his superiors that his bargain had been necessary.

  Examining the frozen river and the deep and hard-packed snow, the legislators and money dispensers would not be difficult to persuade. If the thaw arrived in full force, flooding was certain. On how high the flood would rise, no one dared gamble. Having been warned that the bridge could collapse, no one would dare to obstruct Thorpe's repairs. Of course, if Horace Thorpe's efforts failed, and the bridge was destroyed, the onus would be Thorpe's to bear.

  Thomas Holcomb had remained behind to oversee the repairs. He had requested a room at the hotel on the Duncannon square, but none had been available. Young Mister Miller had offered the senior Miller's small apartment, pending his father's return from Philadelphia, and Holcomb had gratefully accepted.

  The village was active throughout the night, and from his window, Holcomb saw fires built on the ice near each damaged pier. Sleds and wagons seemed constantly marching onto the river bearing loads that were unidentifiable in the wintry dark.

  Holcomb carried a short spyglass, which he used to closely examine details beyond easy reach. With morning light and his glass to his eye, the engineer focused on the mile-distant bridge.

  Astonishing! The structure crawled with workmen, and sleds were crossing the ice. Those going carried stones of great weight and were pulled by powerful horse teams or braces of oxen. Holcomb hurried his morning toilet and made his way up the slippery hill to the Miller headquarters.

  On the steps of the headquarters, Holcomb again paused to use his telescope. From the greater height he could examine the ongoing work more clearly. He determined that workers were also moving along the bridge to assist in the repairs. Fires blazed on the ice, and Holcomb could see blackened circles where fires had been moved as ice melted. A few men had paused to warm themselves at the blazes, and the engineer saw a man toss large logs onto a fire to keep it high. How thick was
the ice? Two or more feet, Holcomb surmised. That should require days of warm weather to break loose.

  Within the headquarters building, Mister Miller and his clerk were absent, but a lean-figured older man with battered features warmed himself before the iron stove.

  Holcomb said, "Mister Miller? I am Thomas Holcomb, Commonwealth Engineer."

  The man smiled and said, "I'm not Miller, Mister Holcomb, I am China Smith, the Captain's right hand man. I just arrived from the county seat. Word that the Millers were tearing down the bridge came in before dawn, and I about wore out my animal getting back here." Smith again smiled and added, "I figured I had better find out what I was missing."

  He gestured toward the river bridge, "I see that I am not needed. Matt has the situation moving and organized as if we had done the work a hundred times. If this cold will hold on another day or two, I judge Matt can beat the thaw and the breakup that will arrive shortly thereafter."

  Again the smile, "That, I think, will be satisfying to all."

  Holcomb was pleased by Smith's confidence, but his real interest lay in the work going on, and China Smith recognized his anxiety.

  "Let's go down to the river and get a ride out to the work. Lukey Bates was here earlier, and I am repeating his thoughts to you, but we ought to see for ourselves, agreed?"

  On their way to the river, Smith, who insisted on being called China—apparently a nickname in common use—brought them to a structure within which men labored industriously. The workers were German, and Holcomb could understand their language—acquired during engineering studies. German engineering was considered the backbone of the profession—at least until recent years it had been that way. The New York and Pennsylvania canal constructions and some of the bridges now being built surpassed many European projects of earlier times. American engineering was now being taught, but the German language was still essential to read the established books on the subject.

  Miller workmen were regrinding masonry cement into dust-like consistency. The workman named Frownfelter explained again the concept of dry mortar, which was new to China Smith and particularly interesting to the engineer.

  As kegs were filled, the powdery cement was transferred to a nearby shed where other men had sifted sand to a consistency almost as fine as the cement. The group combined the cement and sand in proper measures and mixed them thoroughly before bagging the mix and sledding it to the building sites.

  At the bridge, everything was done at a trot, and Holcomb marveled. Commonwealth workmen were almost inherently unable to maintain anything swifter than a casual stroll. Miller Irishmen and Germans hopped about like fleas on a hot skillet.

  Men shaping stone bent to their tasks and did not look up. Pails of egg whites were placed near warming fires, and Holcomb expected every laying hen in the county had contributed. Water was bucketed through ice holes, the eggs were added, and the mortar was mixed. Mortar carriers hustled, and there was no idle chatter. Smith and Holcomb found Matt Miller helping hoist a heavy stone into place. They watched as mortar was slapped on top of a lower rock and the new stone thunked solidly into place.

  There were "Yahs" of acceptance, and the workmen went their way. Matt Miller turned to greet the arrivals.

  Matt's face was lined with weariness, but his eyes were alert and intense.

  China asked, "Have you been out here all night, Matt?"

  "Almost." Matt turned to Holcomb and Smith. "Tad Shuler came in just before dark, and he said the weather will change today. We've no time to waste."

  Holcomb had to ask, "Who is Tad Shuler?"

  China answered, "Tad's an old woodsy who brings us fresh meat. He is one of Matt's finds, but you never know when he will arrive or depart. He lives over in Pfoutz Valley, has a cabin and a wife, but all he does is hunt and roam—I've heard."

  "And he is a weather predictor?"

  Matt had his turn. "Tad Shuler almost lives out-of-doors. If Tad says it is going to warm, I believe him, and we work as if he is going to be right. Getting started in the dark was hell, but these are Miller men, and they can do almost anything. Now, we are well into it, and given decently cold weather today and tonight, we will do the job."

  Holcomb noted that Miller spoke clearly and that nearby workmen heard his words. There was no telling how many of the laborers understood the English, but some would, and spirits would rise at their boss's appreciation and respect—and Matt Miller's men would work a touch harder to deserve it. Holcomb recognized good leadership, and his hopes also rose.

  Men had chipped away ice around the base of the five damaged piers, and Holcomb saw them applying mortar to the lowest blocks they could reach. He said "That is not part of our contract, Mister Miller."

  Matt did not need to look. "We are making mortar faster than we need it, and the stone cutting is slowest. There is no use having these men simply stand around waiting. That stonework can use the pointing up, and it will take nothing from our agreed upon repair. Consider it a bonus, Mister Holcomb."

  Holcomb did, and his appreciation of the Miller Company leaped.

  They visited each pier, and the work was organized the same at each. Men chipped at huge stones with chisels and sledges. A-frame hoists were positioned with their feet embedded in the ice and strong tackle rigged to lift the stones. Crude log scaffolding leaned against the piers, and men worked on them measuring and final-fitting stones of hundreds of weight.

  A sand-filled sled arrived with fires built inside and stew boiling in huge iron kettles. The stew was ladled into wooden bowls and proffered to appreciative hands. Egg yolks were scrambled on a flat steel plate, and men shoveled hasty, on-the-move breakfasts. Men drank coffee or tea from Mrs. Black's white crockery cups that were hastily rinsed in ice water between drinkers.

  Men relieved themselves on the ice, but always downstream with added comments of sending Baltimore special gifts, but the work never faltered. If a man took a break, another stepped into the job. Holcomb remained impressed and wondered how such willingness was maintained among men very tired from a day of work and then a full night on the bridge job.

  Smith and Holcomb were picked up by Lukey Bates in his sled and transported to shore. Bates returned to the work site, and the older men dragged up the hill to the warmth of the headquarters where they sank gratefully into comfortable chairs, and China stoked more life into the stove.

  China scrubbed his hands together and said, "I don't like the cold anymore, Mister Holcomb. When this bridge work is done, I will be glad to greet the warm weather, no matter how high the river rises."

  "And this year it will rise high, China." Holcomb liked the easy familiarity of the nickname.

  "This late in the year the thaw will come like lightning, and people living near the water are going to be flooded out. My guess is that the entire first street of this village will go downstream."

  China agreed. "They've been told a hundred times, Mister Holcomb, and most have been flooded before. They just keep rebuilding, and they will again. It's their choice, so I don't worry about them."

  "They will come to your door seeking help, China. Those kind always do."

  "Yep, but they won't get it from me. God helps those who help themselves, and those folks don't hold up their end. It'd be best if they floated on down to Baltimore and didn‘t try rebuilding around here."

  Matt appeared at noon with a crew of worn-down workers heading for their bunks until they replaced those who would build on until dark and into the night.

  Before he flopped onto his bed in his room behind the headquarters, Matt asked, "Have you been outside in the last half hour?"

  Neither man had. Matt said, "The wind is out of the south. It is warm, and the snow is already wet. The thaw is starting right now, so we haven't won this battle yet."

  Holcomb said, "Oh my. I had hoped for a few days." He went to the door to feel for himself. After a moment he was back. "No question about it, if that warm wind continues, it will melt snow and ice as if it were a fire."<
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  Matt stood in his doorway as he said, "We have two things going for us. The first is that it will probably get colder tonight as the sun goes down— maybe cold enough to stop melting.

  "The second is that the warm air will help set our mortar and, we will need every minute we get. As you know, Mister Holcomb, fresh mortar is as weak as if it were only sand. We need a day, or better two days, for our mud to harden. After that? Well, we will see, won't we?"

  Holcomb rose during the night. He saw lanterns on the bridge, but no great fires burned on the ice. He wondered why because firelight would have helped.

  In dawn's light, the engineer discovered why there had been no fires. Inches deep water covered the river ice, and as he watched, Holcomb saw that the water flowed.

  A river on top of the river; Holcomb had not seen it before, and certainly the permanent ice would be melting at a ferocious rate. The two-foot thick ice would soon burst free, rise to the surface, and perhaps come downstream in great rafts that would strike the bridge pilings with grinding force. The engineer feared their frantic work would be in vain.

  When he stepped outside, Holcomb found himself in slush. Flowing water sliced small canyons in the deeper snow, and the small rivulets became rushing streams as they approached the river. Big flooding was about to happen, and anything on low ground along the Susquehanna River was about to be swept away.

  A single sleigh remained on the river ice, and Holcomb assumed that the many rafts and sleds had been pulled to safety. They would be on high ground somewhere below Duncan's Island. No doubt the rented teams and wagons would already be on their way home to familiar barns and stalls.

  Even as the engineer watched, the last sleigh slopped through inches of water and made its way almost to where he stood. Lukey Bates, appearing as exhausted as his horse, drove the sleigh ashore and halted beside Thomas Holcomb.