Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 April 1886 — LIFE UNDER WATER. [ARTICLE]

LIFE UNDER WATER.

An Old Engineer Relates Some of His Experiences. “Life under water monotonous, eh? Well, I guess not. At least I don’t : find it so. I’ve been there fourteen years, off and on, and have always managed to find enough to occupy my time and attention.” The speaker was an engineer on one of the great ocean steamers, and as he made that remark to a New York reporter, while standing on the pier before his vessel, he readjusted his loose blouse with an awkward jerk and gave his head a confident twitch. “A fellow’ needn’t let time lag on him anywhere if he only has his eyes open,” he added. “Now, to some it would seem almost unbearable to watch the continuous throb of the machinery of a large steamer and hear nothing but the everlasting ‘click, click,’ of the piston rods and levers, but to me they sound like music. I’ve become partly dulled and insensible to them, but even now I often sit still and watch and listen to their never-varying beats with that sort of satisfaction which a musician feels when he runs his fingers mechanically yet skillfully over the keys of his instrument. His satisfaction arises from the fact that he has his instrument enti ely under his control, and mine comes from a similar cause. With a touch of my finger I could propel thousands of tons at almost any speed through the water, or send a hundred lives into eternity. Indeed, I feel that I am the sole responsible party on board for the lives of the passengers, as it remains with me to keep my machinery in such perfect condition as to withstand any ordinary sea or rough storm. “And again, I take pride in keeping everything around me shining like burnished gold. If a spot of grease or dirt gets on the rods or handles of any part of the machinery it cannot escape my notice long. I go over every part of the engine twice a day, and rub the brass and steel rods with as much pleasure as though I owned the steamer myself. I sometimes amuse myself in keeping a record of the number of miles we run an hour and comparing it with the records of previous trips. I have on a book in the engine-room a curious table of dates and figures, which shows to me the exact time for every mile made by different steamers I have engineered across the ocean for the last fourteen years. If anything more than usual occurs I jot it down opposite the date, and so make a sort of dairy of it. It speaks volumes to me, and recalls many interesting memories. For instance, I was looking through it the other day, and I found opposite Nov. 10, 1875, a reference to a visit from Chinamen. The incident was recalled to my mind in a moment, and I laughed heartily* over it myself. This is what it meant: One day while lying in port we were visited by several Chinamen who were anxious to inspect the ship. They were an ignorant set, and had never seen any machinery worked by steam. The captain was a good-natured fellow, and allowed them to come below, although they experienced some doubts as to the advisability of so doing. They were very timid, and it took some time for me to convince them that the machinery was harmless. Finally I got two of them to come close to the heavy driving-rod, which you know on a large vessel is an enormous piece of iron. Suddenly, without warning, it gave a start forward, and, accompanied by a loud puff of steam, leaped fully ten feet above our heads. Angry at my assistant for letting on steam without my knowledge, I turned to speak to him when my attention was attracted toward the stairway. The last two Chinamen of the party were making frantic endeavors to jump up half a dozen steps at a time. The rest had disappeared, and before I could get on deck the whole crowd had got into their boat and started for the shore. No amount of persuation could ever get them to return to that ship, which they claimed was alive. It was a m‘ean trick, but it has afforded me many a good laugh since.”