Bert Wilson, Wireless Operator

by J. W. Duffield

“Oi wouldn’t be su’prised at ahl, at ahl,” agreed his companion. “The young felly has a head for engines, an’ no mistake. He’s got a lot o’ book larnin’ about ’em, too.”

It was indeed as the stokers said, and a strong friendship and mutual regard had sprung up between the grizzled old engineer and the enthusiastic wireless operator. As our readers doubtless remember, Bert had been familiar with things mechanical since boyhood, and during his college course had kept up his knowledge by a careful reading of the latest magazines and periodicals given over to mechanical research. Needless to say, his ideas were all most modern, while on the part of the chief engineer there was a tendency to stick to the tried and tested things of mechanics and fight very shy of all inventions and innovations.

However, each realized that the other knew what he was talking about, and each had a respect for the opinions of the other. This did not prevent their having long arguments at times, however, in which a perfect shower and deluge of technical words and descriptions filled the air. It seldom happened, though, that either caused the other to alter his original stand in the slightest degree, as is generally the case in all arguments of any sort.

But the engineer was always ready to explain things about the ponderous engines that Bert did not fully understand, and there were constant problems arising from Bert’s inspection of the beautifully made machinery that only the engineer, of all on board, could solve for him. Bert always found a fascination in watching the powerful engines and would sit for hours at a time, when he was at leisure, watching each ingenious part do its work, with an interest that never flagged.

He loved to study the movements of the mighty pistons as they rose and fell like the arm of some immense giant, and speculate on the terrific power employed in every stroke. The shining, smooth, well-oiled machinery seemed more beautiful to Bert than any picture he had ever seen, and the regular click and chug of the valves was music. Every piece of brass, nickel and steel work in the engine room was spotlessly clean, and glittered and flickered in the glow from the electric lights.

Sometimes he and MacGregor would sit in companionable silence for an hour at a time, listening to the hiss of steam as it rushed into the huge cylinders, and was then expelled on the upward stroke of the piston. MacGregor loved his engines as he might a pet cat or dog, and often patted them lovingly when he was sure nobody was around to observe his actions.

Once the engineer had taken Bert back along the course of the big propeller shaft to where it left the ship, water being prevented from leaking in around the opening by means of stuffing boxes. At intervals the shaft was supported by bearings made of bronze, and as they passed them the old man always passed his hand over them to find out if by any chance one was getting warm on account of the friction caused by lack of proper lubrication.

“For it’s an afu’ thing,” he said to Bert, shaking his head, “to have a shaft break when you’re in the ragin’ midst of a storm. It happened to me once, an’ the second vayage I evir took as chief engineer, and I hae no desire t’ repeat the experience.”

“What did you do about it?” inquired Bert.

“We did the anly thing there was to be done, son. We set the whole engine room force drillin’ holes thrae the big shaft, and then we riveted a wee snug collar on it, and proceeded on our way. Two days and two nights we were at it, with the puir bonnie ship driftin’ helpless, an’ the great waves nigh breakin’ in her sides. Never a wink o’ sleep did I get during the hale time, and none of the force under me got much more. Ye may believe it was a fair happy moment for all of us when we eased the steam into the low pressure cylinder and saw that the job was like to hold until we got tae port. Nae, nae, one experience like thot is sufficient tae hold a mon a lifetime.”