We had another victim of the gold-mania with us in the person of a bald-headed Irish bookbinder. Of all the gentle enthusiasts I have ever met, he was the most extraordinary. He had just returned from a particularly disastrous prospecting trip to the newly discovered gold-field euphoniously termed ‘the Demon’s Kantoor;’ and previous to that, he had made equally unsatisfactory migrations into Swazieland, the Delagoa Bay, and other regions, returning from each of them ragged, penniless, but happy, to recruit his finances with a spell of work at his trade in the towns, whilst devising some fresh scheme of martyrdom for the cause of the glittering metal that had bewitched him. He was a devout Protestant, and would gravely rebuke any who gave way to the very common colonial vice of hard swearing; and during our halts by the wayside, generally stole away to any available shade, and taking forth from the bosom of his ragged red shirt a book of devotion, would read therein, heedless of the shouts and laughter of the drivers and the screams of the mules; though, to be sure, I have reason to believe that the precious volume contained a good deal about ‘the gold of Ophir’ and ‘the land of Midian.’ He admitted, with a genial smile, that he had dug a grave for the fruits of six months’ self-denying labour amid the hillocks and boulders of the Demon’s Kantoor; but he hoped by about a year’s industry in Cape Town to realise sufficient to enable him to penetrate into the Kalahari Desert, where, if he escaped the poisoned arrow of the Bushman, or the slow death from starvation or thirst, he was perfectly certain of finding nuggets of wondrous size, and ‘rotten reef’ worth fabulous amounts. Indeed, so happy was he at the prospect of his good fortune, that in the fullness of his heart, he sought to raise the spirits of a dark, melancholy young man, by offering to share it with him. But the latter only shook his head and buried his face in his hands, being engaged just then in a retrospect of his fallen fortunes, from which nothing but an occasional fit of assumed reckless levity could rouse him. Poor fellow! He was leaving every farthing he had in the world—the remnant of a noble patrimony—in a worthless diamond mine in the vicinity of Kimberley; and he was haunted with the memory of a golden-haired wife and two blue-eyed children on whom the ‘camp-fever’ had laid its deadly hand.
As for the light-hearted actor, who, by some strange mischance, had found himself left on ‘the Fields’ with the theatre closed and the company gone, and had just raised enough by the sale of his wardrobe to ‘catch a storm,’ as he expressed it, to waft him to Cape Town—he could not understand what despair or earnestness meant. His delight was to astonish the Kaffirs and half-breeds, as they crouched around the fires at night, with extravagant selections from the transpontine drama. He would make their eyes roll and their teeth chatter by holding converse, in sepulchral tones, with the incorporeal air, and then set them all grinning with glee at some fanciful imitation of domestic animals. He was never tired of telling stories of his wanderings, and joined heartily in the laughter at some ludicrous blunder which had for the nonce involved him in ruin. I am afraid he was not very particular as to his method of getting out of scrapes, for he related with great glee how, being deserted by a manager in Japan, he and a brother artist got up an acrobatic performance for the benefit of the natives. As neither of them knew anything about the business, the grumbling was excessive; and the climax was reached when, having attained to some ‘spread-eagle’ position on the framework they had erected on the stage, and being quite unable to get down gracefully, he let go, and fell with a crash. ‘We then,’ he said, ‘announced an interval of ten minutes, secured the receipts from the innocent heathen at the “Pay-here” box, and—fled the city!’ He had gone to the Diamond Fields, because he had been told he could make ‘kegs of dollars’ there; and he trusted in chance or good fortune to convey him to Australia.
Despite the coarse food and its coarser preparation, the nights spent upon the ground beneath the wagons, the awful shaking over the mountain tracks, the dust, the thirst, the intolerable heat, there are many pleasant recollections of that memorable excursion. But when I see the young, the hearty, the strong, setting off, in the pride of their manhood, in search of that prize which flattering Hope assures them waits in distant lands for enterprise and courage to secure, I wonder how many will escape the dangers of ‘flood and field,’ to undertake, broken in spirit, bankrupt in health and wealth, the journey back from Eldorado.
STEEL.
Steel, we are frequently and emphatically reminded, is the material of the future. Passing from assertions respecting the time to come, let us concern ourselves with the present and the past of the material, and inquire why and wherefore steel should be held up so prominently as destined to make its mark in the future. Every age has stamped for its own not only a certain style of architecture or a peculiar class of construction, but it has also impressed into its service different materials, by means of which it has carried out those designs to which it has given birth. As formerly wood gave place to iron, so now, slowly yet surely, is the use of iron waning before the enhanced advantages accruing from steel in large constructive works. As ductile as iron, and possessed in a superior degree of tenacity, more uniform and compact, it is not a matter of surprise that steel should have largely usurped the position formerly occupied by iron in the engineering and constructive world, or that engineers and architects should gladly avail themselves of such a material in their designs, more especially when they desire to combine the maximum of strength and security with the minimum of weight and mass. So slight is the difference in appearance between rolled iron and rolled steel, that the casual observer will be unable to distinguish between the two substances. A certain amount of experience and skill is requisite before the eye becomes sufficiently educated to appreciate the appearance presented by each material. Nor should we omit to notice a method both simple and expeditious by which all doubts may be set at rest. A drop of diluted nitric acid placed on a piece of steel will at once separate the carbon in the steel, producing a black stain on its surface. On iron, no such effect will result.
The extensive works for manufacturing steel in England, Wales, Scotland, and on the continent, amply testify to the growth and vigour of the industry; and if further proof is wanted, it is supplied by the fact of the conversion of their plant by existing ironworks, to enable them to turn out steel. Such steps—though frequently producing financial distress, happy if only temporary—show the direction in which the commerce of the present day is moving.
That steel should so speedily overcome the initial difficulties incident to the introduction of every new material, adduces important evidence in its favour. In shipbuilding, for example, the inconvenience and delay occasioned by employing steel side by side with iron presented a formidable barrier to its use, the alternate demand for iron and steel built vessels causing no small confusion in the yards. The gradual and, before long, probable abandonment of iron in this class of constructions, is rapidly enabling shipbuilders to lay themselves out for steel, and steel only. We should not omit to notice the employment of steel plates, one-sixteenth of an inch in thickness, for the ‘skin’ of torpedo launches, a use to which the lightness and tenacity of such plates eminently adapt them.
The effective and systematic manner in which it is now customary in large works to test all steel previous to its despatch, has aided in no small degree to remove the feeling of doubt and uncertainty which was attached to the material on its introduction. There hung around steel an insecurity and a novelty, which, until dissipated, caused a feeling of distrust that might have proved fatal to its extended use, had not precautions been taken by its manufacturers to demonstrate the consistency and reliability of the article they sought to bring into the market. For the purpose of making these tests, a special machine is provided, usually driven by steam. A strip from the plate to be tested is placed in ‘jaws’ at each end; the machine is then set in motion, the strain on the test-piece being gradually increased until its ultimate tensile strength is reached, and it breaks—a travelling pointer indicating the pressure exerted by the machine on the steel test-piece at the moment of fracture. Thus the ultimate tensile strength per square inch and also the elasticity of the plate under manipulation are ascertained.
In order to check these and similar tests, one or more inspectors are stationed at the manufacturers’ works by the government, the company, or the engineer in whose designs the steel is to be employed. The Admiralty employ a number of men to watch the tests of all the steel destined for the royal dockyards; a similar class of inspectors perform a like task, under Lloyd’s rules, for the private yards and the vessels of our merchant service; whilst every engineer under whose directions steel is being made places his assistants—their number varying with the importance and extent of the work—to see that these tests are faithfully carried out, that they duly fulfil the conditions he has laid down, and to report to him the quality, quantity, and progress of the material under their charge.
Accurate records are made of every test to which the steel has been subjected, and the results of the behaviour of the material are carefully noted. Hence, should any event occur to call special attention to any particular bar, its history can be traced from the very first to the moment it took up its position in the finished structure for which it was destined.