Engines of Change: Digging Deeper
By Kevin H. Evans and Karen C. Evans
On the Docks of Copenhagen
August 1636
The heat was stifling today, and the sun beat down like the baker's oven. Bertel Kierulf made clicking sounds at his horses. Their ears flickered towards him, and they leaned into the yoke. With the reins, he guided the horses to settle the bucket into the strait. The bucket settled, and they dug in and began to pull the cable. The heavy rope straightened out and began to emerge from the harbor. Water dripped from it as the slack drew out of the assembly. Bertel said, "Steady now, pull, that's good."
Then Bertel whistled, and the horses immediately eased off and backed up a little bit. They didn't look like a matched pair, one chestnut, and one grey. But Daisy and Buttercup knew each other and liked working together. They were well-trained, perhaps the best pair of horses Bertel had ever worked with. Bertel took his hat off and shook it hard. The sweat drops flew everywhere. Daisy turned around and snorted.
He watched his crew at the shore's edge as they dumped the dredge. When it was empty, the two helpers on the breakwater turned the dredge, and set it for the next pass. That was the signal for Bertel to start another round.
He clucked to the team. "Okay, girls, it's time for the next pass."
The horse team, well-trained as always, moved back to the shore. Almost without direction, they took a position just to the side of a heap of stones. As Bertel watched, his helpers waved their hats enthusiastically in the air. Bertel took up the slack on his rope, clucked to the team, and began the process over again.
The occasional bystander noticed the dredging team, but didn't pay a lot of attention. It was a common operation. Bertel had fairly steady employment all year round, unless the ice was too thick. He had to make sure that the various channels and entrances to the harbor were deep enough.
He enjoyed this job, and was glad for the money. There was, however, one channel, a long passage out into the bay, that was his constant headache. It needed to be dredged, but there wasn't enough horse power available to drag the dredge up the channel. It was true, he could load up on horses, but there really wasn't room on the land nearby for three or four yokes. Moreover, since it was the entrance channel, the only way to position the dredge was by rowboat, and by the time the dredge was positioned, the ropes were soaked with water and too heavy for a two-horse team to pull. Frankly he just didn't have enough horseflesh.
As the sun went down that evening, Bertel thought about his problem again as he guided the horses across the road and between the warehouses. That was another problem. The warehouses were starting to get so close together that there was no place for him to guide the horses anymore. Then there were rumors that more buildings were soon to come, now that the conflict with Sweden was over. The Union of Kalmar had been established, business was picking up, and more business meant a need for a deep harbor and clear channels but also more buildings crowding the waterfront. Soon Bertel would have to put up posts on the sides of the roads and run the rope around block pulleys so the horses could pull down the length of the shore. That was not a good answer, as it would put more wear and tear on the equipment and necessitate the purchase of brand-new pulleys as a frequent expense.
****
Later that week, they were working on the channel. Bertel had the team pulling, and there was a lot of resistance. Daisy and Buttercup dug in with their hooves, and Bertel could hear the ropes squealing. He urged them on, then like a shot the steel cable broke loose, slicing through the air.
The team leaped forward and stumbled, and Bertel raced for the end of the cable. Part of his mind analyzed the heavy steel cable. He realized that if it had broken closer to him, he could have lost a leg.
As the cable slowed down, Bertel ran to reach the end, and keep it from falling into the harbor. He finally got it at the water's edge. But there was still enough energy in the cable that it flipped him off of his feet and into the deep water.
By the time he had climbed out, the crew had collected the team, and gathered up the ropes and broken cable. The idle bystanders were laughing as he stood dripping on the dock. He could see the team, watching him. Bertel swore that Daisy and Buttercup were laughing at him too.
He picked up his hat and went towards them. Daisy nudged his arm, asking for a treat, while Buttercup snuffled in his ear to see if he was all right. Bertel pulled a couple of chunks of apple out of his dripping pocket, and rewarded his girls. Then, faithfully, they turned and started to walk towards the harbor.
Bertel saw his two assistants on the breakwater that protected the channel. They were rolling on the stony ground, laughing fit to be tied. Bertel waved his hat at them, and said to his horses, "I guess if I want to work at the harbor I should expect to get wet now and again." Buttercup nodded wisely. Buttercup understood better than anyone.
Bertel inspected the harness where it had torn loose from the cable. It would take extensive repairs. So he raised his hat and bellowed across the channel, "Come on back, boys. No more work until we fix the harness setup. And since it's almost sunset, I guess we will just close it out for today and start fresh tomorrow!"
****
The next morning a messenger arrived at Bertel's place. The seal-covered document was an update on his contract with the city. He sat down at the kitchen table and worked his way through the legal language as best he could.
One part was upsetting. "New standards have been set, and we now require the work be done by listed dates for each channel. It is imperative that the main channel also be dredged as soon as possible. Questions should be addressed to the harbor master. Regards, the Port Authority"
Bertel scowled. This, on top of the broken pulley assembly, was hard to bear. It was nothing new; they were always putting conditions on his work. Unfortunately, Bertel was certain that the harbormaster didn't like him. Harbormaster Arne Nielsen had been angry and critical the last time they had spoken. He demanded that Bertel replace his operation with something more modern. He considered Bertel's work old-fashioned, and he wanted to give the dredging contract to his nephew. Bertel was not looking forward to his meeting this afternoon.
****
After checking with his liveryman on the progress of repairs, Bertel went home to change. He wanted to make a good impression, so he was wearing his best doublet. It was dark brown, but it was the best wool he could afford. By luck, he arrived before the harbormaster. He stood in the office, and it wasn't a long wait. But nothing seemed to have changed. "Good morning, Herr Nielsen."
The harbormaster walked in, shouting. It took a moment, but Bertel started to hear names. Since they weren't his, he asked, "Herr Nielsen, what's the problem?"
The harbormaster stumped up and down the floor, waving his arms. "Those three Erics and their contraption. They're still at it! The boat shows promise but almost can't get out of its own way. I don't know why their investor thinks it'll work."
Bertel smiled. He had watched some of the antics of the three Erics, and their two-paddlewheel rowboat thing. It was true the contraption didn't get out of its own way, but it was very shallow draft, and the size of the paddle wheels promised that if they could make it go, it would work very well indeed. Bertel said, "I don't know. It looks like it should work. It would be nice to be able to pull things around without oars, beating the other ships in the harbor, or breaking and tossing Thorvald in the water again."
The harbormaster just laughed. He sat down and regarded Bertel for a moment. "Bertel, I may have misjudged you. Sit down."
This was the first time the harbormaster had been anything but grumpy. Bertel sat carefully on the other chair in the office and held his hat in his hand.
The harbormaster leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his thinning grey hair. "Bertel, they appointed a new man up at the Palace, in charge of the harbor. He only has complaints. Everything is too slow or old-fashioned, not good enough. It's an old game—he's trying to look important and gain attention to himself, but he's doing it at our expense. We have to do something, or we'll end up as a scapegoat for a lot of people."
Bertel nodded. "It may be difficult for those in the palace to understand …"
Harbormaster Arne went on as if Bertel hadn't spoken. "He has threatened to cut some of the money for dredging or cancel the contract altogether saying that the harbor really doesn't need to be dredged. It's just something that can be skipped because it's not important. That will last until some ship is stuck, and then it still will be our fault. Bertel, we've got to figure something out."
Bertel said, "I agree. Before the war, I had three teams of horses. Soldiers came and confiscated two teams for the artillery, and I never got them back. I never got paid for them, either. But they expect the same amount of work from me. Something has to be done. I need a new system, especially for the long channel. The problem is that they keep building, and I have less space to dredge the way I have been. Very soon now, I'll have to install posts all along the roadways to use the block and tackle. There is no other way. And the merchants and shore workers have complained about the two sets of posts I already have. Using posts like that is very inefficient. If nothing else, it will make the job more complicated and increase the chance of a passerby being tangled in the cables. I agree that if they get tangled it's their fault, but I don't really want to hurt anybody. And I don't want any lawsuits. That would ruin my business."
The harbormaster leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Well, we have to do something. I know that after your cable snapped yesterday, you won't be able to work until next week. Why don't we go down to the Mermaid and Tiger? We could see what Mrs. Pridmore has prepared this time. Have you been there yet? It is always surprising. Sometimes the food is extraordinary, and the drink is strange. Sometimes it is too strange to even taste. But it's never dull."
Bertel said, "I haven't been there yet, but I heard about it. Wasn't there a murder there a while back? They say there was a fight between an Englishman and a Spaniard, both of them ranting on about ransom and pirates and letters of marque. Then somebody was killed in the back corner of the shop. I've been itching to see what it's like."
****
As the two men approached the tavern, it buzzed with activity. People approached from all directions. The sounds of good fellowship and a rough humor poured out the open windows. Emanating from the kitchen in the back was the most wondrous smell of pork and something else, a sweet and sour smell that promised interesting eating.
Bertel said, "I don't know about a cure for our problems, but something smells good in there. Let's get some before it's all gone."
The common room was full to bursting. Conversations were loud, gestures were wide, and everybody seemed to be having a good time. Arne waved his hand, and the girl hurried over. "Good afternoon. And what would the harbormaster have today? Frau Pridmore has a new version of chocolate. It has the hot spices from the New World. She says it can melt the hair right out of your ears, if you want."
Bertel watched the harbormaster with barely concealed delight. It was common gossip on the waterfront about the last time Herr Nielsen tried a hot chocolate drink. Not only had the chocolate been very hot, but the spices in it had forced the harbormaster to drink milk in public. Everybody thought it was uproarious.
The harbormaster gathered his dignity. "None of that, young lady. No more tricks. I want one of those sandwich things, the one with roasted pork and the spicy sauce. I think they called it barbecue. I want it on a large bread roll, and that chocolate, the one Frau Pridmore calls a Thomas Jefferson. And bring the same for my friend, Bertel."
When the girl left, Herr Nielsen sat and gestured for Bertel to do the same. "This Thomas Jefferson apparently lived after our time, but his chocolate recipe is superb. It is still served warm, but it doesn't have so much spice that it makes your ears fall off."
Bertel waited with anticipation. It was warm for September, and the room was getting stuffy and hot. Already several windows had been thrown wide open, and still had not reduced the heat within the room. In one corner there was a crowd of working men, standing around watching somebody else do something in the corner. At another table on the other side of the room, a group of men had several sheets of parchment. They were gesturing and drawing something on the table. In a third area, several patrons were singing a song. Bertel couldn't quite make out the words. The tavern was merry and active.
Bertel was about to speak to the harbormaster, when a tray was placed on the table by a serving man. Behind him came the young lady with two large mugs covered in foam. Bertel thought, this looks interesting, Beer has froth on it, and I like that.
Across the table, Arne had already quaffed a huge gulp. "Very good, very good indeed. And this sandwich smells delicious."
Bertel examined his plate. There was a round piece of bread, split in half, and stuffed with what looked like pork in a red sauce. The smell coming up from it was wonderful. The serving man was still standing next to them, waiting with his hand out. But before Bertel could move to pay, the harbormaster dug a few coins from his pouch and handed them over. The man said nothing but headed back to the kitchen.
Arne Nielsen laughed. "Bertel, what are you waiting for? Go ahead, try it. I want to know what you think. This smells good, and it tastes even better. As for the chocolate, I don't think you have tried anything quite like it."
Bertel picked up the bread and meat, like the harbor master had done. It seemed very unmannerly to eat it without a fork, but that seemed the proper way, because that was what everyone else was doing. He lifted it close and took a bite. The flavor was extraordinary, unlike anything he ever tasted before. There was roasted pork, and there was a spice and a sweetness. It was completely different from anything he had tried.
Bertel noticed the harbormaster watching him. As soon as he swallowed, he said, "That is certainly different. Very good, but different."
Herr Nielsen nodded and pointed to the large mug next Bertel. "Good. Now, try that." The mug was warm, and as it came close to his face, the aroma was unlike anything Bertel had experienced. To his surprise the drink was almost unpleasantly hot, like the infusions his mother had made him drink as a sick child. But this smelled sweeter, so he tentatively sipped the beverage. The flavor staggered him. Since the harbormaster was watching intently, Bertel wiped his moustache, and said, "That is extraordinary. It is bitter and sweet. So this is chocolate." He drained the mug and said, "I would like to try the spicy one next."
Arne signaled the girl over and told her. Her eyes were bright with anticipation as she hurried away. As Bertel took another bite of sandwich, he felt an odd alertness like he had never experienced.
The girl hurried back with another steaming mug and set it before him. This one smelled similar to the first, with hints of something different. Bertel took a deeper drink, and smiled at the harbormaster. But before he could speak, the spices hit. First he felt a burning on his tongue and most of his mouth. Then his eyes watered, and he felt heat going down his throat and into his belly, much like a swig of strong brandy burned all the way down. He felt sweat popping out on his forehead, but he was eager to try it again. At the second sip, he said, "There is the taste of spice hotter than pepper. It makes my blood race, and I feel as if I could conquer a whole horde of Turks single-handed."
Arne laughed, as did the rest of the patrons, watching him taste the heat. The harbormaster said, "Yes indeed. I felt that way as well, but the burning in my mouth was too much. It amazes me that Frau Pridmore can use those brown beans to create this drink and cakes and pastries. Next time we come, I will show you chicken-fried steak. Amazingly it has no chicken in it, it's covered with something called gravy. Then there are the earth apples, potatoes they call them, which are mashed and covered with this gravy, also with salt and butter, very much like parsnips only better."
At that moment one of the men in the corner shouted something across the room. Bertel couldn't quite tell what it was, except for the last few words something about ‘Watch this.'
The American woman at the counter, Reva Pridmore, laughed. But the action in the corner was eminently more interesting. An odd sound, like a bird beating its wings but very fast, came out of the corner. The men standing around the table obscured what was going on, though.
But then Bertel noticed the tobacco and wood smoke near the ceiling of the room began to swirl, and he felt a breeze. The rattle of noise was pushing the smoke out the window. Bertel stood up. "I want to go get a closer look at that. What you think?"
The harbormaster stood as well. "Indeed. Look, I see the three Erics over there, the ones with the tugboat I was telling you about. If I my eyes do not deceive me, those men with the machine are all dressed as Danish Airship workers. This could be interesting."
The two men made their way over to the table in the corner. The crowd was growing thicker by the moment. But Bertel finally got a glimpse of the device on the table. It looked like steel and copper, and was making a lot of noise. It was difficult to hear anyone else. On one side of the machine, there was a blur, and they could feel it pulling air from around them, and pushing it out the window.
Then somebody gave a cry of pain, and the crowd was shoved backwards. The young man standing next to the device said, "I told you not to touch it, that thing can break bones, stay away from it."
Somebody else at the table said, "You tell him, Bonecrusher."
Laughter ensued, joined sheepishly by the man who tried to touch the spinning disk. Bertel listened to everyone around him. He gathered that the thing on the table was an engine that was capable of work, and that while this was just a small example, larger ones could be made. As the talk went on Bertel heard that the things could be made to run slow, not just fast.
He turned to go back to his sandwich, but in his head an idea began to form. Arne followed Bertel, and as they sat down, Bertel said, "I wonder, they keep talking about this thing in terms of horsepower. Do you think you really could replace a horse?"
The harbormaster's face was solemn he replied. "Perhaps. Perhaps if you mounted it on wheels that can be locked in place and use the bollards along the waterfront for a pulley, perhaps you could pull your dredge with it. The machine is not as bulky as three full teams of horses. Indeed, even our new official at the Palace might be impressed with the modern possibilities of this machine."
Bertel smiled "You know, the government still owes me for the four horses they took. They offered money, but I was holding out for two new teams. Maybe, maybe I could get them to buy me a machine instead."
Arne looked thoughtful as he finished his sandwich. "Bertel, that's not a bad idea. Certainly, I can give you a letter stating that this is a better way to clean the harbor. Indeed, we might be able to get the minister up at the Palace more enthusiastic. With that kind of support for the idea, it could happen very quickly. It certainly would make him look good if it worked."
****
In the weeks that followed, Bertel was frantically busy. The Palace official was wildly enthusiastic for the engine, but had given him a deadline. Bertel had to scramble and work late into the night for a week to meet it.
Finally, the test day arrived. Bertel drove to the docks in a specially designed wagon, pulled by Daisy and Buttercup. The wagon was loaded with the apparatus. The steam generator was hot and hissing. The engine sat lubricated and gleaming on the end of the wagon. Bertel unhitched his team, and led them a distance from the machine. It had been tested in the shop, but he knew that there was a difference between shop tests and actual work.
When his horses were safely away, he made certain the wagon wheels were locked down, and the cable securely mounted to the winch. And as a precaution, he used two heavy chains, and lashed the front of the wagon to his lashing post. The harbormaster stood close to his side, because if this didn't work, both their jobs could be lost. "Bertel, are you sure this is going to work?"
Bertel shrugged, but kept checking, tightening, worrying. "No, I'm not absolutely sure. But I've come too far to quit. Everybody thinks machines are the future, and perhaps they are, but I still think that care should be taken in their operation."
When he was ready, Bertel stepped next to the starting lever and raised his voice so the crowd around could hear him over the hissing of the steam generator. "All of you dock workers, there! Stand away. You call yourselves sailors. Don't you know what happens when a cable snaps? It could cut you in half, and I don't want to be responsible for cleaning up the street of the waterfront."
A babble rose as the crowd backed up. Most stood behind pilings or walls, and tried to put something solid between them and the cable. There were faces in every window on the first level above the ground. Many were hoping to see Bertel fail, but many more were excited about the new machinery.
Bertel motioned to his helpers across the channel to drop the dredge into the water. "Okay, harbormaster. We're set. Here we go." With a flair, Bertel pulled the lever opening the valve, to admit steam to the engine. With a hiss and a groan, the piston moved, the shaft began to turn, and the cable pulled up tight winding onto the pulley.
Remarkably, in spite of the brakes, the engine began to pull the wagon backwards to the limits of the chains. The cable straightened out like a bar of iron. And where the cable went through the pulley, it lifted up out of the water. Then the cable came in faster.
Before Bertel was ready, the dredge was across the channel. It was really fast. Bertel lunged at the lever, and shouted, "Look out!" He shoved the valve closed, and the engine shuddered to a stop. The dredge burst out of the water in a boil of foam, and bounced across the beach with its load of dirt and stones.
Everybody had scattered at the sudden movement, but when things quieted down they all turned to look. The dredge was half overturned, spilling a pile of mud and stones from the bottom of the channel. The cable was stretched taught and raised in the air all the way out to the dredge. Cautiously Bertel took a hammer, tapped the release, and let the cable wind down. Bertel wondered if the result was a disaster or success?
Arne Nielsen, the harbormaster, slapped him on the back, and his booming voice was heard all the way to the dredge. "Marvelous, Bertel! Extraordinary! So modern—this will show the world, that we know how to do things in a new and progressive way in Denmark. Very good, young man. I applaud your success. Now we will have the clearest harbor and channels in the north. It was extraordinarily well done."
Kicking the cable pulley into neutral, Bertel walked over to the dredge. With both hands he struggled and emptied the dredge of the remaining stones and muck. Bertel waved to his companions, and they began to set the cable to send the dredge back across the channel. Lifting the pulley and its collar, positioning it at the next post on the waterfront, Bertel set up, checked the line of the dredge across the channel, walked back to his engine. "Let's try this again."
The second time across the channel went even more smoothly, and soon Bertel and his crew were working in concert. The trick, it seemed, was to slow the engine down just before the dredge could reach the edge of the channel. His crew worked out how to make the engine and dredge work to the best effect.
Harbormaster, ship captains, stevedores, cargo masters, and everyone else looked solemnly at the results. There was excitement, but there was consideration also. Somehow the world had just changed. And Bertel was the hero of the day.
****