WHY SHIPS GO.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 139, 13 June 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)

WHY SHIPS GO.

IT'S THE STOKER.

VALUE or " DOWN BELOW."

(By E.K.G.)

Once upon a time, when seadogs were seadogs—though they didn't keep dogwatches —everything was simple, more or less. Then the skipper (or cap'en) waited for wind and tide, and when those things were favourable he gave an order to the mate (05, mister), and the mate told the bosn, and the bos'n piped on his whistle, and the sailors swarmed the ratlines and large pieces of canvas went out, and the ship was away. It sounds simple,' anyway. Now things have changed. "Ship will proceed, 5 o'clock," reads the notice, and at that hour the captain ("Old Man" or "The Owner," if you are in the Navy) stands on the bridge. He reads sounds, signs and signals, and then he gives an order, and the navigator (or pilot) calls down tlie speaking tube. There is a low thudding, in the wake the water churns, and the ship moves. That sounds simple, too, but it isn't. Ask away down in the ship "What makes' the ship go 1" and yo-u will hear the echo of an old refrain —"It's the stoker." And after you have had a look around things below there, where the. engines throb, and the temperature is anything from 115 to 130 degrees, you will, in spirit, at least, "take your hats off to the dirty old grimy stoker." "Well Done, Engine-room." That is all In fun —but underneath it all there is a tribute to the men who make things go in big ships nowadays, the engineers, the stokers and the men below decks who, in their working hours, smell nothing of the sea air but that which filters through the ventilators. Was it not the late Earl Beatt} r who, after the battle of Dogger Bank, signalled, "Well done, the engine-room"? Nowadays the stoker (including in that term all the engine-room staff) is not as grimy as of old, but the main idea is still the same.

Engines have to be kept running smoothly, well and economically, and orders from the bridge must be obeyed. If the observer stood on the bridge through all his time he might think that a vessel was some robot monster that obeyed every move and gesture of the master, with efTort, perhaps, but without wastage of strength, so that it was always ready for the next order—"perpetual motion, by turning the wick up," as one engine-room artificer has put it.

The engine-room lias a soul, believe it or not —a soul expressed in the loving care an engineer gives to the moving pistons and all the complicated machinery under his charge, and sometimes in acts of courage and endurance that during wartime earned many decorations for the lower deck. There was the man who, with the gundeck alight and the flames blowing down into the engineroom, kept himself and the others with him working as before, that the engines might continue running—and there are other tales of equal courage, not only in wartime, but in peaceful commerce. The Nerve Centre. See a battle fleet at manoeuvres. The big ships wheel and turn, stop and start again, controlled by the order of one man. His work is onerous, for one mistake in his calculations, one wrong signal and everything may go wrong. The major responsibility is his, but it goes down in decreasing degree to the lowest rating on board. Orders must be obeyed, and when the fleet is at manoeuvres orders come thick and fast. Watcli the operations from the bridges. Signal flags run up to the masthead are answered by each vessel in turn, semaphores or Morse lamps wig-wag, the radio-key stutters, and then, when the order has been acknowledged by each vessel, they move into action as one, an impressive, dignified, and graceful sight. The bridge of the flagship is the nervo centre of the fleet, and its impulses through the nerves of signal and speaking-tube convey orders that are obeyed instantly. The engine-room bell clangs, and the quiet voice comes back up the tube—"Half speed astern, starboard, it is, sir."

Down below in the heat and the 'whirring hum of the engine-room they know nothing of what is going on outside the world of their immediate environment. They know the ship stops and starts and when she turns —when the big guns crack they hear the noise, slightly muffled, but they see nothing of their drama. Ordinarily when unusual manoeuvres are intended the engineroom is warned beforehand —the unexpected order means that something has happened, what, they do not know. The bridge signal is the brain of the engineroom; the engine-room obeys. Heinous Offence. To make smoke is a heinous offence in the Navy. In war-time it may disclose the position of the ship and upset vital plans—in peace-time it means that the oil is not being burned efficiently. There is a glass in the furnace room which is the sole guide in this —apart from the instant reprimand from the bridge. Immediately, the glass clouds it means that black smoke is pouring forth. Then, too the sudden stop of the engines may mean the blowing off of steam with a blasting noise, unless efforts are made immediately to use up the surplus steam through the turbines. In these moments the pride of the engine-room is at stake. The engines are not the only responsibility of the engineeer on a warship. He has charge of the CO2 room with its refrigerating machinery (meat and vegetables for upwards of a four months' cruise may be in his care), of the mechanical efficiency and mounting of the guns, and of most of the stores, which may be worth thousands of pounds. But the engines are his pet, and the driving force of the ship. After 21 days' steaming the boilers have to be cleaned internally and externally, and other equipment must be kept equally efficient. Those are the regulations, but his pride would compel it equally. That is why ships' engineers are men apart in the routine of things, and. why there is an echo in all of them of "McAndrew's Hymn." Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' "Steam. To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime. Whaurto—uplifted like the Just —the tallrods mark the time The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed pump sobs and heaves. An* now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves; Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides. -Till—hear that note?—the rod's return Wirings gllmmerln' through the guides. They're all awa! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamoes. Interdependence, absolute, foreseen, ordained, decreed, To work, ye'll note, at ony tilt, an' every rate of speed, Fra' skylight-lift to furnace-bars backed, bolted, braced and stayed. An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made. The engineer and the stokers are part of the engines—tliey make ships go.