The Boss's Boy

by Roy F. Chandler

  "That, Mickey McFee, is what business is all about."

  Chapter 24

  Matt had brought Erin to Lover's Rock that overlooked the village and the rivers' joining. The view was spectacular with the Susquehanna curving into a bow and the Clark's Ferry covered bridge crossing only a mile or so upstream. The rock dam that created the slow-water pond below the bridge could be seen from this height, and Matt wondered if there might not be Commonwealth work available in maintaining or improving the dam. He would remember to ask Thomas Holcomb the next time he met with the engineer.

  The walk up the mountain had taken a half hour, but the view was worth the effort. Matt could appreciate why some called the lookout on Cove Mountain "Hawk Rock" because looking across the river valley one could feel almost like a bird on the wing.

  They rested in the shade of a giant oak that tilted dangerously over a long fall to the river's edge. Over the years, trees did lean too far and crashed onto the narrow river road below.

  Falling trees and loosened rock hurt or killed people with some regularity, but everyone except farmers loved trees and grew them too close to their homes. Farmers were the exception, and they continually complained that encroaching trees shaded fields and diminished crops.

  Matt had brought his telescope, and they shared peering through the magnified viewing, but Matt feared that they chose different details as most interesting.

  Erin liked finding birds roosting on the small islands, and logjams with water swirling caught her eye. She enjoyed watching men working in fields and women at their washing and cooking. In this warm weather almost everyone cooked outside, so Matt's lady had much to see.

  Matt closely examined the roof of the distant Clark's Ferry Bridge. He had won the re-shingling contract, and his new mill was cutting squared cedar logs into suitable shingle-lengths.

  The shingling job was immense. The entire bridge was roofed to prevent decking and underpinning from harsh weather and eventual rotting. A wooden towpath was attached to the south side of the bridge for canal boat mules and horses to use. That towpath was being considered for a shingled pent roof that Matt hoped Miller Men would construct.

  For shingling, Cameron's blacksmithing shop had produced a half-dozen two-man froes that could split shingles from straight-grained cedar boards at a record rate. One man placed a froe across a cedar block, and, using a hardwood maul, the second man struck it a single sledgehammer blow that split off a perfect shingle.

  Shingles could be made more uniform by sawing, but sawn shingles were prone to warp because they were not shaped along natural grain.

  Within the week, he would have men ripping off old shingles, drawing all of the wrought iron nails—most of which could be straightened and reused—and another team would immediately begin re-shingling. Older structures had shingles pegged into place, but the Clark's Ferry Bridge was more modern.

  Old shingling could not be dropped into carts waiting on the bridge because traffic would be too often blocked, and nails sticking out of the broken shingles would threaten the hooves of teams using the bridge. The simplest answer was to drop discarded shingles into the river.

  A pair of flatboats could be moored on long lines to the bridge pilings and maneuvered downstream to recover the battered shingles as they fell into the river. Some shingles would get away, but in the slack water above the dam, dozens of boatloads would be salvaged for fire building at the hotels during the cold months.

  There was other and better scrap hardwood available, but old pine smelled especially good burning in either stove or fireplace, and thin shingle strips were the best there was for fire starting—as long as too much was not used. Pine resin could coat chimneys and cause serious fires.

  Matt's old men would do the shingle recovery, and expenses would be small. The once-used but thoroughly seasoned wood would also be sold as kindling in convenient-size bundles, and the Irish and the German workers, as well as the town folk, would buy—as long as he kept the price in the single or two penny range.

  Erin had begun to doze, and when Matt lightly squeezed her hand she barely responded. He too would relax and enjoy the warmth and mountain-clean air, but he would not doze. There were things to think about, and he enjoyed that part as much as relaxing with his bride-to-be.

  Cameron's ironworks merited thought. The business was Matt's idea, but Tim Cameron had jumped on it.

  The Miller businesses needed ironwork from tool sharpening and animal shoeing to special tasks like mending the recovered but badly blown apart steam boiler. Yet, too often, company iron work was slack. The blacksmithy stood idle, bellows did not pump, and the forges were cold.

  Matt's proposal was that he would turn over all of the company's tools to Timothy Cameron and provide anything else Tim might need to open his own iron working shop. In return, the Miller Company would receive extremely low rates and immediate service.

  The offer appeared generous, but to be sure, Lukey Bates and Scribner had worked out the figures. Matt would profit from not employing a full time ironmonger and his assistants.

  Cameron remained a Miller Man, and he was welcome and expected at gatherings or business meetings. Tim Cameron, business owner, responded to the generous arrangement with innovative iron work, like the two-man froes, and he had requested the contract to make and straighten the nails needed for bridge shingling. Matt willingly placed that order, and Cameron's forges were already pounding away.

  Matt had met with his uncle Brascomb. He accepted payment for the Philadelphia business and handed across the bill of sale.

  Matt had arrived with eight Miller Men in wagons, all armed with adz handles, and two men wearing deputy stars (made by Tim Cameron that looked impressive but remained unexplained) who were carrying short-barreled shotguns that some called "murderers."

  None of the Matt Miller contingent smiled or offered friendly comment. Brascomb Miller also came prepared, but his four bullyboys were clearly overmatched, and business remained orderly if limited, and conversations were terse.

  Matt had been short with his uncle because the Susquehanna had fallen, and China was recovering the remains of the steam engine from its resting place on the river bottom. Matt's interest lay there, but fifteen thousand dollars was vastly important as well, and he welcomed the final separation of the businesses.

  The recovery of the engine proved almost perfunctory. China hooked flatboats together, anchored them securely, and eased their lines until he believed the boats to be above the sunken engine.

  China raised a strong log A-frame above his rafted crafts and mounted a windlass on one boat. A few shallow-water dives secured the main engine weight to his ropes, and men windlassed the iron from the bottom and onto the flats.

  The ruptured iron boiler was an immense worry with a split running along one curved side, but Tim Cameron appeared unintimidated and scrubbed his hands together in hunger to start repairing.

  A number of other worthwhile items were located and also raised. Both iron clutches with their axles intact were important, and after everything in mid-river was brought ashore, China raised the tall but crazily bent iron funnel that had floated down river within the wrecked boat before sinking near the west shore.

  To Matt's eyes, the salvage appeared seriously damaged, but Cameron and China Smith had few doubts. Cameron went to work rebuilding a powerful steam engine from the piles of, to Matt's eyes, barely identifiable metal.

  Matt liked to watch the iron masters work. He saw the great rent in the boiler repaired by riveting a wide metal plate over the straightened metal. Leaking was prevented by heating the entire patch and soldering all edges from both inside and outside the boiler.

  Matt discovered that boilers had a door let into one end that was secured by massive bolts. The nuts for the bolts had been silver soldered to the inside of the iron boiler so that screwing in the bolts from outside was practical. The door on his boiler was removed, and a small workman wearing padded leather clothing to prevent burns went ins
ide to buck the rivets and returned later to solder the patch firmly in place.

  Riveted in place, the patch and surrounding metal were heated until solder ran freely. Solder was then laid into all gaps, and the heat melted and sucked the silver and tin into every crevice.

  Cameron noted that the silver soldered patch would be positioned away from the fire box where it would not overheat and melt the solder.

  Working fast, the inside man choked and coughed. He sweat an ocean and was burned here and there as well. Matt bought him a bucket of beer and paid him fifty cents extra.

  The notice and extra pay sat well with the workers, and a fat man from the village, who could not have fit through the small boiler entrance, swore that at that pay rate he would be the next volunteer to work inside the boiler.

  Work on the engine was steady, but there were other tasks that took the Boss's attention. Matt was surprised and gratified to hear the George Washington's steam whistle sound off to announce the engine's first firing, which also meant the completion of the new sawmill using it.

  The whistle had not been mentioned in the salvage report, and Matt recognized its installation was meant to please him. He made much of his pleasure, and his men appreciated that as well.

  The new sawmill had been built along Sherman's Creek where there was deep water for floating in logs. Recent Commonwealth legislation had limited dam building across creeks because boat travel was being restricted by dam after private dam.

  If a canoe could make headway, even ridiculously shallow streams were declared navigable waterways, and across the Commonwealth, dams were ordered removed.

  Without a dam, Little Juniata Creek at Duncannon's south end had little to offer. Rather than battle authority to get a dam approved, Matt moved a few hundred yards further south and made the larger Sherman's Creek their mill site.

  The steam engine had been mounted and the opposing side-wheel shafts had been hooked to four-foot diameter circular saw blades. The engine was fitted with a giant bronze flywheel and spun the blades with awesome momentum and power.

  Boards and planks virtually sprang from the saws, and Matt's expenditures in purchasing and restoring the engine were being repaid at a phenomenal pace. It was good business that big Matt would have been proud of, the Boss's Boy believed.

  With the new mill spinning, China had come to Matt with a request that changed many things.

  China said, "Matt, I'm getting older than I like to believe, but age being a fact I cannot really ignore, I want to make a proposal."

  Smith sat down opposite Matt's office chair, wrinkled his nose in preparation, and began.

  "Your Pa pulled me out of being just another beached sailor and gave me a living as his right hand man. I enjoyed every minute with him as my boss and my friend.

  "I've enjoyed teaching you and being your friend for all of these years as well, but now I want to trim sails a bit and set a new course. So here are my thoughts on the matter.

  "As you know, Mrs. Black and I will be married soon. Of course, we will live together in her home, and I will help her in her business where I can.

  "However, I need work of my own. Not only for money, Matt, but for something worthwhile to do. I have plans in my mind for a sleeping boat to move along the canals for workmen or road travelers to stay in. A sort of floating hotel, you could say.

  "I would like to construct a mess boat for rough eating that can move with the workers. I have dozens of ideas that have been brewing in my mind since I first began standing beside big Matt.

  "The sharp point is that I would like to buy the old mill from you. I will pay what I can immediately and the rest as I make money. In turn, I will, as Tim Cameron does, give Miller work lowest rates and quickest service.

  "I will always be near to give a hand, as I always have, and I will hope that you will find me useful for many years to come."

  China sat back, relaxed, without tension or agonizing. Whatever Matt decided, that would be China Smith's course, and he would sail it unremarked and without regret.

  Although surprised by the direction their talk had taken, Matt was swift with his answer.

  "If that is what you want, China, that is the way it will be." Matt thought for a short moment.

  "The mill and its improvements are yours without cost, but frankly, everything has been used hard and is well worn. I fear there will be more repair and maintenance than profit. The land I will sell to you for whatever my father paid for it."

  Matt had to pause for more than a moment because his throat had tightened. When he was ready he asked, "But what am I going to do without you at my side, China? You have always been there making sure I did not do too many dumb things and teaching me the best ways—including all of the fist fight training."

  China grinned as if he had been waiting for the question. "Why Matt, what you will do is get someone else, and I can think of only one man for the job. You know the name as well as I do. He will take the job, and he will be your strong right arm for as long as you want him."

  Matt did not answer, so Smith laid it out.

  "Mickey McFee is your man, Matt. He has been around you as long as I have. You have liked each other since before you got tossed into the canal all of those years ago.

  "Now, Mickey is grown, just like you are. He has worked at about everything there is. Workmen respect him, not only for his fighting ability, but because he can lead men like a boss should.

  "Mickey is your age, and together you can do great things. Bring him close to the business. Give him a place that he can be proud of and that will reward him in life.

  "You are good at that, Matt. Look at how your Miller Men idea has worked. Those men want to work for you. They will do anything within reason to move you and your company ahead. Mickey will be the same. In fact, he already is."

  China paused. "Mickey will be your brother-in-law, and that can bind you even closer, if you allow it.

  "The Irish Hurricane is your man, Boss's Boy. Round him up and offer him the job. It will be the smartest move you will make this year."

  Resting with Erin far up on Hawk Rock, Matt considered China's opinion, and he found it as sound as usual.

  The more he weighed the idea, the better Matt liked it. He could get along with McFee—to tell the truth, he did like having Mickey around. They shared similar points of view, and they attacked problems in much the same manner. Mickey could handle men as if they had all grown up together. He could tie the headquarters closer to the manpower, and that would grease the working wheels, making everything better understood and smoother moving.

  China wanted to get on with his mill and boat building plans, and Matt believed the time was right.

  When they came down, he would talk to Mickey. He would make him a good offer, and if the hardheaded Irish Mick did not jump on the deal, he, the Boss's Boy, might yet have to pound sense into the Hurricane's thick skull.

  Chapter 25

  Mickey McFee's gang was improving the road north of Duncannon. The village, the township, and the county had managed funds for the rebuild, and Matt Miller had bid the job.

  Rebuild was probably not the right description for the work. The road from the Juniata River into Baskinsville had never been planned or graded—much less surfaced. Travelers had followed the old Indian path until they wore it into a road. If a wallow became too deep, someone threw in stones, dirt, or perhaps log slabs until passage was again possible.

  Matt had agreed to improve the route until it could be considered an all-weather road that would join Duncannon to the canal system at Benvenue and Clark's Ferry.

  Matt had hired three heavy farm wagons, their teams, and their drivers to haul shale from a bank handy to the road. Miller shovelers loaded the wagons, and others emptied the loads where Mickey McFee called for them.

  The plan was to raise the low spots until the entire road was above ground level. Shale fill allowed packing, easy leveling, and good drainage, but a number of small stone culverts had to be b
uilt to allow uphill water to pass under the road and reach the river. There were also two bogs that defied attempts to fill to road level, and those seemingly bottomless wallows, McFee was making corduroy.

  Sumac logs were squished into the muck one upon the other until the fill seemed solid. A new surface was leveled using shale. Then logs were laid cross-wise side by side with shale packed in to fill hollows and gaps. Corduroy roads stayed flat longer than the leveled up shale roads, but when they fell apart, the corduroy was hard to repair.

  Matt watched Mickey work—giving directions and jumping in to help when he could be useful. Work gang leaders did not just stand around giving directions. Theirs was a hands-on, example-setting kind of leadership, and McFee did it well.

  Matt waited until Mickey was not engaged before calling him aside.

  Matt said, "Put your best man in charge here, Mickey. I've got a proposition to talk over with you." McFee called a name, gave a few directions and came to sit on a nearby stump beside his boss.

  Matt had thought he would be awkward and self-conscious speaking with McFee, but to his satisfaction he found his words coming easily without expectation of smart-assed retorts or some sort of knee-jerk rejection of his proposal.

  Matt said, "Mickey, China wants to retire. He intends to buy the old mill and spend his time building special canal boats he has designed. Of course, he will still be around if we need him, but he will be on his own and no longer standing at my shoulder.

  "I need a man I can trust to take his place, Mick. I want someone I know well who will understand how I think and what I want without me having to explain every detail."

  Matt still felt good about his offer and went ahead. "I would like you to take China's place, Mickey. You know as well as anyone what China's job was, and you know how this company works and what we do better than anyone, except maybe Alex Donovan. I figure we can get along, and I know that you are as dependable as the sun rising."