by Jerry Sohl
“We don’t have to kill ourselves,” a large, blond man at a nearby bellows said, his bulging muscles working it without seeming effort. “We’ll get enough air there. Those clay passages are just right. They’ll by-pass the stuff that falls down.”
“All right, Gus,” Devan said, between gulps of air. “We don’t want to get the iron so hot it’ll go down itself. You ought to know what you’re doing.”
Gus Nelson grinned good-naturedly. “I didn’t get too close to the furnaces at Gary,” he said, “but I knew more than they thought I did. As long as we don’t get it too hot, we’re all right. Here, let me handle both bellows. We don’t need so much air, now that we got it started good.”
Devan stepped back thankfully, eyed the furnace speculatively. “Need any more charcoal, Gus, do you think?”
The big man spat on the ground. “Naw. Oh, I don’t know. You might put on a little of everything. Not more than one load, though.”
Devan scooped up a shovelful of charcoal, threw it on the pile of incandescence, did the same with the red ore and limestone. When he offered to have a go at the bellows, the massive man shook his head and smiled.
This would be the best iron that Devan and Gus had so far made. At first Devan had appealed for volunteers to find a source of ore and many men stopped what they were doing to join the group which scattered south, east and west, scouring the area for the ore. The first reports only told of the animals they had seen, a few bears which raced into the underbrush at their approach, a few wolves and foxes (one man said he thought he saw a buffalo) and deer.
One man found the Sudduth settlement about twenty miles south of the lake, the inhabitants living in limestone caves. The reporter, who said he didn’t get too close, said the Sudduthites were still taking seriously their rule of nudism. He was kidded by friends who asked, since he didn’t get too close, just how he knew. Others jokingly said they could understand why he hadn’t found any ore.
“There ain’t a good-looking one in the bunch,” he said.
“He must have looked ‘em all over, then,” someone else said. Then there was a fight and everybody got in it.
In the end the men found the soft, red ore where they least expected to find it: within a mile of the camp near the surface of the earth. They started to work it opencut fashion, loading it first on wooden sleds they dragged over ground until a cart with wheels could be built.
Devan’s first attempt at making iron was made alone in an open pit with ore and charcoal and a brisk north wind to help and Betty to offer encouragement. After several days the fire was allowed to go out and the mass of iron extracted. It was soft and malleable and hardly worth the effort, Devan decided, but it was a start.
Then Gus Nelson, who had been on fishing and hunting trips, stopped one morning to take a look at the ironworks. Gus had been put on the log contingent, but he pleaded for the other work because he had always wanted to hunt and fish and had never done so.
“Why don’t you try a blast furnace?” he suggested.
“I’m going to,” Devan said. “I only wanted to see what would happen with the simplest outfit. Now I know. It’s not good enough.”
Devan saw the rippling muscles, the honest blue of his eyes and the strong back. “Why don’t you give a guy a hand instead of just standing there full of advice?”
“I think I’d rather fish.” His smile was bright.
“So would I. But we need iron. How’s fishing?”
“Pretty good.”
“It could be better.”
“How?”
“Fishhooks. Iron fishhooks.” Devan saw the man was interested, followed it up. “We need spears, steel points for arrows. Knives for skinning. Why don’t you join up? Traylor and Nelson, the nearest you can get to U. S. Steel this side of the Needle.”
The idea appealed to the big man and he went to work. They made bellows out of skins of animals, directed the air into the clay channels beneath the place where they would deposit the charcoal and ore, then went after several loads of ore. Limestone was Gus Nelson’s suggestion and Devan remembered it was used to reduce the ore quickly, was glad the man had come around. After the ironworks got started, Devan would give it to him entirely. There were other things needed, too, like glass, wire, electricity. But iron was basic.
Basic. Devan was amused to find how basic women considered cosmetics, which he thought would be one of the last things they would worry about in the wilderness. But rouge and lipstick were important. The women had found certain red powder deposits just beneath the surface of the ground. It made good rouge. It was some time before the men discovered the women had been getting the powder from the iron ore deposits and that it was, in fact, the same thing and that the women had discovered it first. Cornmeal, chalk, flour, though nothing like the face powder women had been used to, doubled for it. Some of the darker ore, mixed with animal fats, served as a reddish-brown lipstick, though some women objected to the taste. Still, the recollection of what real lipstick looked like fading into dim memory, it looked good. It was good enough for many a maiden to snare a man with.
Basic. The men devoted much of their time to searching for the tobacco plant. When they finally found a patch of it, there were plenty of clay pipes already made and waiting to be filled.
Life on the other side of the Needle, Devan decided, wasn’t going to be so different after all.
Devan and Gus watched the rising cloud of smoke emanating from inside the circular wall of clay.
“I remember one time in the plant when there was a leak in one of the furnaces,” Gus said, idly eying the mass of dull red inside the shaft. “It wasn’t open like this. The gas coming out was carbon monoxide, they said. Anyway, they got everybody away from the furnace until they repaired it.”
“There could be carbon monoxide coming out of this thing right now,” Devan said. “But I don’t think it would hurt anybody. It’s too open around here.”
“How are the steelmakers?” Betty had walked over to the two men standing by the furnace. “I don’t see how you stand it, being so near that heat.”
“Used to it,” Devan said. “What brings you around?”
“Want to know how big you want those clay boxes.”
“You’d better wait until we get the iron out and hammer it into shape.”
She put her arm in his. “Is this going to be better than the last?”
“This is going to be tops, Mrs. Traylor,” Gus said. “We’re going to make carbon steel this time.”
“I’ve heard of that. Stronger than regular, isn’t it?”
“There’s lots to be done before that, though,” Devan said. “As soon as the furnace gets cool enough, we’re going to take the iron out—it’s going to still be hot. Then”—and he motioned to another bellows-and-fire outfit with a large flat rock and hammer near by—“we’re going to hammer it to get out as much slag as possible.”
“We ain’t got a cinder notch,” Gus said. “No iron notch either. Getting it out would be easy that way.”
“Then we’re going to hammer it into the shape we want. That’s where your box comes in. We’ll put the items in there, heat them for several days and let them absorb carbon and turn into carbon steel. Simple, isn’t it?”
“Sounds simple,” she said. “Is that really the way it’s supposed to work?”
“That’s what Gus says.” Devan saw a man come round a corner of a log building and head for them. He recognized the man as Dr. Van Ness. The dentist nodded to them.
“No patients today, Doctor?” Betty asked.
“Know something?” He examined his fingernails, raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want to accuse anybody, but since we started administering wine for extractions we have more business than we can take care of.”
“We’ve got troubles of our own,” Gus grumbled.
“It’s a poor substitute for Novocain, but since Dr. Costigan rations it for extractions, people would rather have their teeth pulled than filled. Makin
g winos out of everybody.”
“I need some more fillings, Doctor,” Devan said. “When can I come over?”
The dentist sat on a log. “You’ll have to see Miss Anderson. She’ll tell you when there’s free time. But I didn’t come over to solicit business. I came over to gripe.”
“Gripe? What about?”
“I’m going to have to quit the fillings until I get better equipment.”
“What’s the trouble with the stuff I made for you?”
“Rather embarrassing.” The little man chuckled. “Don’t think the patients liked it either. Like a comedy movie. You work around cleaning out a cavity with a spoon extractor, see? Then you are just about through when bing, the thing crumbles or bends. The metal’s not right. It’s happened to every one you made.”
“That’s why we made so many,” Gus said darkly. “We knew they wouldn’t last. I thought we told you.”
Devan gestured toward the little furnace. “We’ve got some new stuff in there,” he said. “When we get it out, it’s going to be different. We’re going to work it into the right shape, then impregnate it with carbon. You’ll see the difference.”
“That’s more like it.” The dentist brightened.
“You working by yourself, Doctor?”
“Got a couple kids learning the business. I won’t last forever, you know. I teach them mostly at night, though.” He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, drew out a piece of parchment. “I’ve drawn some new instruments here.” He pointed to them. “A lancet, if you can do it, scalers, more forceps, elevators, excavators, hand chisels. I need more sizes and shapes, lacking a drill.”
“I hope I never have to go to a dentist,” Gus said, viewing the illustrations with wide eyes. “I went to one once. That was enough.”
“You’re just a baby,” Dr. Van Ness said. “Lucky your teeth are good. You may be a big man, but you’re a baby.” When Gus Nelson’s face went red, the dentist laughed. “Struck oil, didn’t I? I used to never be able to say such things. Now I can. Now I can tell my patients what I think of them.”
“You’d better shut up,” Gus said.
“What are you going to do when you get all the fillings done?” Devan asked. “Can you make false teeth? A whole set?”
“There’ll be enough work for two or three dentists here,” the dentist said. “I’ve got to get more gold, though. Lots of it.”
“Why don’t you just fill the teeth with some other temporary substance?”
“Some other temporary substance?” The dentist was surprised.
“That just goes to show how little people know about dentistry. Gold is the best stuff there is. Damn permanent, too. Dentists would have always used it in preference to anything else but it takes about an hour to fill a cavity with it. They’d have to charge too much. Gold doesn’t tarnish or corrode. You roll the gold out and make foil and rope. Nothing can beat it.
“When I fill a tooth, I clean out the hole, let it dry and assist a little with a small bellows. Then I put in a little gold rope, take the six-inch condenser and mallet and I’m on my way.”
“It’s very interesting, Doctor,” Betty said. “I—”
“Do you realize I’ve got to make sure I don’t have less than fifteen pounds of static force on the circular gold condenser point—you know the one you made for me—otherwise the gold won’t condense properly?”
“What are you blabbering about, anyway?” Gus asked.
Devan grinned. “He’s telling me the magnitude of the impact force, which is proportional to the product of the force exerted and the square of the velocity with which it is applied, should not be less than fifteen pounds.”
Gus’s mouth dropped open.
“Don’t feel bad about it, Gus,” Betty said. “I don’t understand it either. I’m not so sure Devan did in the first place.”
“Ah, you haven’t heard anything yet,” Dr. Van Ness said, moving back and forth in front of them. “Wait until I start on the dentures. Always wanted to make gold ones. They’re the best. Nobody has enough money to buy any back where we come from, except a few. But now I’ll be able to do it.”
“That’s fine, Doctor,” Devan said.
“We’ll find some gypsum,” the doctor went on. “We’ll make plaster of Paris, then cast a gold denture with pegs where the teeth ought to be—I’m going to need a set of impression trays, Mr. Traylor. I’ll use them with the plaster for the impression of the alveolar arch...” His face beamed. “I can see them now. Gold dentures.”
“But what about the teeth?”
The dentist shrugged. “The teeth? I’ll carve them. Carve them from animal tusks—there are goats around, aren’t there? I don’t see any acrylic lying around waiting to be picked up, do you?” He laughed. “God knows it wouldn’t make dentures as good anyway. I’ll take gold every time. Do you realize a gold denture would cost more than five hundred dollars ordinarily?” He rubbed his hands gleefully. “This will be quite an experiment. Quite an experiment. I only hope the gold holds out.”
Orcutt looks good, Devan thought. Better than I’ve ever seen him. He’s got a healthy tan and he’s lost that paunch he had. He’d be a magnificent figure of a man if it weren’t for that beard of his. It makes him look like a prophet.
“Fine dinner,” Orcutt said, tilting his chair back against the front log wall. The leather thongs that held the chair together creaked a little as he did so. He sucked smoke through his clay pipe, exhaled it as if he enjoyed it.
“Sure was,” Renthaler said. Renthaler was Walter Renthaler, a sandy-haired, pudgy, cheerful and quick-eyed young man Devan guessed couldn’t have been more than twenty-five at the most. Orcutt had brought him to dinner. Said he had something to talk over with Devan.
It would have to be something about chemistry, Devan figured. Renthaler had solved the soap problem for them and endeared himself to the hearts of all the women as a result. It was he who told how water could be run through wood ashes and then through a layer of slaked lime to produce the lye used to make soap. He was an industrial chemist, had been visiting a friend in the neighborhood when displacement occurred for him.
They were sitting just outside in chairs, the flicker of candlelight from inside making a widening swath on the ground. There was a smell of blossoms in the air. Betty could tell what they were, Devan thought, knowing she would be enjoying the fragrance even though she was washing earthenware dishes behind the log house.
“Lucky for us Walter came through,” Orcutt said. “He’s going to show us the way.”
“Don’t put it that way, Mr. Orcutt,” Renthaler said. “I happened to specialize in the candy field. But I do know a little general chemistry that might come in handy.”
“You know more than a little the way you were talking to me about it,” Orcutt said. He turned to Devan. “I want you to hear what Walter’s got to say. The point of it all you might not get at first, so I’ll tell you. We’ve considered glass, haven’t we?”
“Yes. That and batteries, radios, refrigerators, gasoline motors, electric devices—”
“Okay.” Orcutt tapped his clay pipe lightly on his leather sandal. “Why go back to the old ways? Sure, we’ll make glass, but we won’t specialize in it. No use going through the Bronze Age if we have something better than bronze.”
“We’ve got to think of the Needle,” Devan reminded him.
“Of course. I realize the Needle comes first. But it’s going to take years.”
“We may never get back if Dr. Costigan doesn’t leave the grapes alone and start drawing some diagrams.”
“He’s waiting on you,” Orcutt said. “Now Walter here is going to make everything out of plastics. Just think of that! Here we are pioneers, but we’re going to get plastics. You tell him, Walter. Devan will provide whatever you need in the way of steel.”
“Gus Nelson will,” Devan said. “I’m turning over the steel mill to him as soon as it gets rolling. But what do you want to say, Walter?”
“You mean like coal-tar products, corn products.”
“That’s right. We can make plates, cups, saucers, glasses, tubes—the list is endless, Mr. Traylor.” Renthaler was a little shy. His voice was soft, his manner courteous.
“Just how would you go about making plastics out here in the woods?” Devan asked with what he thought was just the right provocative tone, filling his own clay pipe while Renthaler gave him a sharp look.
“I’ll get a light,” Orcutt said, disappearing inside.
“Casein,” Renthaler said, “can be made from sour milk and formaldehyde. Cellulose acetate from cotton linters with acetic acid used in the presence of a catalyst—sulphuric acid. Maybe the best bet would be phenol-formaldehyde resin. It might be the easiest.”
Devan grinned. “Where would we get the phenol?”
“Fractional distillation of coal.”
“You need glass for that.”
“It isn’t the best method. There are many.”
“How about formaldehyde?”
“It can be made by oxidizing methyl alcohol.”
“Oh, fine. Where do we get the methyl alcohol?”
“It’s wood alcohol. Just heat wood—we’ve got beech and birch, they’re the best—in the absence of air.”
“Distillation again, eh?”
Renthaler shrugged. “Oh, it won’t be easy, but it makes more sense to work in that direction than it does in others. The advantages of plastic containers over glass ones ought to be obvious.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Your wife ought to be out back with plastic dishes.”
Devan laughed. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Pioneering the way we are and getting plastics. It’s an anachronism!”
“If we can get soy beans, corn and cotton, we’ll really be set, Mr. Traylor.”
