There was a brief pause and the chant began again. The noise was deafening when the hammers fell. Six times the ritual was repeated.
Using a stick as a measure, the foreman took some readings around the pit while Amos watched.
“We gained three inches,” proclaimed the foreman. “Again, on four.”
The men began again, swinging the sledges to the steady count bellowed out by the night foreman. Sure enough, the dam sank deeper. The men gained another few inches but it was difficult work. The top edge of the dam was still two feet higher than usual. That made the crews footing difficult. Their swings on the sledges were shorter than usual and carried less power. It was also difficult to drive the sledges between the gaps in the timbers rather than having an unobstructed rim on which to hammer. The crew’s shoulders grew tired, they became less accurate. More hammer blows glanced off the wooden timbers and had almost no power when they hit the rim. After an hour’s work the ground became harder and progress came to a standstill.
“We have to pump more sand out of the hole,” explained the foreman.
“Keep going,” countered Amos.
For the next half hour, every twenty seconds there was a thunderous bang as the sledge hammers all came down in unison. But if there was any gain at all, it could be measured in quarters of an inch.
“It’s not working, boss. We need to pump it out.”
“That means tearing down the whole platform and rebuilding it after the pump has run for about six hours. We’ll add more weight, instead.”
The foreman was confused. Amos had never before tried to rush the job. He had always been patient and methodical. Perhaps if the foreman had fully understood the time constraints that Amos had been placed under by his partners, he might have agreed with adding more weight. As it was, with no knowledge that the operation was due to be shut down, he once again voiced his opinion that pumping out was the best solution. Amos glared at him, letting his anger show on his face.
“Bring the shovel over here. We’ll set up over the platform and drop the bucket onto it.”
“That’s too risky. What if the timbers break and the whole platform collapses into the hole. It will take two days to clean out that mess.”
“Don’t tell me it’s risky. Do it!”
“Yes Sir. You’re the boss.”
It took until morning before the steam shovel had built up enough pressure to operate and Amos used the time wisely, getting two hours sleep.
As he climbed into his bunk, fully dressed except for his boots one of the other partners admonished him for the racket he had made all night long but allowed a word of praise for his determination, however ill-founded. Amos didn’t bother to respond.
The shift changed in the morning. The shovel was at full pressure. Both crews, the cook and all the partners came out to watch the event as the hoe rumbled up toward the excavation. It was a very heavy machine and had never been allowed this close to the pit before. The foreman shouted out orders and waved hand signals at the driver of the steam shovel as he swung his boom over the center of the dam. He knew the risks he was taking. The shovel was controlled by pulleys and steel cable. If he dropped the bucket too fast he was certain to tangle the steel cables, but if he lowered it down in a controlled manner, it would have no driving force other than the dead weight. He tried that first but it did nothing. His second attempt was dropping it from a height of just five feet above the sand bags.
As everyone in camp watched he squeezed the mechanical stops on the control levers and rammed them forward. The boom and bucket plummeted downward and struck the sand bags. One worker scrambled around the pit with the measuring stick.
“We gained an inch,” he yelled proudly.
The crowd around the pit gave a cheer. A couple reached over and pumped Amos’ hand in congratulation. The shovel operator climbed out of his cab and checked his cables. Nothing had snagged or become dislodged. He grinned, resumed his position and prepared for another drop.
No one noticed the sand beneath the iron tracks of the steam shovel begin to change color.
He lifted again and made a second, successful drop.
The man with the measuring stick confirmed another gain. A third drop was equally successful. The night shift began to wander back to the bunkhouse. Just before the fourth drop, one of the night shift crew members noticed water forming below the right track of the shovel.
He yelled at the foreman who reacted immediately.
“Move her back. The vibration is bringing up the water,” he shouted at the operator, warning him of the potential for danger.
The men all looked at once and Amos pushed his way in between them.
“Good eyes,” he said as he nodded at the man who had spotted the soggy sand. “Back her out of here. We’ll lay down more timbers and make a road,” he told the foreman who looked back at him with skepticism evident on his face.
Fear showed in the operator’s eyes. As gently as he could he eased the cumbersome machine into reverse but instead of both tracks moving, the right track spun in the soft, wet sand and sank about four inches.
“Get some timbers under that track,” yelled Amos.
Every man, including the foreman raced to find some wood to place under the steam shovel’s steel track. They rushed back and began digging with hand shovels tried to slide some support timbers beneath the tracks.
“Just ease her back an inch or so. Hopefully the tracks will grab the wood and it will pull out.”
The shovel operator tried again. The tracks did catch on the timbers but rather than pull the machine backward, the timbers just sank. The action dug the front of the machine further into the quicksand. The vibration of the machine caused more water to bubble toward the surface. Now puddles were beginning to form around the left track.
“Hitch up the mules. Get some chain on the shovel. Get every man in camp on ropes. If we don’t work fast that whole shovel is going to be on her side.”
The steam shovel operator thought he could take some weight off the front of the machine by lowering his boom onto the top of the dam. That helped momentarily but the machine was cable driven, not hydraulic and although it lightened the load, it created no lift. The ground was becoming more and more soggy.
The mule teams were hitched up and connected to the shovel with chain. Two ropes were also attached and twelve men pulled on each rope while two men beat the mules savagely. The mules brayed and the men groaned, exerting all their strength against an immoveable object. The operator lifted his boom about three feet above the dam and with the gears in reverse added power to back out.
It was working. The tracks were riding up on the timbers. It looked as if the machine would come free but as the rear of the tracks climbed up and out of the ooze onto a row of timbers, the machine pitched forward and the front of the tracks dug deeper. The operator had no choice but to give her more power. For a few seconds the machine hovered at the balance point as the tracks clawed into the timbers.
Seconds seemed like an eternity. Slowly at first, then gaining speed, the steam shovel lost its battle with gravity and toppled forward. The boom crashed down on the bucket which sat on the sand bags.
Inevitably, the timbers were not strong enough to support the sand bags, the bucket and the massive boom. One timber snapped like a twig. After that the sequence became a blur as more timbers cracked. Like the aftershock of an earthquake, the sand bags gave way en masse and the boom crashed down on the edge of the dam. Then the worst possible thing happened. The combined weight of the shovel,