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nailed down under the Volstead Act）。 But the working door of a puddling furnace is the door through which the puddler does his work。 It is a porthole opening upon a sea of flame。 The heat of these flames would wither a man's body； and so they are enclosed in a shell of steel。 Through this working door I put in the charge of 〃pigs〃 that were to be boiled。 These short pieces of 〃mill iron〃 had been smelted from iron ore； they had taken the first step on their journey from wild iron to civilized iron。 There isn't much use for pig…iron in this world。 You've got to be better iron than that。 Pig…iron has no fiber； it breaks instead of bending。 Build a bridge of it and a gale will break it and it will fall into the river。 Some races are pig…iron； Hottentots and Bushmen are pig… iron。 They break at a blow。 They have been smelted out of wild animalism； but they went no further； they are of no use in this modern world because they are brittle。 Only the wrought…iron races can do the work。 All this I felt but could not say in the days when I piled the pig…iron in the puddling furnace and turned with boyish eagerness to have my father show me how。 Six hundred pounds was the weight of pig…iron we used to put into a single hearth。 Much wider than the hearth was the fire grate； for we needed a heat that was intense。 The flame was made by burning bituminous coal。 Vigorously I stoked that fire for thirty minutes with dampers open and the draft roaring while that pig…iron melted down like ice…cream under an electric fan。 You have seen a housewife sweating over her oven to get it hot enough to bake a batch of biscuits。 Her face gets pink and a drop of sweat dampens her curls。 Quite a horrid job she finds it。 But I had iron biscuits to bake； my forge fire must be hot as a volcano。 There were five bakings every day and this meant the shoveling in of nearly two tons of coal。 In summer I was stripped to the waist and panting while the sweat poured down across my heaving muscles。 My palms and fingers； scorched by the heat； became hardened like goat hoofs； while my skin took on a coat of tan that it will wear forever。
What time I was not stoking the fire； I was stirring the charge with a long iron rabble that weighed some twenty…five pounds。 Strap an Oregon boot of that weight to your arm and then do calisthenics ten hours in a room so hot it melts your eyebrows and you will know what it is like to be a puddler。 But we puddlers did not complain。 There is men's work to be done in this world； and we were the men to do it。 We had come into a country built of wood； we should change it to a country built of steel and stone。 There was grandeur for us to achieve； like the Roman who said； 〃I found Rome a city of brick and left it a city of marble。〃
The spirit of building was in our blood； we took pride in the mill； and the mill owners were our captains。 They honored us for our strength and skill； they paid us and we were loyal to them。 We showed what bee men call 〃the spirit of the hive。〃 On holidays our ball team played against the team of a neighboring mill； and the owners and bosses were on the sidelines coaching the men and yelling like boys when a batter lifted a homer over the fence。 That was before the rattle heads and fanatics had poisoned the well of good fellowship and made men fear and hate one another。 Sometimes the Welsh would play against the Irish or the English。 At one time most all the puddlers in America were English； Irish or Welsh。
In these ball games； I am glad to say； I was always good enough to make the team。 After telling of being a bandsman at thirteen and a puddler at sixteen； I would like to say that at seventeen I was batting more home runs than Babe Ruth in his prime； but everything I say must be backed up by the records； and when my baseball record is examined it will be found that my best playing on the diamond was done in the band。
CHAPTER XVI
WRESTING A PRIZE FROM NATURE'S HAND
After melting down the pig…iron as quickly as possible； which took me thirty minutes； there was a pause in which I had time to wipe the back of my hand on the dryest part of my clothing （if any spot was still dry） and with my sweat cap wipe the sweat and soot out of my eyes。 For the next seven minutes I 〃thickened the heat up〃 by adding iron oxide to the bath。 This was in the form of roll scale。 The furnace continued in full blast till that was melted。 The liquid metal in the hearth is called slag。 The iron oxide is put in it to make it more basic for the chemical reaction that is to take place。 Adding the roll scale had cooled the charge； and it was thick like hoecake batter。 I now thoroughly mixed it with a rabble which is like a long iron hoe。
〃Snake bake a hoecake；
And lef' a frog to mind it；
Frog went away； an'
De lizard come and find it。〃
Any lizard attracted by my hoecake would have to be a salamander that fire…proof creature that is supposed to live in flames。 For the cooling down of that molten batter didn't go so far but that it still would make too hot a mouthful for any creature alive。
The puddler's hand…rag is one of his most important tools。 It is about the size of a thick wash…rag； and the puddler carries it in the hand that clasps the rabble rod where it is too hot for bare flesh to endure。
The melted iron contains carbon； sulphur and phosphorus； and to get rid of them； especially the sulphur and phosphorus； is the object of all this heat and toil。 For it is the sulphur and phosphorus that make the iron brittle。 And brittle iron might as well not be iron at all； it might better be clay。 For a good brick wall is stronger than a wall of brittle iron。 Yet nature will not give us pure iron。 She always gives it to us mixed with the stuff that weakens itthis dross and brimstone。 Nature hands out no bonanzas； no lead…pipe cinches to mankind。 Man must claw for everything he gets； and when he gets it； it is mixed with dirt。 And if he wants it clean； he'll have to clean it with the labor of his hands。 〃Why can't we have a different system than this？〃 I heard a theorist complain。 〃I'll bite；〃 I said。 〃Why can't we？〃 And I went on boiling out the impurities in my puddle。
Man's nature is like iron； never born in a pure state but always mixed with elements that weaken it。 Envy； greed and malice are mixed with every man's nature when he comes into the world。 They are the brimstone that makes him brittle。 He is pig…iron until he boils them out of his system。 Savages and criminals are men who have not tried to boil this dross out of their nature。 Lincoln was one who boiled it out in the fires of adversity。 He puddled his own soul till the metal was pure； and that's how he got the Iron Will that was strong enough to save a nation。
My purpose in slackening my heat as soon as the pig…iron was melted was to oxidize the phosphorus and sulphur ahead of the carbon。 Just as alcohol vaporizes at a lower heat than water； so sulphur and phosphorus oxidize at a lower heat than carbon。 When this reaction begins I see light flames breaking through the lake of molten slag in my furnace。 Probably from such a sight as this the old…time artists got their pictures of Hell。 The flames are caused by the burning of carbon monoxide from the oxidation of carbon。 The slag is basic and takes the sulphur and phosphorus into combination； thus ending its combination with the iron。 The purpose now is to oxidize the carbon； too； without reducing the phosphorus and sulphur and causing them to return to the iron。 We want the pure iron to begin crystallizing out of the bath like butter from the churning buttermilk。
More and more of the carbon gas comes out of the puddle； and as it bubbles out the charge is agitated by its escape and the 〃boil〃 is in progress。 It is not real boiling like the boiling of a teakettle。 When a teakettle boils the water turns to bubbles of vapor and goes up in the air to turn to water again when it gets cold。 But in the boiling iron puddle a chemical change is taking place。 The iron is not going up in vapor。 The carbon and the oxygen are。 This formation of gas in the molten puddle causes the whole charge to boil up like an ice…cream soda。 The slag overflows。 Redder than strawberry syrup and as hot as the fiery lake in Hades it flows over the rim of the hearth and out through the slag…hole。 My helper has pushed up a buggy there to receive it。 More than an eighth and sometimes a quarter of the weight of the pig…iron flows off in slag and is carted away。
Meanwhile I have got the job of my life on my hands。 I must stir my boiling mess with all the strength in my body。 For now is my chance to defeat nature and wring from the loosening grip of her hand the pure iron she never intended to give us。
CHAPTER XVII
MAN IS IRON TOO
For twenty…five minutes while the boil goes on I stir it constantly with my long iron rabble。 A cook stirring gravy to keep it from scorching in the skillet is done in two minutes and backs off blinking； sweating and choking； having finished the hardest job of getting dinner。 But my hardest job lasts not two minutes but the better part of half an hour。 My spoon weighs twenty…five pounds； my porridge is pasty iron； and the heat of my kitchen is so great that if my body was not har