electrical station. We passed two of the four electrical engines, and then stepped through yet another watertight door. The roar of the dynamos was nothing when compared to the almost deafening sound we encountered in the next room. There, we found the ship’s huge turbine engine, tirelessly turning the shaft that rotated the ship’s centre propeller. A crew member stood next to it, squirting oil through an open panel.
‘As you know, the
‘It is enormous!’ I said.
‘Yes, indeed, Doctor Watson,’ Bell replied. ‘The entire turbine unit weighs no less than 420 tons. The rotor is twelve feet in diameter and more than thirteen feet long...’
Holmes took his watch from his coat pocket and checked the time. The captain took this as a signal.
‘Thank you, Mr Bell. Now let us move along to the reciprocating engine room... Gentlemen, I think you will find our next destination even more interesting. It is the heart of the ship’s propulsion system. And there is no one better qualified to describe it than my chief engineer.’
Bell, smiling at this vote of confidence from the captain, again took the lead, and opened the door to the next compartment. And, without fail, the progression of louder and louder whirring and rumblings of machinery continued. It is difficult to imagine how the upper decks remained so quiet and peaceful. We were now in the rough underside of this floating palace – an area that few passengers were invited to see.
‘Here they are, gentlemen, the reciprocating engines,’ Bell continued. As you can see, there are four of them – two on each side. They are designed to take steam at 215 pounds per square inch – much, much greater than the turbine you just saw. Each cylinder is ninety-seven inches in diameter, and the heaviest cylinder, with liner, weighs fifty tons.’
Three crewmen passed through on their way to the turbine engine room. One had a beard, but it was light brown.
‘Any questions, Commodore, Doctor Watson?’ asked the captain.
Holmes shook his head. His arms were folded in front of him and he was glancing about the room impatiently. I decided that this was not the time to expand my knowledge of nautical engineering.
‘Very well,’ said the captain. ‘Mr Bell, proceed to the Number 1 boiler room.’
The boiler room was much as I had envisaged it. Stokers were lined up shovelling coal from a bin into the fiery open doors of the furnaces. It was hot, sweaty, grimy work. The stokers, covered in coal dust, did their jobs mechanically, perhaps thinking of home, or looking forward to an evening drink with their shipmates before retiring to their bunks. A few, on noticing the captain and chief engineer, firmed up their posture and shovelled more vigorously.
‘This is one of six boiler rooms on the ship,’ Bell said. ‘Together, they contain twenty-four double-ended boilers and five single-ended boilers, designed for a working pressure of 215 pounds. Smoke from the boilers is released through three of the ship’s four funnels. The aftermost funnel is used strictly for ventilating purposes and releasing chimney smoke from the ship’s galleys. Now, the coal that fires the engines is stored on each side of the ship and fed into cross bunkers that extend across each of the boiler rooms...’
‘Mr Bell, as I mentioned earlier, I would like to talk to some of your stokers,’ said Holmes. ‘Might we proceed into the next boiler room...’
‘What is wrong with the men right here, Commodore? Take old Fred, down there at the end. He has been stoking for White Star Lines now for...’
‘I am sure they are all fine men, but I have a particular type of individual in mind,’ Holmes said, once again leaving the perplexed engineer with an expression of total frustration. ‘Captain, would you mind if Doctor Watson and I continued on alone. I do not want to encroach on any more of your valuable time, or Mr Bell’s.’
‘Very good, Commodore. In fact, it is time that Mr Bell and I rejoined my senior officers and concluded our inspection of the ship. But please take care – I do not have to remind you of the safety hazards below deck.’
‘We will be careful, Captain, and our thanks to you and Mr Bell for this fine tour.’
Captain Smith and Bell departed through the reciprocating engine room, while Holmes and I continued into the No. 2 boiler room. While none of the stokers in the first boiler room had black beards, our luck changed in the second. Two of the men who were shovelling coal had jet-black beards. Holmes and I approached the tallest, most muscular of the two, who appeared to be in his mid-forties.
‘That looks like mighty thirsty work. Can I offer you a sip of brandy?’ Holmes took a flask from his coat pocket and, after removing the cap and taking a swallow, handed it to the tired crewman.
‘Don’t mind if I do, Admiral. Not a bit.’ The stoker took the silver flask in his big, calloused hand and poured a generous portion down his throat. ‘This coal dust, it just coats your mouth and teeth all day. I don’t mind firin’ my own furnace a little, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do indeed. I am Commodore Giles Winter and this is Doctor Watson. I am doing a little research on the
‘Hardwood, Edwin Hardwood. Pleased to meet you... Well, I like the
‘Oh, no problem at all,’ said Holmes, noticing that the other black-bearded stoker had put down his shovel, and was looking in our direction while mopping his brow. ‘In fact, we just left the captain next door in the aft boiler room. He was giving us a tour and let us continue ahead on our own.’ The stoker smiled and nodded, while taking another drink of brandy. ‘By the way,’ said Holmes, ‘that is quite a handsome beard you have. I was talking to one of your fellow stokers earlier. He had a black beard too and said it took him twenty minutes each day just to wash the coal dust out. Maybe you know him? I do not recall his name but he had fresh scratches on his face...’
Hardwood laughed and took another drink of brandy. ‘That sounds like young Strickley. He said he got them scratches when he fell on a pile of metal scraps. I think he maybe got a little too friendly with one of them girls in steerage he’s always sneakin’ over to see.’
‘I would like to talk to him again. You say his name is Strickley?’
‘Yah, Ed Strickley. He’s workin’ today. Number 4 boiler room, I think.’
‘Well, Mr Hardwood, it has been a pleasure meeting you. Before the Doctor and I leave, why don’t you have another sip of that brandy. Very good, is it not?’
Hardwood took another generous swallow from the flask and returned it to Holmes. ‘Indeed it is, Commodore. Life to a tired working man. Much appreciated.’
After receiving hearty handshakes from Mr Hardwood, Holmes and I moved on two compartments to No. 4 boiler room. It did not take us long to find our man.
‘Mr Strickley?’ said Holmes. ‘I am Commodore Winter and this is Doctor Watson. The chief engineer was giving us a tour of the engine rooms, and he asked Doctor Watson to take a look at those scratches of yours. He is afraid they might become infected.’
Strickley was a big man, about six feet, six inches tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His hands clenched the handle of his shovel, which he held level with his waist.
‘What you talkin’ about? I ain’t been near Bell since before I got these scratches early this morning.’
‘One of your fellow shipmates told him about them,’ I interjected. ‘Apparently he was quite concerned about your health.’
‘Well, I don’t need a doctor. I cleaned it up myself. I get cuts like this all the time, and none of them killed me yet. Just fell into some metal, that’s all.’
‘You know, there was an elderly woman in first class who said she scratched an intruder in her cabin last night, someone with a beard like yours,’ Holmes said, glaring into the man’s frightened eyes. I kept my eyes on the shovel, ready to fend off any attack against Holmes or myself.
‘Well, I wasn’t nowhere near first class, and old ladies cannot see in the dark!’
‘Who said anything about it being dark?’ said Holmes.
‘If you want to make any charges, go take it up with your friend, Bell! Meanwhile, stay out of my way!’ With
