Chapter 67: Development in Months
The following months became some of the busiest months in the history of Helmarte Soap Works.
For the first time since founding the company, Ernest felt as if ten different projects were moving at the same time.
And every single one required attention.
Northport.
Ravenford.
Eastgate.
The three new factories had officially entered the construction phase.
Letters traveled constantly between cities.
Architects submitted revisions.
Suppliers negotiated contracts.
Construction supervisors requested approvals.
Every morning, new reports arrived on Ernest’s desk.
Every afternoon, more followed.
The amount of paperwork alone would have been impossible a year ago.
Fortunately, five thousand sheets of paper had arrived from the paper workshop.
And they were already disappearing faster than Ernest expected.
Inside the Helmarte Soap Works office, shelves once occupied by a handful of ledgers were now packed with records.
Factory plans.
Supplier agreements.
Payroll documents.
Construction reports.
Shipping schedules.
Expansion budgets.
The company was beginning to resemble a real corporation.
Not merely a workshop.
One morning, Ernest stood before a large map hanging inside the office.
Colored pins marked the locations of all four factories.
Helmarte.
Northport.
Ravenford.
Eastgate.
Hollen entered carrying another stack of documents.
"There are days when I miss being a forge owner."
Ernest glanced over.
"You still are."
"No. I’m a professional signature writer now."
The forge owner dropped the papers onto the desk.
"Three construction reports. Two supplier agreements. One land survey. And someone wants approval to move a warehouse ten feet to the left."
Ernest laughed.
"Approve it."
"You didn’t even read it."
"If they’re asking permission to move a warehouse ten feet, then it probably isn’t important."
Hollen stared at him.
Then nodded.
"Fair point."
The truth was simple.
The factories were progressing well.
Very well.
Northport had already completed its foundations.
The warehouse structures were rising rapidly.
Ravenford was slightly behind schedule due to heavy rain.
Eastgate was moving the fastest.
Coal was abundant there.
Labor was plentiful.
Materials arrived regularly.
The city practically wanted the factory built.
Every report reinforced the same conclusion.
Expansion was no longer a plan.
It was happening.
Yet despite all that activity, another project continued occupying a significant portion of Ernest’s attention.
The fifty-horsepower steam engine.
Every few days he traveled to Hollen’s forge.
And every visit revealed progress.
The project had consumed an entire section of the workshop.
Workers moved constantly between furnaces.
Castings.
Assembly stations.
Measuring benches.
The scale dwarfed the prototype.
The boiler alone was enormous.
Several iron plates rested beside the forge awaiting final assembly.
Rows of rivets filled wooden crates.
One afternoon Ernest arrived to find workers struggling with a large flywheel section.
The component weighed hundreds of kilograms.
Six men were attempting to position it.
Poorly.
"Stop."
The workers immediately froze.
Ernest walked closer.
Then pointed toward a wooden beam overhead.
"Why are you trying to lift that manually?"
One of the workers shrugged.
"We’ve always done it this way."
"And how’s that working?"
The worker looked at the flywheel.
Then at his aching arms.
"Not particularly well."
Ernest grabbed a piece of charcoal.
Within minutes he sketched a simple block-and-tackle arrangement.
Pulleys.
Rope.
Mechanical advantage.
The workers studied the drawing.
Then their expressions changed.
One of them blinked.
"That would reduce the lifting force."
"Exactly."
Another worker stared at the sketch.
"Why didn’t we think of that?"
Ernest smiled.
"Because people rarely think about improving the tools they already use."
By the following day, the pulley system had been built.
Moving heavy components immediately became easier.
Hollen was not surprised.
At this point, he had stopped being surprised by almost everything Ernest did.
Almost.
A few weeks later, Ernest arrived to inspect the cylinder.
The component sat mounted on supports beside the boring machine.
The finished casting looked massive.
Far larger than the prototype version.
Several workers were preparing measurements.
One of the machinists looked visibly nervous.
"This is the most expensive casting we’ve ever made."
"Which is why we’re measuring it three times before cutting."
The worker nodded.
Nobody wanted to ruin weeks of work.
The boring machine slowly came to life.
The waterwheel outside transmitted power through belts and shafts.
The cutting tool entered the cylinder.
Metal shavings began falling to the floor.
Hours turned into days.
Every few hours measurements were taken.
Adjustments made.
Progress recorded.
The workers had become surprisingly skilled.
The same men who once relied almost entirely on experience and instinct were now recording dimensions in notebooks.
Checking tolerances.
Comparing measurements.
Discussing alignment.
Without realizing it, they were becoming machinists.
One evening, Ernest arrived at the forge and immediately noticed something different.
The atmosphere had changed.
The workers were no longer asking whether something could be built.
Now they were discussing how to build it better.
A group of machinists stood around the cylinder comparing measurements.
Two others debated the alignment of a bearing support.
Nearby, several workers were discussing whether a thicker iron bracket would reduce vibration.
Ernest couldn’t help but smile.
That was the real success of the project.
Not the machine.
The people.
Skills were being created.
Knowledge was spreading.
And once knowledge spread, it became very difficult to stop.
Hollen appeared beside him carrying a mug of tea.
"You look pleased."
"I am."
The forge owner glanced around the workshop.
The giant cylinder had finally been completed.
The flywheel was finished.
The frame stood assembled.
Most of the boiler sections had already been riveted together.
The machine was beginning to resemble the drawings Ernest had made months ago.
Hollen followed his gaze.
"You know what’s strange?"
"What?"
The forge owner pointed toward the workers.
"When we started this project, they were forge workers."
Ernest looked around.
Men who once spent their days forging horseshoes, wagon fittings, nails, and farm tools were now discussing measurements, tolerances, and mechanical assemblies.
Some carried notebooks.
Others carried measuring gauges.
A few were even arguing over dimensions.
Not because Ernest ordered them to.
Because they wanted to get it right.
Hollen shook his head.
"I don’t think they’re blacksmiths anymore."
That earned a few confused looks from nearby workers.
"What are we then?" one of them asked.
Hollen smirked.
"I have no idea."
The worker laughed.
Neither did anyone else.
There wasn’t even a proper word for what they were becoming.
Machinist.
Engineer.
Industrial mechanic.
Those professions didn’t exist in Belfast.
Not yet.
But Ernest knew they would.
Every great industry needed skilled people behind it.
Machines alone changed nothing.
People changed everything.
He looked once more at the partially completed steam engine.
The giant boiler.
The massive flywheel.
The precision-bored cylinder.
Months earlier, none of this existed.
Months later, it would power an entire factory.
And after that?
More engines.
More factories.
More industries.
The future was arriving one machine at a time.
