Brandon of the Engineers

The lengthening shadows lay blue and cool beneath the alders by the waterside, though the cornfields that rolled back up the hill glowed a coppery yellow in the light of the setting sun. It was hot and, for the most part, strangely quiet in the bottom of the valley since the hammers had stopped, but now and then an order was followed by a tramp of feet and the rattle of chain-tackle. Along one bank of the river the reflections of the trees quivered in dark-green masses; the rest of the water was dazzlingly bright.

A pontoon bridge, dotted with figures in khaki, crossed a deep pool. At its head, where a white road ran down the hill, a detachment of engineers lounged in the shade. Their faces were grimed with sweat and dust, and some, with coats unbuttoned, sprawled in the grass. They had toiled hard through the heat of the day, and now were enjoying an "easy," until they should be called to attention when their work was put to the test.

As Lieutenant Richard Brandon stood where the curve was boldest at the middle of the bridge, he had no misgivings about the result so far as the section for which he was responsible was concerned. He was young, but there was some ground for his confidence; for he not only had studied all that text-books could teach him but he had the constructor's eye, which sees half-instinctively where strength or weakness lies. Brandon began his military career as a prize cadet and after getting his commission he was quickly promoted from subaltern rank. His advancement, however, caused no jealousy, for Dick Brandon was liked. He was, perhaps, a trifle priggish about his work--cock-sure, his comrades called it--but about other matters he was naïvely ingenuous. Indeed, acquaintances who knew him only when he was off duty thought him something of a boy.

In person, he was tall and strongly made, with a frank, sunburned face. His jaw was square and when he was thoughtful his lips set firmly; his light-gray eyes were clear and steady. He was genial with his comrades, but usually diffident in the company of women and older men.

Presently the Adjutant came up and, stopping near, glanced along the rippling line that marked the curve of the bridge.

"These center pontoons look rather prominent, as if they'd been pushed upstream a foot or two," he remarked. "Was that done by Captain Maitland's order?"

"No, sir," Dick answered with some awkwardness. "For one thing, I found they'd lie steadier out of the eddy."

"They do, but I don't know that it's much of an advantage. Had you any other reason for modifying the construction plans?"

Dick felt embarrassed. He gave the Adjutant a quick glance; but the man's face was inscrutable. Captain Hallam was a disciplinarian where discipline was needed, but he knew the value of what he called initiative.

"Well," Dick tried to explain, "if you notice how the wash of the head-rapid sweeps down the middle of the pool----"

"I have noticed it," said the Adjutant dryly. "That's why the bridge makes a slight sweep. But go on."

"We found a heavy drag on the center that flattened the curve. Of course, if we could have pushed it up farther, we'd have got a stronger form."

"Why?"

"It's obvious, sir. If we disregard the moorings, a straight bridge would tend to curve downstream and open out under a shearing strain. As we get nearer the arch form it naturally gets stiffer, because the strain becomes compressive. After making the bridge strong enough for traffic, the problem is to resist the pressure of the current."

"True," the Adjutant agreed with a smile. "Well, we'll let the pontoons stand. The traditions of the British Army are changing fast, but while we don't demand the old mechanical obedience, it might be better not to introduce too marked innovations. Anyhow, it's not desirable that they should, so to speak, strike a commanding officer in the eye. Some officers are conservative and don't like that kind of thing."