On this uncouth superstructure, which sometimes reached an enormous height, thick beams were laid in two parallel rows; and on top of these, the only timber to be more or less properly shaped, went the rails themselves. The bridge was then considered finished. It fulfilled the need of the hour. There was no parapet, no footpath. The only way to walk across was to step from one beam to another, balancing above the chasm—a feat at which the Japanese were adept.
The first convoy would go jolting across at low speed. The engine sometimes came off the rails at the point where the bank met the bridge, but a gang of soldiers armed with crowbars usually managed to heave it upright again. The train would then move on. If the bridge was damaged at all, more bits of timber would be added to the structure. And the next convoy would cross in the same way. The scaffolding would last a few days, a few weeks, sometimes even a few months, after which a flood would sweep it away, or else a series of more than usually violent jolts would make it capsize. Then the Japanese would patiently start rebuilding it. The materials they used were provided by the inexhaustible jungle.
The methods of Western civilization, of course, are not so elementary. Captain Reeves represented an essential element of that civilization—the mechanical—and would never have dreamed of being guided by such primitive empiricism.
But when it comes to bridge building, Western mechanical procedure entails a lot of grueling preliminaries, which swell and multiply the number of operations leading up to the actual construction. They entail, for instance, a detailed plan; and for this plan to be made it is essential to determine in advance the section and shape of every beam, the depth to which the piles are to be driven, and a mass of other details. Now each section, each shape, and the depth entail further calculations, based on figures representing the resistance of the various materials to be used and the consistency of the ground. These figures, in their turn, depend on coefficients worked out according to "standard patterns," which in the civilized world are given in the form of mathematical tables. Mechanics, in fact, entail a complete a priori knowledge; and this mental creation, which precedes the material creation, is not the least important of the many achievements of Western genius.
There were no tables available on the banks of the Kwai, but Captain Reeves was an expert engineer and his theoretical knowledge enabled him to do without them, but only by increasing the number of preliminary duties and by experimenting with various weights and simple shapes before getting down to his calculations. He was thus enabled to-determine his coefficients by an easy method, using instruments hastily produced for the purpose, since there was not much time to spare.
With the approval of Colonel Nicholson, under the anxious eye of Saito and Clipton's sardonic gaze, he set to work on these tests. At the same time he traced the best possible course for the railway to take, and passed the result to Major Hughes for
action. With this off his chest, and with all the necessary data for his calculations ready, he embarked on the most interesting part of the work: the design and planning of the bridge.
He devoted himself to this task with the same professional conscientiousness that he had once shown when engaged on similar work for the Indian Government, and also with a passionate enthusiasm which he had hitherto tried to acquire, in vain, through reading suitable books (such as The Bridge Builders), but by which he was now suddenly carried away as a result of a casual remark passed by the C.O.
"You know, Reeves, I'm relying on you entirely. You're the only qualified man we have and I'm leaving everything in your hands. We've got to show we're superior to these savages. I realize how difficult it is in this God-forsaken place where you can't find what you need, but that makes the task all the more worthwhile."
"You can count on me, sir," Reeves had replied, feeling suddenly galvanized. "I won't let you down, and we'll show them what we're capable of doing."
This was the chance he had been waiting for all his life. He had always dreamed of tackling a really big job without being badgered every other minute by administrative departments or maddened by interfering officials who ask ridiculous questions and try to put a spoke in the wheels on the pretext of economy, thereby frustrating every creative effort. Here he was responsible to the Colonel and to no one else. The C.O. was favorably impressed; although he was a stickler for routine and "proper channels," he could at least see the other man's point of view and refused to be blinded by convention and protocol as far as the bridge was concerned. Besides, he had openly admitted he knew nothing about engineering, and made it quite clear he intended giving the junior officer his head. Certainly, the job was a difficult one, and there was a shortage of proper material, but Reeves promised to make up for every deficiency by his devotion to duty. He could already feel the breeze of creative inspiration fanning those hungry flames which overcome every obstacle in their path.
From that moment he did not allow himself a minute's leisure. He started by dashing off a sketch of the bridge, as he saw it in his mind's eye whenever he looked at the river, with its four majestic rows of piles meticulously in line, its bold but graceful superstructure towering a hundred feet above the water, its beams assembled according to a process he had himself invented and which he had tried in vain to make the conservative Government of India adopt years ago, its broad platform protected by a strong balustrade, allowing room not only for the railway itself but also for a vehicle track and footpath.
After that he set to work on the calculations and diagrams, and then on the actual design. He had managed to acquire a roll of fairly decent drawing paper from his Japanese’s colleague, who kept sidling up behind him to gaze at the work in progress with ill-concealed, bewildered admiration.
He fell into the habit of working like this from dawn till dusk, without a moment's rest, until he noticed that the hours of daylight were over all too soon, until he realized with dismay that the days were all too short and that his task would never be finished in the time he had allowed. And so, using Colonel Nicholson as his intermediary, he got permission from Saito to keep a lamp burning after Lights Out. From that day on, he spent every evening and sometimes half the night working on the design of the bridge. Sitting on a rickety footstool, using his wretched bamboo bed as a desk, with his drawing paper spread out on a board which he had himself planed smooth with loving care, in the light of the tiny oil lamp which filled the hut with fetid fumes, he would handle with expert ease the T square which he had taken such pains to make.
The only time these instruments were out of his fingers was when he seized a fresh sheet of paper and feverishly filled it with further calculations, sacrificing his sleep at the end of each tiring day in order to see his craftsmanship take shape in a masterpiece which was to prove the superiority of the West—this bridge, which was to be used by the Japanese trains on their triumphant advance to the Bay of Bengal.
Clipton had at first believed that the preliminary stages in the Western modus operandi (the elaborate administrative plans, followed by painstaking research and mechanical tests) would retard the actual building of the bridge even more than the haphazard empiricism of the Japanese. It was not long before he realized how vain these hopes of his were and how wrong he had been to jeer at all the preparatory work undertaken during the long sleepless nights caused by Reeves's lamp. He began to understand that he had been a little too hasty in his criticism of the methods of Western civilization on the day that Reeves submitted his finished plan to Major Hughes and the construction got under way with a speed surpassing even Saito's most optimistic dreams.
Reeves was not one of those people who become mesmerized by symbolic preparations or who postpone taking action indefinitely because they devote all their energies to intellectual activity and think nothing of the practical side. He kept one foot firmly on the ground. Besides, whenever he showed signs of pursuing theoretical perfection too closely and shrouding the bridge in a fog of abstract figures, Colonel Nicholson was there to guide his erring footsteps. The Colonel had the practical sense of a born leader, who never loses sight of his objective or the means at his disposal and who keeps his subordinates perfectly balanced between idealism and reality.
He had consented to the preliminary tests on condition that they were quickly completed. He had also approved the blueprint and been given a detailed explanation of the innovations due to Reeves's inventive genius. All he had asked was that the latter should not overwork himself.
"We'll be getting along nicely, and then suddenly you'll get sick, Reeves. The whole job depends on you, remember."
So he began to watch Reeves carefully, and appealed to common sense when Reeves came to him one day with a worried look in his eye to inform him of certain particulars.
"There's one point that's bothering me, sir. I don't think we should treat it too seriously, but I wanted to know what you felt about it."
"What is it, Reeves?" the Colonel asked,
"The wood's still damp, sir. We shouldn't be using freshly felled trees on a job like this. They should first be left out in the open to dry."
"How long would it take for these trees of yours to dry, Reeves?"
"It all depends on what sort of wood it is, sir. With some kinds it's advisable to wait eighteen months or even a couple of years."
"That's absolutely out of the question, Reeves," the Colonel protested. "We've only got five months as it is."
The Captain hung his head apologetically.
"I realize that, sir, and that's exactly what's worrying me."
"And what's wrong with using fresh timber?"
"Some species contract, sir, and that might cause cracks and displacements once the work is under way. Not with every kind of wood, of course. Elm, for instance, hardly shifts at all. So naturally I've selected timber which is as much like elm as possible. The elm piles of London Bridge have lasted six hundred years, sir."