YOUR GRANDFATHER’S DIESEL — Spring 1994
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The Great Lakes… 84% of the continent’s fresh water… a different story in every drop.
Author: George Wakefield
My introduction to marine diesel engines started as a lad in 1924. How well I remember the big Mianus in my father’s cruiser, a 50 footer built by Edward Crossley at Erie. When she took off for the first time, it was something! I guess my father felt the same way for his experience had been with gasoline engines, mainly a single-cylinder MacBeth, of Cleveland make, and a three cylinder Ralaco built in Toledo. As for me, I had puttered around trying to run worn-out single, two-cycles which had just about made me the expert in Vermilion harbor. […] So our Mianus start-up was one of the most dramatic moments in my sailing life. That and my subsequent experiences made me a diesel buff for life.
1927 Kahlenberg 4-Cylinder Marine Diesel Engine. From the Collections of The Henry Ford. Gift of Great Lakes Steel.
The Mianus was a brute and a forerunner of the engines to come. She was not ahead of the times especially, just a natural development in the long, cumbersome and difficult path since Dr. Diesel got a favorable chug from his first engine, which incidentally, was built in the Man factory in Germany. Man later became a leading producer of large marine diesels.
The Mianus was a full diesel, two-cycle, airless injection, two-cylinder hunk of iron weighing 5,000 pounds, producing a bare 40 h.p. But the power was in steam horse units which is quite different from the usual context. She swung a big wheel at her tail shaft at 400 r.p.m. and drove the boat at 9-3/4 m.p.h. Her outstanding characteristic, and most engines had them in those days, was her ability to make a great noise. This was normal for two-cycle units since the cylinder head explosion was so close to the exhaust port. You got the message that here was power. It was not unusual to have a landlubber say, “We heard you coming for an hour!”
The amusing part of this racket was, my father had exhausts on each side of the hull so noise dominated the boat. Most observers thought we were twin screws. Dad never dreamed his choice of an engine would be an audio problem. He picked the Mianus because she was the smallest diesel made.
The flywheel up forward was a heavy one, about 28″ in diameter, with holes in the rim for positioning. A brass arrow in front showed the direction of rotation. A file mark at the rim showed dead center. Just aft of the wheel was a plunger-type water pump that ran off an eccentric on the shaft. The two 50″ high cylinders were next, free standing from the base. Fuel injectors were atop with tubes leading back to the injector pumps. Each cylinder had a removable igniter plug which locked up with cam action. A lighted punk was the initial firing method. On the port side was a McCord pressure lubricator near the aft cylinder. The opposite side had a large water cooled exhaust manifold. A brass thermometer stood on each exhaust fitting; they were used to balance the temperatures, or fuel consumption per cylinder. Precision, high-pressure (900 p./sq. in.) injector pumps ran off the aft shaft from eccentrics. A fly-away governor was enclosed at the shaft. Next was the Joes reverse gear with a wickwell thrust bearing aft. Each cylinder had an air intake with valves at the base; the natural scavenging in the cylinders. All in all, the Mianus was a very plain, simple engine compared to our diesels of today.
To Fire Up The Mianus
It has been 70 years since I ran the rascal, but each task for starting is crystal clear. First, check my air; I had to have between 300 to 400 pounds per square inch in the two big 8 foot air bottles strapped to the hull. If air was down, I would start up the gasoline compressor. This was a twin cylinder engine, one cylinder the power source and the other the air pump, Mianus, of course. It was of make-and-break ignition, two-cycle and very reliable. Mianus made hundreds of marine engines of this type; in fact, profit from these small fishermen engines allowed them to develop the diesel line.
After I was satisfied about starting air, I went about lubricating the water pump eccentric, the fuel pump eccentrics and finally the wells in the after thrust bearing. Before putting the oil can away I checked the level of lube oil in the McCord and gave it a couple of turns to check oil drop. Next, I put a bar in the flywheel and rolled it over an inch or so past dead center, the file mark. To ensure minimum use of air I tested the fuel pumps by inserting a small bar between the pump and actuator and pried downward; if I heard a spray of fuel at the injector, we were in business. Once I sprayed too much fuel in the cylinders and all hell broke out— the safety valves let go at each cylinder; it was as if a double barreled shotgun had blasted the engine room. I was very careful about testing the pumps and was gun shy after that cannonading. After setting the throttle at half speed, I proceeded to get the punks from the dry storage, an old stogie box. Now we were ready to start.
I pulled each igniter plug and inserted a punk and lit up, putting them back securely. I raised the air valve lever, the flywheel rolled over once and she fired, taking off like a race horse. I shifted aft and reduced the throttle to slow. She was now running fine, bang, bang, bang and under control.
Other Diesel Memories
Other diesels come to mind, but none like the Mianus. The Kahlenberg oil engines were very popular on the lakes and coast. They were called oil engines by the maker, and were semi-diesels since they fired from a hot spot in the cylinder head versus the full-diesel which ignited fuel from high compression. Consequently, with lower exhaust pressures the semi-diesel was relatively quieter. To me, I always thought of a sewing machine while watching a Kahlenberg engine idling. They were gentle engines.
Ott Full installed the first diesel engine in the Vermilion gill-netters in his new Lester K. in 1930. Now Ott was a steam man who had skippered the steam tug Jos. 2′. Sloat for some 20 years, so when he ventured into the internal combustion era, he had a new role to play—chief engineer of a Kahlenberg! I used to stand in the cabin door to watch him start up the big four-cylinder job. First, starting all diesels was a chore, he lit the blow torches at the head of each cylinder. Then he went through the lubrication routine, after some 15 or 20 minutes the ignition pins were sufficiently heated, he put the air into her and she took off like a tame horse. From the dock side you would hear a burst of air sounds then some blasts of dark smoke, all pretty mild mannered stuff. I loved to hear the musical notes from the old Kahlenbergers.
Another great diesel builder that performed well for the Navy was Winton in Cleveland. They pioneered the big vees just in time for the diesel locomotive revolution. Mr. Winton tested his first diesels in his large yacht La Belle in 1917. I well recall seeing her turn around in our small river, and the maneuvering required with the accompanying spurts of black smoke.
The perfection of the diesel as a successful power plant was relatively a rapid process, thanks to competitive manufacturers and their previous experience with the first internal combustion engine, the gasoline engine. But the diesels I saw in the twenties were truly the granddaddies of the modern day diesel, which is a machine to behold and admire.
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