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Applied tribology bearing design and lubrication Third
Edition Booser Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Booser, E. Richard; Khonsari, Michael M
ISBN(s): 9781118700280, 1118700287
Edition: Third edition
File Details: PDF, 16.85 MB
Year: 2017
Language: english
APPLIED TRIBOLOGY
 Tribology Series
Editor: G Stachowiak

Khonsari and Applied Tribology: Bearing Design and Lubrication, June 2017
Booser 3rd Edition
Bhushan Introduction to Tribology, 2nd Edition March 2013
Bhushan Principles and Applications to Tribology, 2nd March 2013
Edition
Lugt Grease Lubrication in Rolling Bearings January 2013
Honary and Richter Biobased Lubricants and Greases: Technology and April 2011
Products
Martin and Ohmae Nanolubricants April 2008
Khonsari and Applied Tribology: Bearing Design and Lubrication, April 2008
Booser 2nd Edition
Stachowiak (ed) Wear: Materials, Mechanisms and Practice November 2005
Lansdown Lubrication and Lubricant Selection: A Practical November 2003
Guide, 3rd Edition
Cartier Handbook of Surface Treatment and Coatings May 2003
Sherrington, Rowe Total Tribology: Towards an Integrated Approach December 2002
and Wood (eds)
Kragelsky and Tribology: Lubrication, Friction and Wear April 2001
Stolarski and Tobe Rolling Contacts December 2000
Neale and Gee Guide to Wear Problems and Testing for Industry October 2000
APPLIED TRIBOLOGY
BEARING DESIGN AND
LUBRICATION
Third Edition

Michael M. Khonsari
Dow Chemical Endowed Chair in Rotating Machinery
Department of Mechanical and Industrial Engineering
Louisiana State University, USA

E. Richard Booser
Engineering Consultant (Retired), USA
This edition first published 2017
© 2017 John Wiley & Sons Ltd

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Khonsari, Michael M., author. | Booser, E. Richard, author.

Title: Applied tribology: bearing design and lubrication / Michael M. Khonsari, E. Richard Booser.
Description: Third edition. | Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons Inc., 2017. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016059982 (print) | LCCN 2017000217 (ebook) | ISBN 9781118637241 (cloth) |
ISBN 9781118700259 (Adobe PDF) | ISBN 9781118700266 (ePub)
Subjects: LCSH: Tribology. | Bearings (Machinery)–Design and construction.
Classification: LCC TJ1075 .K46 2017 (print) | LCC TJ1075 (ebook) | DDC 621.8/22–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016059982

Cover Design: Wiley

Cover Image: © prescott09/Gettyimages

Set in 10/12pt Times by Aptara Inc., New Delhi, India

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 Dedicated to:
Karen, Maxwell, Milton and Mason Khonsari and in memory
of Katherine Booser
Contents
Series Preface ix
Preface (Third Edition) xi
Preface (Second Edition) xiii
About the Companion Website xv

Part I GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

1 Tribology – Friction, Wear, and Lubrication 3

2 Lubricants and Lubrication 23
3 Surface Texture, Interaction of Surfaces and Wear 65
4 Bearing Materials 135

Part II FLUID-FILM BEARINGS

5 Fundamentals of Viscous Flow 161

6 Reynolds Equation and Applications 189
7 Thrust Bearings 221
8 Journal Bearings 255
9 Squeeze-Film Bearings 329
10 Hydrostatic Bearings 373
11 Gas Bearings 395
12 Dry and Starved Bearings 433

Part III ROLLING ELEMENT BEARINGS

13 Selecting Bearing Type and Size 463

14 Principles and Operating Limits 495
15 Friction and Elastohydrodynamic Lubrication 529
viii Contents

Part IV SEALS AND MONITORING

16 Seals Fundamentals 573

17 Condition Monitoring and Failure Analysis 619

Appendix A Unit Conversion Factors 639

Appendix B Viscosity Conversions 641
Index 643
Series Preface
The first and the second edition of Applied Tribology Bearing Design and Lubrication were
published in 2001 and 2008, respectively. Both books enjoy a five star ranking on the
Amazon book list. The new edition follows the same style and structure as the two previous
ones. The book starts with general description of the tribological concepts such as friction,
wear, lubricants and lubrication, surface texture and bearing materials. The text then follows
with detailed explanation of the lubrication regimes and the corresponding bearing designs.
Two chapters that follow contain information on bearing selection and operating limits, very
useful for practicing engineers. The book finishes with a chapter on seal fundamentals. In com-
parison to the second edition, this new version is much improved. The text has been updated,
some of the chapters significantly extended, additional references included, and occasional
errors removed. Throughout the text several new numerical examples, supporting the prob-
lems discussed, have also been added.
Substantial new sections have been included in several chapters. In particular, Chapter 3
has been thoroughly revised and enhanced by new segments on contact between surfaces,
friction and wear phenomena, classification of wear, failure modes and wear maps. Chap-
ter 6 has been supplemented by a discussion on optimizing a finite Rayleigh step bearing. In
Chapter 7 a useful section on the maximum bearing temperature calculations, based on the
thermohydrodynamic analysis, has been included. In Chapter 8 sections on tilted pad jour-
nal bearings, maximum bearing temperature and whirl instability have been added. Updated
Chapter 9 now contains a discussion on the combined squeeze and rotational motion and ver-
tical bearing configuration, commonly found in industrial applications. Chapter 15 has been
updated by including discussions on mixed film lubrication, lubricant starvation, models of
non-Newtonian behavior of lubricants, greases and solid lubricants. Chapter 16, dedicated to
seal foundations, contains now a discussion on thermal effects in mechanical face seals and
ways of reducing the surface temperature.
From the viewpoint of the reader, a great advantage of this book is that complex lubrication
mechanisms and their practical applications in bearings are presented in an easily accessible
form. Clear and straightforward style makes this book a highly attractive text for both under-
graduate and postgraduate engineering students. The book is not only a good textbook but also
a very useful reference. Thus it is highly recommended for undergraduate and postgraduate
students studying tribology and machine design and as well as a solid reference for mechanical
x Series Preface

engineers. It is expected that this new edition, as its two predecessors, would be equally popular
and continue to maintain its five star ranking on the engineering book list.

Gwidon Stachowiak
Tribology Laboratory
Department of Mechanical Engineering
Curtin University
Perth, Australia
Preface
Third Edition

The Second Edition of the Applied Tribology was published nearly a decade ago. Since then,
the book has been adopted for courses in many universities as has served as the basis for many
short courses and lectures in industries. With great appreciation to many positive comments
received, the Third Edition has expanded chapters on micro-contact of surface asperities, fric-
tion and wear, thermal effect, and elastohydrodynamic and mixed lubrication. Nearly all chap-
ters have been revised with expanded sections, updates with an emphasis on new research and
development, and many additional references. As in the previous editions, we strive to maintain
a balance between application and theory. Each chapter contains numerous example problems
to illustrate how different concepts can be applied in practice. We hope that this book can serve
the need for a single resource for a senior elective or a graduate-level course in tribology and
a reference book for practicing engineers in the industry.
This edition would not have been possible without the inspiring research and assistance of
numerous colleagues and former students associated with the Center for Rotating Machinery
at Louisiana State University. In particular, we gratefully acknowledge the feedback by Drs.
J. Jang, S. Akbarzadeh, X. Lu, J. Wang, W. Jun, Z. Luan, M. Mansouri, K. ElKholy, Z. Peng,
Y. Qiu, M. Amiri, M. Naderi, A. Beheshti, M. Masjedi, J. Takabi, M. Fesanghary, A. Aghdam,
A. Kahirdeh, and A., Mesgarnejad, A., N. Xiao, A. Rezasolatani, and C. Shen.

Michael M. Khonsari
E. Richard Booser
Preface
Second Edition

Tribology is a diverse field of science involving lubrication, friction, and wear. In addition to
covering tribology as involved in bearings, the same basic principles are also demonstrated
here for other machine elements such as piston rings, magnetic disk drives, viscous pumps,
seals, hydraulic lifts, and wet clutches.
In this second edition of Applied Tribology all the chapters were updated to reflect recent
developments in the field. In addition, this edition contains two new chapters: one on the fun-
damentals of seals and the other on monitoring machine behavior and lubricants, as well as
bearing failure analysis. These topics are of considerable interest to the industry practitioners
as well as students and should satisfy the needs of the tribology community at large.
Computer solutions for basic fluid film and energy relations from the first edition have been
extended to seal performance. New developments in foil bearings are reviewed. For ball and
roller bearings, conditions enabling infinite fatigue life are covered along with new ASME and
bearing company life and friction factors.
Properties of both mineral and synthetic oils and greases are supplemented by an update
on the greatly extended service life with new Group II and Group III severely hydrocracked
mineral oils. Similar property and performance factors are given for full-film bearing alloys,
for dry and partially lubricated bearings, and for fatigue-resistant materials for rolling element
bearings. Gas properties and performance relations are also covered in a chapter on gas bear-
ing applications for high-speed machines and for flying heads in computer read–write units
operating in the nanotribology range.
Problems at the close of each chapter aid in adapting the book as a text for university and
industrial courses. Many of these problems provide guidelines for solution of current design
and application questions. Comprehensive lists of references have been brought up to date with
145 new entries for use in pursuing subjects to greater depth.
Both SI and traditional British inch-pound-second units are employed. Units in most com-
mon use are generally chosen for each section: international SI units for ball and roller bearing
dimensions and for scientific and aerospace illustrations, traditional British units for oil-film
bearings in industrial machinery. Many analyses are cast in dimensionless terms, enabling use
of either system of units. Conversion factors are tabulated in two appendices, and guidelines
for applying either system of units are given throughout the book.
The authors are indebted to past coworkers and students for their participation in developing
topics and concepts presented in this book. Comprehensive background information has been
xiv Preface

assembled by the authors from their combined 80 years of laboratory, industrial, teaching, and
consulting experience. Much of this background has been drawn from well over 250 technical
publications, most of them in archival literature. Theses and dissertation projects at Ohio State
University, the University of Pittsburgh, Southern Illinois University, Louisiana State Univer-
sity; and the Pennsylvania State University; numerous industrial projects at the Center for
Rotating Machinery at Louisiana State University; four tribology handbooks organized and
edited for the Society of Tribologists and Lubrication Engineers; and a 1957 book Bearing
Design and Application coauthored with D. F. Wilcock.
This book is intended (1) for academic use in a one-semester senior engineering elec-
tive course, (2) for a graduate-level course in engineering tribology and (3) as a reference
book for practicing engineers and machine designers. It is hoped that these uses will provide
paths for effectively designing, applying, and lubricating bearings and other machine elements
while taking advantage of concepts in tribology—the developing science of friction, wear, and
lubrication.

Michael M. Khonsari
E. Richard Booser
About the Companion Website
Applied Tribology: Bearing Design and Lubrication, 3rd Edition is accompanied by a website:

www.wiley.com/go/Khonsari/Applied_Tribology_Bearing_Design_and_Lubrication_3rd_Edition

The website includes:

r Solutions Manual
Part I
General
Considerations
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
walked the air, the dead did not sleep well nights, but were ever
getting up out of their graves and returning to their old places
to warn the living. The spirit-world of darkness was an ever-
present reality, a nightly terror, and there were no angel chariots
in the clouds, nor angel feet in the ways of sorrow and death.
New England was a goblin-land. Going to bed in some distant
chamber in an old oak house was a specially perilous journey
for the young Puritan to make; one could never tell whether
one’s dead grandfather was in his grave at that hour or not.
Young folks with disturbed consciences went to bed with
alacrity, and drew the sheets over their heads quickly, in Cotton
Mather’s day.
The Mount Hope lands! How beautiful they were and are! But
the old houses on them were filled with dark superstitions. This
is not strange, for the Mount Hope lands had been the fields of
great events. Few places in America had such a romantic
history.

“Here once red warriors were wont to assemble,

Here lurid and ghostly their council fires shone,
Here the word of the chief made the ancient tribes tremble,
And the war-whoop rung out from Pometacom’s throne.
“Gone, gone are the tribes from the scenes that they cherished,
The forests no longer encompass the tide,
The happy flocks sleep where Pometacom perished,
And wanders the heron where Wetamoo died.
“And here on this ocean mound silently lying,
Where tidal waves falling the far seas intone,
Where the sail on the bay like the osprey is flying,
The olden tribes rest from their warfare unknown.
“The mild air of spring-time embeds them in flowers,
The orioles here from the tropics return,
The grain ripens on them in midsummer’s hours,
And mellowing falls by the river sides burn.”
 If the archæologists may be trusted, here came Leif Ericson in
A. D. 1000, and wintered in Mount Hope Bay. A rock is still
shown at a place called the Narrows, on which is a partly
effaced inscription, which is claimed to have been made by the
Northmen. On the Mount Hope lands, it is probable, was the
first temporary settlement ever made in the territory which is
now the United States. This was nearly five hundred years
before the Columbian discovery. Here lived Massasoit, whose
great heart protected the infant colony of Plymouth for forty or
more years. Massasoit was a poet by nature; he loved inspiring
scenery, and he made the glacier-carved slope of land
overhanging these bright waterways to the sea his royal seat.
On this neck of land, between the Narragansett and the Mount
Hope bays, were his three royal villages, or places of lodges,
each hard by a living spring of water. There was passed the
boyhood of Alexander (Wamsutta) and King Philip (Pometacom).
Here the forests were full of game, the shores of shell-fish, and
the bays were rich fishing-fields for the white and airy birch
canoes. There came young John Hampden, the English patriot
and commoner, already inspired to defend popular rights against
kingly power. He made the visit with Edward Winslow, and
found Massasoit at Sowams (now Warren, Rhode Island), one of
the three royal villages. The chief was sick, and Hampden
helped make broth for him, and to nurse him, and under his and
Winslow’s care the old chief recovered; and it was Indian
gratitude for the kindly offices of these two wonderful men that
made him a lifelong friend to the growing colonies. The scene of
John Hampden in the lodge of Massasoit by the living spring of
Sowams, which may still be seen close to the Warren River, is
worthy of a poet or painter. May it one day find both! Here
Captain Kidd, of ballad fame, was supposed to have hidden
treasure. Here came Roger Williams, in exile, and met in the
lodge of Massasoit—what he had not found at Salem—the spirit
of a Christian hospitality. It was here his mind was active in
evolving the great principles of religious liberty that have
emancipated the human conscience from the rule of state
throughout the world. There should be a monument to
Massasoit on the Mount Hope lands; no chieftain ever better
deserved a shaft of fame. Here were King Philip’s war-dances,
and here the romantic Wetamoo came to attend them, crossing
the starlit bay in her white canoe. Here Philip was killed,
returning a fugitive to the ancient burying-ground of his race,
and the warrior-queen Wetamoo was drowned, with her heart in
vain longing for the beautiful hills that on either side of the bay
met her eyes. Here Washington came to rest in 1793, and was
the guest of William Bradford, then a United States Senator,
who lived at the Mount. The descendants of Governor Bradford
used to relate how the two statesmen, clad in “black velvet,
with ruffles about their wrists and at their bosoms, and with
powdered hair, promenaded the piazza, and talked together
hour after hour.”

JAPANESE HO-O-DEN.
 Leif Ericson, Massasoit, John Hampden, Roger Williams,
Washington—what an array of great names and noble
associations! We may well claim that there are few spots on
American soil which are so grand in historic events of a highly
poetic coloring as the old Mount Hope lands. As to lesser men,
we have not space for more than an allusion: Church, the
Indian-fighter, of cruel memory, the heroes of the “Gaspee,” and
the old privateers. Lafayette was quartered here, and General
Burnside here made his home on the borders of the beautiful
hills after the Union war. In the prosperous colonial years before
the Revolution there came to live on the Mount Hope lands in
summer some grand families whom the world has almost
forgotten. Among them were the Vassals of Boston, and the
Royalls, also rich Boston people, whose home was at the Mount.
These people were royalists, and fled from the country at the
beginning of the war, and their estates were confiscated. The
Mount Hope farm of the Royalls was among the confiscated
estates. These people fled to the Windward Islands. The old
Vassal tomb may still be seen in Cambridge churchyard,
Massachusetts, near Harvard College. Of course the confiscated
estate of the Royalls became haunted after the flight of its
stately owners. The white ghost of Penelope Royall is supposed
never to have left the romantic farms, but to have remained to
terrify whomsoever might live upon these enchanted regions of
the rightful territories of good King George. In her happy days
this queenly woman used to ride in her high chariot through
Bristol, greatly to the admiration of the Wardwells, the
Bosworths, the Gladdings, the Churches, the Byfields, and the
well-to-do townspeople of the cool old port. The white sail that
bore the Royalls drifted over the tropic seas, but not in
imagination the ghostly form and robes of Penelope Royall.
They stayed to affright the rebels, and to uphold the rights and
the dignities of the Crown. All disloyal Bristol could not arrest
the spirit of Penelope, which seems to have delighted in the
freedom denied to the royalists in the flesh. She was a maiden
lady, and a more stately person than either Anna or Priscilla
Royall, the old royalist’s first and second wives. She loved the
Mount Hope lands, and especially Mount Hope, and used often
to visit the white ridge overlooking the bays, and gaze over the
glittering waterways and the green expanse of Rhode Island,
where Bishop Berkeley is said to have made his immortal
prophecy. She died in the old house, and was buried near it.
It was near the close of the last century that Prudence
Wardwell, a rich spinster, came to live on the old Royall farm on
the Mount Hope lands. The house which she occupied was
noted for its great chimney. All the old Bristol houses had
enormous chimneys with great fireplaces. One of these
chimneys, it has been said, would furnish sufficient material to
build a modern cottage. Several of them once stood like
monuments, after the houses they had warmed were gone; and
cattle, in the winter, would sometimes find a shelter in their
giant fireplaces.
Prudence Wardwell—“Aunt Prudence,” as she was known—
brought to the great oak mansion a bound boy by the name of
Peter Fayerweather. It had been her wish to live as nearly alone
as possible, with but a single protector, and for this solitary
guardian and sentinel she had chosen Peter. He was a tall,
awkward lad, with great eyes and a shambling gait; but Aunt
Prudence believed him to be honest, and she did not want a
“handsome man” on the place. Peter was not handsome. Peter
had objected to going to the Mount on account of the ghost folk
there. His large eyes and large ears seemed to grow as he
listened to the old tales of superstition. He had heard again and
again with terror the awful tale of Captain Kidd: how that
recreant son of the old Scottish minister and martyr had gone
forth on the high seas to destroy pirates, and had turned pirate
himself; how he had sunk his good father’s Bible “in the sand,”
and had murdered William Moore, “as he sailed, as he sailed.”

“And left him in his gore,

As he sailed.”
 The old pirate was said to come back to the Mount Hope
lands on still moonlight nights, to see if any had found his
buried treasures. None had. One frightened Bristoller had met
the old captain carrying his head like a bundle under his arm.
The old pirate was evidently in a hurry; if not, the good man
who met him most certainly was after the strange vision.
Peter Fayerweather had no wish to see stately Penelope
Royall or dark-visaged Captain Kidd on moonlit nights, or any
other nights, or any ghost folks who did such odd things as to
take off their heads and carry them under their arms. So, of all
places, he begged Aunt Prudence not to take him to the solemn
and lonely old oak house on the Mount. But Aunt Prudence did
not fear ghosts. She “trusted in the Lord,” as she said, against
any wandering visitors from another world. She was afraid of
robbers, and it was on this account that she had secured the
protective services of the giant Peter, who would have regarded
a robber on any dark night as a most welcome friend. So the
two came to the grand old house, Aunt Prudence fearing only
robbers, and young Peter only ghosts.
“If you will protect me from robbers,” said the solitary old lady
to Peter, on the day of their arrival, “I will protect you from
spirits. What do you say, Peter?”
“Aunt Prudence,” said Peter, “I do not fear no mortal flesh,
true as preachin’. Look there, and there.”
He waved his great arms about like a windmill, and swung
them round and round, greatly to the old lady’s admiration.
“I have great confidence in you, Peter; I made a good choice
when I took you, Peter. Do it again.”
Peter swung his great arms again round and round like a
wheel. Aunt Prudence’s sense of security became very firm.
“That will do, Peter. If you should ever see a ghost, you call
me; and if I should ever see a man, I will call you.”
 “Heaven forbid that I should ever see a ghost!” said Peter; “it
would just kill me dead, true as preachin’.”
The summer passed; the apples reddened in the shadowy
orchards, and the frosts dropped the walnuts on the light beds
of crimson leaves. The orioles went, and the ospreys. The
beautiful Indian summer came and burned and faded.
November, the month of shadows, came, and a coolness fell
from the steel sky over the bay, and soon the light snow-crystals
began to fall. No ghosts were seen in or about the old house;
no robbers. Peter lost his fears, and Aunt Prudence became full
of confidence, and the two were as happy as such a solitary life
could make them. Aunt Prudence, at least, seemed perfectly
happy and contented.
There was in the great chimney an odd receptacle, once
common to such chimneys, but now almost forgotten even in
England, known as the smoke chimney. The door to it, which
was iron, opened in this old house into one of the upper rooms.
The chamber consisted of iron bars on which fresh hams were
stored in the fall, and through which the smoke passed from
one of the lower fireplaces. It was in reality a smoke-house in
the chimney; a place to smoke meats, in the days when such
smoked meats were regarded as a greater luxury than now.
Peter Fayerweather had not been slow to discover this fortress-
like smoke chamber. Peter was not what would be called bright,
but a bright idea illumined his dull face when he first opened
the iron door.
“Ghosts? Ghosts?” he said to himself. “If I ever should—I
know what I would do if I ever should—Nothing could ever get
through that iron door, true as preachin’. If I ever should—”
A part of the predicate to Peter’s subjunctive sentence was
wanting, but that a very helpful idea had come to him was
evident from his luminous face. He had formed a very definite
plan of security “if he ever should—”
 Aunt Prudence too, in a careful survey of the premises, had
been struck with the appearance of security and seclusion of the
old smoke chamber. She too had examined it alone; and as
sympathetic minds by a kind of telegraphy express themselves
in like phrases, she also said:—
“If I ever should—No robber would think of such a place as
that, anyhow. I will hang up a quilt over the iron door, and if I
ever should—If I ever should—eh, well, if I ever should—I will.”
She too turned away from the dungeon-like place with a face
full of animation and confidence. Certainly if Peter “ever should,”
or if Aunt Prudence “ever should,” the old smoke chamber
would be a very desirable and convenient seclusion. Now, Peter
thought of seclusion only in the case of a ghost, and Aunt
Prudence only in case that an unknown man of very selfish
propensities should “break into the house;” and each evidently
had received a sense of security on a careful inspection of the
old smoke chamber. But neither made a confidant of what the
other would do under certain alarming circumstances.
Peter, like most cowardly people who recover a sense of
security, became suddenly very bold. He used to visit Bristol
evenings, and return late, greatly to Aunt Prudence’s anxiety. It
was the time of the once famous Episcopal and Methodist
Episcopal revivals, and Peter claimed that he went to attend the
meetings, which were the exciting topics of the old port and of
the State. Aunt Prudence, who was a strict Calvinist, was not
deeply in sympathy with these phenomenal meetings, which
were called the “New Light Stir.” She advised Peter to “read his
Bible at home.” But he still felt the necessity of going elsewhere
for the interpretation of that good book, and so, to use his own
expression, he continued to “follow up” the meetings.
Aunt Prudence’s patience at thus being left alone during the
long winter evenings at last came to an end.
 “Peter,” she said, one morning after Peter had attended a
meeting that had held very late, “are you never afraid of
meeting apparitions on your way home nights? Suppose you
should—what would you do?”
Peter thought of the old smoke chamber, but that would not
serve him in such a case. He knew Aunt Prudence’s purpose in
making these appalling suggestions. He was not a very politic
boy, but he was quite equal to the situation on this particular
occasion.
“I would call for you, Aunt. You say that you are not afraid of
’em.”
Aunt Prudence felt flattered, but she still recalled amid her
feeling of satisfaction that she must not be left alone.
“But, Peter, I would hate to see the ghost of Captain Kidd, or
to see any of the old Indian apparitions. Don’t you know, Peter,
that Mount Hope is a great Indian graveyard? I would not like to
meet old Penelope Royall all in white going about in the wind;
would you, Peter? It would be awful; now wouldn’t it, Peter?”
Peter’s great eyes and ears began to grow. His old nervous
fears were coming back again, but he still coveted the freedom
of his evenings.
“Aunt,” he said at last, very thoughtfully, “where do you
suppose old Penelope Royall went when she died?”
“To heaven, I hope, Peter, even if she was a royalist.”
“Then why don’t she stay there? What would she want to be
wanderin’ about in the wind in cold nights for?”
“For vengeance,” said Aunt, in an annoyed tone.
“For vengeance?” said Peter. “I shouldn’t think a woman after
she had gone to heaven would have any more wicked feelings
like that. I don’t believe she wanders about in the wind with thin
clothes on anyway. Now say, do you, Aunt? Do you really think
so? They dress comfortable up there. It don’t stand to reason,
true as preachin’; now does it?”
Aunt felt the force of Peter’s argument. In fact, Peter was
expressing her own firm convictions about such matters.
“But Captain Kidd, Peter, he was a dreadful man; I don’t think
he has gone to heaven.”
“Where did he go, Aunt?”
Aunt Prudence replied with spirit and emphasis,—
“He went, Peter, where all wicked people go,—to the kingdom
of darkness, where he is shut up for ever and ever. There now!”
Aunt Prudence was “clearing away the table,” as she called
her morning work, when she uttered these startling and decisive
words. She looked steadily at Peter, and felt that she had
answered him and silenced him. She felt a kind of triumph in
the pause that followed, and lifted her spectacles as though to
say, “What do you think of that?”
“But, Aunt Prudence—”
“But what, Peter? This is a very alarming subject.”
“But who let him out?”
“Oh, Peter, Peter! You are becoming an awful boy. I always
knew that those Methodist free salvation meetings would do you
no good. You go right out to the wood-pile, and bring me in an
armful of wood. You have no sense of theology, anyway. You are
a poor daft fellow. ‘Who let him out?’ Did I ever!”
Peter went out, muttering that he didn’t “see how people can
be shut up forever in another world, and be wandering about
this world at the same time. It don’t stand to reason, nohow,
true as preachin’.”
But although Peter’s reasoning seemed convincing, it did not
quiet his superstitious fears. Whenever his conscience became a
little disturbed, the picture of tall Penelope Royall wandering
about in the wind “all in white” was before him. Even grim old
Captain Kidd was not such an alarming object to his fancy as
that. Captain Kidd was a man, and he felt sure that he would let
him alone, if he did not trouble the buried treasure, but old
Penelope Royall—she was a woman.

The Mount Hope lands were full of Indian stories, which were
founded on tricks, and even worse stories of those whose wits
cheated the devil out of his dues, when their grasping souls had
bargained with the latter. Peter thought of these. There was one
story that suggested to him that wit is equal to most conditions
of life. It was a red settle story, but became a poem:—
“Among Rhode Island’s early sons
Was one whose orchards fair
By plenteous and well-flavored fruit,
Rewarded all his care.
“For household use they stored the best,
And all the rest, conveyed
To neighboring mill, were ground and pressed
And into cider made.
“The wandering Indian oft partook
The generous farmer’s cheer;
He liked his food, but better still
His cider fine and clear.
“And as he quaffed the pleasant draught
The kitchen fire before,
He longed for some to carry home,
And asked for more and more.
“The farmer saw a basket new,
Beside the Indian bold,
And smiling said, ‘I’ll give to you
As much as that will hold.’
“Both laughed, for how could liquid thing
Within a basket stay?
But yet, the jest unanswering,
The Indian went his way.
“When next from rest the farmers sprung
So very cold the morn,
The icicles like diamonds hung
On every eping and thorn.
“The brook that babbled by his door
Was deep, and clear, and strong,
And yet unfettered by the frost,
Leaped merrily along.
“The self-same Indian by this brook
The astonished farmer sees;
He laid his basket in the stream,
Then hung it up to freeze.
“And by this process oft renewed,
The basket soon became
A well-glazed vessel, tight and good,
 Of most capacious frame.
“The door he entered speedily,
And claimed the promised boon;
The farmer laughed heartily,
Fulfilled his promise soon.
“Up to the basket’s brim he saw
The sparkling cider rise,
And to rejoice his absent squaw,
He bore away the prize.
“Long lived the good man at the farm,
The house is standing still,
And still leaps merrily along
The much diminished rill.
“And his descendants still remain,
And tell to those who ask it,
The story they have often heard
About the Indian’s basket.”
A wonderful reformation seemed to come over Peter. He
began to stay at home, and go to bed very early, often as early
as seven o’clock,—or at least he seemed to do these sober
things. Aunt Prudence had gone to the door of his room once or
twice after his early retiring, but had found it locked, and she
had been unable to awake him, he “slept so sound.” “Boys do,”
she said.
“Peter,” she said one morning, “tell me the truth, now; didn’t
you hear me when I pounded and pounded on the door last
night?”
“No, Aunt Prudence, true as preachin’ I did not.” And he did
not.
The truth was that poor Peter had fallen from his integrity,
even in these times of the great revivals. He had discovered that
the great hall window was as handy as a door, and that he had
only to leave it unfastened to return to the house at any time of
the night without disturbing the sound slumbers of good Aunt
Prudence. He was careful in taking this liberty to first lock his
own room. These were wicked ways, it is true, and very bold
ones for a quiet youth, and quite inconsistent with meeting-
going habits. But the meetings at this period were wonderfully
dramatic; everybody talked about them, and Peter’s curiosity
quite overcame his moral sense.
The holidays were at hand. Thanksgiving was Aunt Prudence’s
great annual festival, her Feast of Tabernacles; she made little
account of Christmas, which, she told Peter, was a mere “relic of
the Pope and the Dragon,” and which he associated with an old
picture in the “Pilgrim’s Progress.”
Watch Night was the great annual occasion of the old Bristol
Methodists. It took place on New Year’s Eve, when a great
assembly used to meet to sing the old Wesleyan Watch Night
hymns, written by Wesley for the Old London Foundry, and to
watch “the old year out and the new year in.” The services of
the Presiding Elder were sometimes secured for this memorable
night, and if so, a “Love Feast” was held, and a multitude told
their experiences, amid triumphant responses, ecstatic refrains,
and sometimes strange exhibitions of trance, or of “losing one’s
strength,” as the old phenomena were called.
Christmas was the Episcopal festival, and the Episcopal
Church in Bristol was unlike any other at that time. It followed
the revival methods of Whitefield and Lady Huntingdon.
Christmas Eve was an occasion of universal charity. The poor
were the guests of the church, and were entertained like
princes. Peter well understood all these festivals, and he
resolved to attend them all,—the old Orthodox church’s
Thanksgiving, the Episcopal festival, and the Methodists’ solemn
jubilee on New Year’s Eve. There was nothing sectarian about
him. It was also his intention not to disturb the mind of Aunt
Prudence about these matters,—the easy hall window would
make it unnecessary.
 CITY HALL.

Thanksgiving passed—it fell late this year; December came in

mildly, as though the bright days were loath to go. The stillness
before the winter storms filled the air. The withered grasses
were silent now, without the voice of insect or bird. A white gull
sometimes cleaved the still gray air, and the wild cry of the
shore birds was sometimes heard. The nights were silvery and
cold. The Mount Hope Bay and the Pocassett Hills in the frosty
moonlight recalled the silence and melancholy fate of that
ancient race which slumbered in the browned fields,
Pometacom’s cliff and spring. The night air seemed peopled
with shadows of painted chiefs and spectral armies forever
gone. The river weeds were dead, and encased in a thin sheet
of ice in the early mornings. Brown leaves still hung on the
oaks, and red leaves of ivy on the long walls. Husking was over,
and the yellow cones of the stalks of corn fodder glimmered on
every farm. The fishing-boats were hauled upon the shore;
everything—the sky, the blue bay, the fields, the working-men—
seemed waiting for the coming of winter. The mild days grew
shorter and shorter; the tall candles burned lower and lower
each evening; the nights were glorious, and Christmas Eve
came, rung in by the resonant bell of good St. Michael’s.
Aunt Prudence had resolved to depart from the Orthodox
customs on this special year, and to make Peter a Christmas
present. “He has become such a good boy of late,” she
reasoned, “and so steady. Every one else is giving presents, and
he ought to be rewarded.” She planned to fill a bag with good
things for him, after the manner of the bountiful bag, and to
hang it on his bedroom door on Christmas Eve. He would, as
she thought, find it in the morning, and it would be a great
surprise to him. It certainly would. She made the bag,
purchased some sweetmeats for it, and began to fill it with
useful articles. She knit for it a “comforter,” as a neck-scarf was
called, several pairs of stockings, some “galluses,” and secured
for it various other useful things, among them “Hervey’s
Meditations,” “Young’s Night Thoughts,” and “The Fool of
Quality,” all famous books in those sober days, and “good
readin’.”
When the bag was nearly full it occurred to her that she
ought to knit for it a pair of mittens. This happy thought,
however, did not occur to her until the day before Christmas.
Aunt Prudence was a rapid knitter. The needles flew under her
skilled fingers so swiftly as to look like mere glimmers. “I can
finish the mittens before eleven o’clock to-night,” she said to
herself, “and then the bag will be all complete. I had as lief sit
up late to-night as not, the nights are so long now.”
Peter retired early that evening.
“Going?” said Aunt Prudence as he left the room with his
candle. “You seem dreadful sleepy of late. Well, that’s all right, I
suppose. Boys do when they’re growing. Don’t forget to say
your prayers, Peter. You’ve a great deal to be thankful for. Good-
night, Peter. The Lord bless ye!”
Peter closed the door on receiving this serene benediction.
“He’s such a steady boy!” said the good woman, as she
resumed her knitting. “He sha’n’t lose anything by it, either. Any
boy will be steady if he is brought up right. There’s the trouble,
people do not bring their children up right.” Her needles flew. It
was inspiring to recall her great success in training Peter.
It was a still night. There was a faint moon, and the stars
glimmered thick in the cloudless sky. Aunt Prudence looked out
of the window at times, saw the still fields and bare trees, and
thought of the past. The Mount seemed haunted—it always
does on calm winter nights. Not by Leif, or Kidd, or the Royalls,
or by Indian fighters, or Revolutionary heroes, or statesmen, but
by that vanished and mysterious race whose forest capital was
here, and whose arrow-heads still fill the fields and sand.
At nine the old Bristol bell rang out on the clear air.
“I shall have the work all done by ten,” said Aunt Prudence,
and her needles flew again. She was very happy. She got up
and looked out of the window for the tenth time—ghost-land.
The hands on the old English clock pointed to ten. The work
was done, and Aunt Prudence drew the top of the bag together,
and pinned upon the tape handle a sheet of paper, on which
was written,
“Peter Fayerweather, a Present.”
It was half-past ten before Aunt Prudence opened the door to
go with the bag bountiful to the door of Peter’s room. As she did
so she thought that she heard a noise in the hall. She stepped
back and listened with a beating heart. She surely heard the hall
window close, and a careful step in the hall. Her heart bounded,
and she gasped for breath; she had long had a presentiment of
this danger.
She locked her door at once, withdrew the key, and kneeled
down on the rug and looked through the key-hole very
cautiously. There was only a faint moon and star light in the
hall, but she saw the shadow of a tall man pass, and heard a
dull step move in the direction of Peter’s room. Her house had
been entered, surely; the expected event had really come. What
should she do?
She stepped into her bedroom, which opened out of her
sitting-room, where she had been knitting, and sunk down upon
the white bed, and drew the bed-curtains. She would have
groaned, but she dared not. Here she lay and trembled till the
old clock struck eleven, the strokes sounding like a warning
through the hollow rooms.
She must alarm Peter. How? Suppose she were to meet the
robber in the hall? Her nervous system was so shaken that she
felt that she could not be quiet any longer. She must do
something, at any event. She arose, put aside the bed-curtains,
drew from the bed the white counterpane, put it over her head
like a great shawl, wrapped it around her, and going into the
sitting-room, took the almost extinct candle, and unlocked the
door and stepped cautiously into the hall. If ever a mortal
looked like the traditional spectre, Aunt Prudence did then.
 CEYLON BUILDING.

The hall was empty; all was still. The grim old portraits were
there—like shadow people they were all.
She left the sitting-room door open, and moved silently and
cautiously along toward Peter’s room. She tried Peter’s door. A
great sense of relief came to her; it was unlocked. She opened
it slowly, but a draught blew out the light. Terrified at this, she
glided to Peter’s bed and seized the boy by the hair, gasping,
“Peter, Peter, there’s a man in the house! Get up, get up! there’s
a man in the house!” She shook him with a nervous energy, and
repeated in stage-like whispers the words. She then vanished
out of the room.
Peter awoke at the first touch of the rude hand, and his heart
seemed to stop, and his blood to turn to frozen streams, as he
saw an awful white spectre standing over his bed, and felt its
bony fingers in his hair. Penelope flashed upon him. It surely
was the ghost of Penelope; she had got away from the other
world this time, surely, despite his reason and philosophy. He
looked around wildly, saw the shadow of the old ox-saddle that
adorned this room as a curiosity,—and Penelope, awful
Penelope.
Penelope’s final shake of his great shoulders nearly put a
period to his unromantic history. A chill like death came over
him, and he fully believed that his last moments had come. The
gasped words, “There’s a man in the house—get up!” were
something of a relief. “A man!” If he would only appear! Then
he beheld the unearthly white figure vanish through the door. It
surely was Penelope. She had gone; and oh, if the man, if any
man, would come!
He lay petrified for a moment, and then thought of the old
smoke chamber. His decision was immediate. He leaped up,
drew the dark patchwork coverlid around him, and darted
upstairs. Past loom, hatchel, and spinning-wheel, he made his
way to the iron door, leaped into the smoke chamber, closed the
door behind him, and sank down in a heap, with a most decided
resolution to leave the house in the morning forever, “true as
preachin’.” He drew the industrial coverlid around him, leaving
only an opening for his eyes.
Aunt Prudence went back to her room, and locked the door
tremblingly, and waited for Peter’s step. But no Peter came. Her
suspense grew unbearable again. Suddenly she too thought of
the old smoke chamber, and drawing her ghostly robe again
around her, she went into the hall, and silently and very
cautiously made her dark way up the stairs. She too, past loom,
hatchel, and spinning-wheel, found her way to the iron door,
and pulling it open, prepared to enter the dark grated chamber.
If ever a mind was supped full of horror, it was Peter’s when
he heard a noise at the iron door, and beheld the supposed
ghost of Penelope Royall, tall and avengeful, standing before
him. He uttered a pitiful shriek, slid through the iron bars, and
dropped down the chimney into the fireplace. There he
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