Dawn of Steam: First Light

by Jeffrey Cook

  Sir James had the good grace to look away immediately, of course. I pulled my eyes away fairly soon after, while Eddy took a few seconds longer. Enough that where his eyes fell earned him a stern and disapproving gaze from Mrs. Fisher. Thankfully, before she had to draw additional attention to the matter, Sir James rescued his friend and made my life that much easier by quickly drawing our attention to one of the lovely pieces of artwork upon the wall, an early sketch of the outside of the battle suit.

  Eventually, poor Harriet had to be taken from the room, nearly in tears, that they could retrieve the errant biscuit and find her a new dress, as well as assessing any danger to this one. They were gone for a significant time while the gentlemen of the ship gained a new appreciation for the Coltranes' tastes in artwork, daring not to even glance backwards, even so much to see if Mrs. Fisher might still be glaring at us. She is a formidable enough woman, I could only imagine that I did not need to look, almost feeling her gaze instead.

  The incident was mostly put behind us by Miss Jillian's return. With a few disarming and polite witticisms, she rescued the mood fairly ably, inviting everyone back to the table. The rest of the primary gathering continued without further interruptions, save for Miss Harriet daring to return, put back together and dressed a little less formally, and once again in her usual pre-Mrs. Fisher-inspection state, but at least willing to make a new effort at convincing us she could be a proper lady. Her manners obviously need work, but I cannot fault her conviction.

  Eventually, almost as if Miss Jillian had planned for some interruption, even if she had not predicted precisely its character, the party broke up into smaller conversations precisely on schedule. Well supervised, but in different parts of the room, people had an occasion to speak in more mixed company than typical, and I was able to speak to the ladies a little more than I had before. Speaking with Mrs. Fisher and Miss Harriet went almost precisely as I would have anticipated. Small chatter, talk of anticipation about New York, including some expectation of shopping and the like. This is not to say they were unpleasant at all, and I enjoyed a chance to get to know Mrs. Fisher by more than observation. Likewise, my feeling of some kinship with Miss Harriet continued, amidst several awkward silences that assured the two least formally experienced and adept members of the company that the other was not entirely alone.

  Miss Coltrane, in complete contrast, was a continual surprise. She had little patience for small talk on shopping and the like. Rather, she quickly complimented me on my work in such a fashion as to suggest that she had paid significant attention to the reports of the war. While is is not unusual, certainly, for some word of the conflict, when it appeared in the news, to be read to all members of the household, it seemed that either she perused them herself or her brother spared few details. She knew even some of the more obscure reports, never meant for truly public consumption, but released to some officers on various fronts, such as Sir James. Her attention to detail, combined with her memory, stunned me. She kept the conversation polite, of course, but not only had she obviously been aware of my writings, she made numerous comparisons to what they reminded her of, in the process giving me some concept of just how well read our hostess is.

  Matters of warfare, even as light as we attempted to keep it, turned eventually to the philosophy of the matter, and its references in the past. I had to apologize a couple of times, for her French was certainly superior to my own, let alone her Latin. That she was as well versed in Latin as she proved shouldn't have surprised me, given how entirely clever she's proven herself. I did my best to keep up, as I had to agree with her in many cases, that translated work often loses something of its meaning. In one of my apologies, I also learned, in her gentle correction, that she hadn't been speaking in Latin on quoting Aristotle, but Greek. I had to wonder just how widely read she truly was. Especially given that in addition to classical sources, she was equally adept at referencing modern works, including mention of conversations via letters with the wives of many of today's most prominent men of politics, science and philosophy.

  The party ended all too soon. When away from home, whether in wartime or now in odder ventures, it's the little touches of civility one comes to appreciate. It did leave me with quite a lot to consider. In particular, I have to wonder if Miss Jillian is not entirely as impressive and surprising an individual as her brother, and yet she has still not managed to quite tame Miss Wright, even after all her time and efforts.

  (7) Having met Mr. Toomes, I can assure you that while he was a most steady man, a few of the place settings were more social than he was.

  – C B-W

  American Colonies

  The Civilized West

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  April 12th, 1815 (8)

  New York

  40º 47'N 073º 58'W

  We have settled in New York temporarily. It has been a pleasure to return to civilization after so much time in the air. Though I did begin to grow used to it, a break in the routine is most welcome now. We will not be staying here for long, I fear. Per our instructions, we leave tomorrow to make contact with an old university friend of our employer.

  Lord Donovan has not given us much information on just how much contact he keeps with Dr. Jonathan Allen Mitchell, but at least he apparently maintains some. To my understanding, few others from the Oxford community claim even that. It is my understanding that the doctor was, in his time as a professor at Oxford, one of our nation's leading minds in the field of mechanics. Sir James has confirmed that the doctor amassed quite the impressive collection of writings, many of which helped plant the seeds for Sir James's own mechanical works, while others were of such complexity that even Sir James confesses he is still in awe of them despite his own successes in the field.

  However, while the details are not entirely known, the doctor left the university under somewhat contentious circumstances. The limited rumors I am now aware of suggest it had something to do with his marriage. Apparently there was some controversy involved with it, and shortly after he was married, he left the university entirely. Though normally they would be loath to let go of someone with such knowledge of state secrets and technology as Dr. Mitchell, apparently some sort of agreement was struck. He now lives in the New England colonies, though well away from any major settlement. The Coltranes have been quite excited to meet the man after having heard so much about him through the rumors circulated about Oxford during Sir James's time there.

  Apparently, Lord Donovan is of the idea that the doctor might be some use to us in helping refit the dirigible to be better suited for long distance travel and otherwise make helpful modifications that will aid us in our journey, since our endeavors and needs are quite different than those for which the dirigibles were originally designed. Lord Donovan hopes that his note of introduction and Sir James's own reputation will be sufficient to get us an audience with the doctor.

  (8) Yes, it did take them nearly 30 days to cross the Atlantic. Remember, my modern readers, that this is 1815. In 1774 dirigibles were used only for battlefield observation, as they were often outpaced by the artillery, particularly if it was windy. You may be so used to 82-hour crossings from Hyde Park to Central Park that you have forgotten that the Daughterland used to be ‘wild’ and ‘far away.’ It used to be that a disreputable son could be sent into exile in Boston and never heard from again. Now exacerbated fathers must spring for passage to Western Australia. – C B-W

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  April 18th, 1815

  Location removed

  ~44N ~68W

  We have now spent a full day in Dr. Mitchell's labs, and they are quite the marvel of science. Finding the place at all was extremely difficult, and if we had not had a dirigible, I am not certain we would have discovered it at all. The doctor's residence is in a secluded cove. There are no roads to the place, and any venture here by land would require significant exertion. Aside from air travel, it would take not only a boat to
reach this place under most circumstances, but also a skilled navigator who is knowledgeable about the region. There are many treacherous rock formations out beyond the cove, not all of which are visible at any time save low tide.

  Supplies are shipped in by one such knowledgeable navigator, hired by the doctor, once a month. There is another ship moored to the docks here that I suspect would be for the doctor's use if he ever needed to travel, but like much else here, it appears in poor repair. I would not want to trust my life to such a wreck at sea.

  Once past the obstacles to approach, the place is habitable enough. The doctor has found some means of drawing the salt from seawater, and as such, has a large flock of sheep living here in unusually green pastures for a coastal locale. The creatures are largely allowed to roam free about the land. They can no more easily get out of the cove than a man could get in, and as yet, none seem to have shown any interest in leaving green fields and flat ground for difficult rocks or rocky sand.

  Aside from the hostility of the location, the simple docks and their sole resident, and the vast herds of sheep, the only thing evident upon our approach was a large, two-story home, not dissimilar to those kept by men of some means in the countryside. Much like the boat on the docks, it appeared in poor condition indeed, all loose shingles and discolored wood, save for the weather vane and two lightning rods, all of which appeared new by comparison. On the sea, there are great paddle wheels placed about at odd angles, spinning one way and another constantly, like a half submerged field of children's pinwheels.

  As we neared, a mooring post and platform began to rise from the ground next to the house, lifted on a metal framework. Even from a distance, I was able to hear the grinding of gears and metal on metal as the post rose from what had appeared bare ground. When it was fully extended, we were able to moor the dirigible and descend to the ground. We reached the bottom of the stairs to find the large doorway to the house opened to us by Agnes, a large, middle-aged woman of hefty build and Scottish descent. She bade us enter quickly, then offered us tea. She apparently serves as Dr. Mitchell's housekeeper, shepherd, and cook. She is the sole living resident here, aside from the doctor and his flocks of sheep. She was polite enough, but bade us wait in the front parlor while she checked on the doctor.

  The front parlor was a fright. It was filled with all manner of devices, none of which had any purpose I could fathom. Especially true as most of them seemed to be unfinished, half-finished, or simply composed of ill-fitting pieces bolted or welded together in some wild fit of fancy before being discarded. One had to be careful in moving about for the presence of bolts, screws, gears, cogs and scraps of metal about the floor. One area had what passed for a table and chairs, though it was really just a handful of crates of differing sizes pushed together and kept clean of any of the doctor's work, quite possibly at Agnes's insistence, if I had to guess.

  We made ourselves as comfortable as we could under the circumstances, and talked over eventual servings of tea. It was almost two hours before the doctor graced us with his presence. At least he was polite enough, and quickly apologetic for keeping us so long. The doctor is a small man, not even the height of Jillian Coltrane, and so thin and pale that I might suspect she outweighs him as well. When he speaks, it is in such a quiet tone that one has to lean forward and strain to hear over even the distant movement of the waves on the beach outside, or any rustling of those in the house. I found this particular trait especially taxing, as the crates did not provide a lot of support or comfort as it was. Though he claimed to be pleased to see us, his sincerity was hard to judge, given that the doctor is not a man given to much expression, with everything he says and does seeming drowned in some terrible melancholy.

  We took his welcome for what it was worth, and settled in as best we were able under the circumstances. Agnes dotes upon the doctor, and urges him to eat at every opportunity when she has his attention. Save for the mechanism which raises and lowers the mooring post, we saw nothing here in working order. The doctor himself, while polite enough, seemed somewhat distant, offering only vague greetings. We made a couple of attempts to introduce ourselves and state our purpose, but he seemed uncomprehending. Only when we mentioned Oxford did he show any sign of true animation. In the clearest, and most hopeful words he had yet uttered, in response to this effort at introduction, he asked, finally, “So, are you here to kill me then, at last?”

  April 20th, 1815

  Dr. Mitchell's Hidden Cove

  ~44N ~68W

  My Dearest Cordelia,

  Today I witnessed a most bizarre series of events, and learned a great deal about Harriet Wright. These occurrences brought to mind some of your flights of fancy as a child, so I immediately thought to write you of the day's happenings.

  We have been staying with Dr. Jonathan Allen Mitchell, a former Oxford professor of some repute, though I have begun to question whether being sequestered here in America has done his sanity some harm. In any case, by the accounts of those who know him and his history better, he has always been known for his eccentricity.

  We had some initial misunderstandings as to our purpose here. I will not trouble your mind with the exact nature of the difficulties. Sir James dispelled his misconceptions, but reassuring him of our good will did not produce the desired effects. Instead, the doctor quickly dismissed us from his presence and informed us we were not welcome in his laboratory, and that we should finish our tea and be gone. He then quit our presence with some haste.

  Though we were going to leave, Miss Coltrane, for some reason, bade us stay and wait a time to see if his temper would improve. Mr. Toomes and her brother quickly backed her in this argument, so we posted watch, and went back to the dirigible to wait a while.

  While the gentlemen of the ship were in discussion on how to proceed, Miss Wright, without alerting anyone as to her intent, descended back down the mooring post steps to the doctor's home. For the rest, I have only Miss Wright and Dr. Mitchell's accounts of it, but have no reason, having witnessed her works since, to doubt them. Apparently, she attempted to engage the doctor in conversation. Failing that, she took up one of his wrenches and some oil, and set to repairing a grinding noise we had earlier heard when the mooring post was mechanically raised from ground level. In the process, apparently, she stated that some of the bolts seemed loose, leading to it not rising perfectly straight, thus leading to metal grinding across metal.

  Even having seen her at work with tools now on the doctor's machines, I can scarce believe this is the same farmer's daughter, brought to England to be a lady's companion. Certainly not the young woman who so fancies courtly life as to try to emulate her cousin's graces at every opportunity. Still, apparently she has quite the gift for artifice.

  Sir James offered some explanation for myself and the others wondering after this gift of hers. Miss Wright's parents, well off as Virginia considers such things, had been among the first to see that the new laws of England regarding trade in slaves could well impact their business, and thus they invested heavily in some of the new mechanical devices invented by Oxford scientists, intended to mechanize more parts of farm labor.

  Shortly after this time, her eldest brother was admitted to university. Harriet took his place helping out as best she could on the farm. While she is possessed of only limited education for a young American lady, it turned out that she had a phenomenal memory for how mechanical devices are pieced together, and while she is no inventor or innovator herself, once she has seen instructions or seen how a thing functions, she can repair almost any device quite ably.

  He went on to explain to me that though she did not invent the suit, her eye for when something needs adjustment or bolts need tightening is so advanced that so long as she has seen his schematics for that section of the suit, she can repair it quite ably. This helps explain some of the activity at night at the Coltrane residence – much of the work taking place on the suit is done by Miss Wright. He remains the primary mechanic, but she is his most capable as
sistant, so trusted with his work that she is often allowed to venture into the workshop alone and unsupervised. She still does serve as Miss Coltrane's lady's companion, of course, but the real reason for her presence with her cousins is this skill with mechanics.

  According to the Coltranes, they discovered her gift when they visited America in the time shortly preceding the war. Sir James is a resourceful man, and when he noticed her gift, he helped out the family considerably that they might be able to spare her, for he needed a skilled assistant to help him realize the machine. Apparently, Miss Wright in turn was most enthused to leave farm life behind, in the hopes that she might learn from Jillian and become a proper lady of England. This, at least, is certainly no act. Whatever her gift, she most assuredly is as devoted as she seems to being able to present herself as a fine lady of society and eventually to marry well.

  Her difficulties with this pursuit now no longer surprise me though, for perhaps if she truly had such a gift for the manly pursuit of artifice, certainly well beyond my own understanding, then perhaps some part of her mind is entirely unsuited for womanly pursuits. It still strikes me as quite unnatural, but if Sir James continues to trust her skill, then I trust him well enough to do the same.

  Whatever her background, her work and observations moved the formerly obstinate Dr. Mitchell. He enthusiastically welcomed her to his home, and bade the rest of us return straightaway. We were allowed, at last, past the front parlor, filled with clutter and his recently discarded experiments, and shown upstairs. The house is extremely spartan, but they do keep guest beds, at least, and the doctor's housekeeper, Agnes, has made sure we have at least minimal comforts. In addition to the rooms, the upstairs also includes at least three workshops full of all manner of experiments and devices, all in far better repair than the discarded items littering the ground floor. There is, apparently, also an expansive basement workshop, but we have not been shown that as of yet.