Dawn of Steam: First Light

by Jeffrey Cook

  My love, always,

  Gregory Conan Watts

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  June 12th, 1815

  Pennsylvania

  40º19'N 079º23'W

  It seems we have underestimated the depths to which our opposition will sink. My mind is still abuzz with the events of the day, but I endeavor to document them faithfully and accurately. I now regard my experience in the war as fortunate, else I should now have trouble composing myself to write. It is always unnerving to be shot at, and, it seems, far more when out of the context of the battlefield.

  Today we reached a small watering station between St Louis and New York. The great steam engines need many of these, for the engines have constant problems with overheating. I am sure the minds at Oxford are working on this very problem, for it would greatly speed the journeys by rail if they did not require so many stops. I have come to understand that this is one of the reasons the military railroads placed down during the Napoleonic wars were so quickly abandoned, the territory deemed too expensive to make even token attempts to hold. Whole trains almost would be needed to supply them with water, and these stations are quite open and vulnerable. Now there are vast stretches of Western Europe with iron bars nailed to the ground, leading to nowhere, and no other sign that scientific progress ever set foot on those battered shores. (10)

  Here in the vast reaches of America, these stations have begun to dot the few railways which are growing up with the country, and towns then grow around them to supply the hot and grimy train crews and those passengers that have elected to travel in this way. It is still a long and uncomfortable means of travel, especially as they must crowd people into the cars so that most of the train can remain dedicated to the pursuit of trade or supplying the frontier towns, a more profitable venture than carrying people about. But where there is any coin to be made, you can be certain someone will try to exploit it. This stop was somewhat more grown than many others, with large buildings meant for the storage of railway cargo and crates so people living in the expanse between the cities, or within the large towns without the fortune to be right on the rails, can leave that which they wish sent to destinations along the rails, or pick up their goods. Appropriately enough, in this time of expansion and opportunity, I understand that the vast majority of this cargo right now is building materials, and the rest is primarily those machines meant to accommodate a farmer, and replace some part of his labor force. These machines are mostly still very expensive, but with a shortage of strong young men accustomed to the various specific types of farm labor – and many people's hesitation to hire former slaves – they are sometimes considered worth the expense, as they were for the Wrights of Virginia.

  This place also had a trio of large saloons and a single large, hopeful church, in addition to less noticeable trappings of the growth of civilization. It also had quite a lot of places where a man can hide, as it turns out. We were not there long, with the crewers about filling the train's water supplies so they could retire a few hours and water themselves, when suddenly there was a flurry of motion to my left. Mr. Bowe shouted a warning and, in a diving motion, tackled both myself and Sir James to the ground next to the train.

  Before we could react, a shot rang out, then another, with the sound of impact against the very train car we were just departing in order to head for a saloon for a drink of our own. I rolled under the train car for cover out of wartime instinct, and Sir James did likewise. Eddy, not yet fully out of the car, raced back inside. I would learn that his soldierly instinct was not so much to flee to cover, but he headed directly for his beloved rifle, and from there would climb onto the top of the car by kicking out one of the windows on the opposite side. For the moment, we were left without him and to our own devices. In the meanwhile, nearly a dozen men appeared about the area brandishing weapons, all of them looking in our direction.

  Though I am certain that Mr. Bowe's actions and sharp senses likely saved Sir James and myself from injury, sheer fortune saved Mr. Franzini from the same. He was a few seconds behind us in crawling under the train, though once he got it in his head to seek cover, he did so with great haste. Miss Penn was, thankfully, still aboard the train car, and thus quite safe until such time as our attackers disposed of us, so long as she kept her head low.

  By instinct I kept my head down through the first round of shots, then glanced up to see how best I could try to avoid the men and get out of the line of fire, for I was unarmed. Upon looking up, I saw quite the most insane act of bravery I think I have ever witnessed, for Mr. Bowe did not join us in cover, but rather had followed his tackle by racing directly towards one knot of our attackers as they frantically reloaded, a knife in his right hand, but nothing to stand up to a gun. To assure me that I was not seeing some imagined vision, this glance, as well as a brief cessation of firing while the attackers tried to track us down – or reloaded their weapons, or drew second pistols – allowed me to overhear Mr. Bowe stating, quite flatly, “Stupid bringing guns to a knife fight.”

  My attention was pulled then to Sir James, rolling back the other way out from under the car and demanding I do likewise. Eddy had kicked out the window by this point, and as we stood, he passed his pistols on to us, already loaded, while he clutched his rifle in one hand and climbed the remaining distance to the roof of the car. No small feat, fitting a man of his size through a window, but he managed. We headed for opposite ends of the car, while only steps behind us, Mr. Franzini took off running further down the car. Using the train as cover, and with only one gun each, we knew we were in some trouble amidst this ambush, but were determined to sell our lives dearly.

  As I peeked around the train car, I found Mr. Bowe once again. He had reached the men, though I am quite certain I had heard at least two more shots coming from that direction. He appeared unwounded, and as I watched, he weaved directly into their midst, making firing quite difficult lest they hit one another. He stabbed the closest man, tearing the knife free quite violently and dropping his target instantly. A moment later, a second man fell with his throat cut. Just as on that first meeting, I am quite certain I have never seen a man move so fast as young Mr. Bowe, encouraging my thoughts that perhaps somehow his father is truly simply so extraordinary a man as to somehow defy the laws of what is probable or even possible for a man to accomplish in a lifetime, if he is anything like his son. And then I consider, and reassure myself that the works must be the imaginings of someone with so wild a mind as to have offspring who does not retreat from large numbers of men with guns, but rather charges them with a skinning knife.

  With no further attention to allow for Mr. Bowe, I located some of our attackers, who began to advance upon our location, unaware that we had so armed ourselves. The first of them fell a moment later as I heard the crack of a rifle above me. When the target landed, there was neither struggle nor cry, dead before he hit the ground with a rifle ball to the head. A second man fell before they could get any sense of what was happening as Eddy fired again, putting the man down in much the same fashion. Sir James was not long out of the action, as my attention was grabbed by his sudden motion, turning about from his cover behind the train, straightening, extending his arm, and firing. He made his single shot count, for another of the men fell with a shot to the chest, even as the others finally had some idea that Eddy had gotten the drop on them, and they were the ones now in need of cover.

  Three raced back towards the storefronts, while the remaining three rushed forward towards the train instead. Sir James dealt most effectively with the first of these, for as the man darted forward, he was met with a blow to the head from the butt of Sir James's pistol. I dealt with a second, accomplished enough a soldier to at least not embarrass myself with missing at point blank range, dropping the man nearest me before he could quite reach greater cover. The third, however, disappeared into the train car. Those running for cover split up, two rushing one way for a pile of crates while one made the unfortunate choice of rushing
at a storefront, to be met by Mr. Bowe before he could find a safe place to settle in. To his credit, in desperation, he threw a punch, but Bowe ducked it easily and gutted the man before he could take another step. The other two found cover.

  As we hit standoff, I heard a shouting from further on up the train, somewhat nearer the crates. It seems Franzini had recognized one of our attackers. Though I am uncertain if the others could hear them or not, I was able to pick out most of the details of the shouting back and forth.

  “Mick? Is that you?”

  “Gio? What're you doing here?”

  “Does it matter? You have yourself quite the fix here, Mick.”

  “What's it to you?”

  “As it happens, I know these men. I'll convince them to spare you if you'll do me the favor of shooting your fellow there.”

  There was a moment of hesitation, but Mick clearly thought better of his situation, with Eddy likely having drawn a bead on their position by now, and Mr. Bowe already having proven himself quite insane enough to charge fellows with guns. There was a gunshot, and a lanky, red-haired man stood from cover, dropping his gun. A shot rang out from the direction of Mr. Franzini. At once I appreciated his vicious instinct in matters such as this, while despising the Italian that much more. Perhaps he simply owed Mick some amount of money, and was uncertain that negotiating a settlement would sufficiently balance the account. Truly, there is no honor among thieves

  It is testament to the state of America – beyond the civility of New York and the tales of gentleman farmers in the Southern colonies – that once the shooting had stopped, and people had made certain of it, there was quickly a buzz of activity, including people taking it upon themselves to begin dragging the bodies out of the street. It was then that it occurred to me that one had escaped us into our train car. Though I am not especially fond of Miss Penn for any number of reasons, she was still a part of our company. I raced into the car, to find the last of our enemies quite dead, while Miss Penn was about tucking a small blade into her bodice once more. I am uncertain whether she somehow surprised him there, or used some wile to get him to drop his guard, and she has not been particularly forthcoming, but she is casual enough about it that I can only imagine that it is not the first man she's seen killed, or perhaps even killed herself. The reputation of her people as murderers and thieves gains more credence by the day.

  Likewise no strangers to killing, we three soldiers were ready to fortify ourselves with a bit of drink after the ordeal, and Mr. Bowe was more than enthused to join us. He and Eddy found their own table, where they animatedly discussed these most recent events as if it had served to do little more than get their blood moving a bit. Sir James was somewhat more reserved, preferring to speak with me and harken back to quiet war stories, where an ambush by armed men makes some degree more sense to a soldier's mind. Miss Penn elected to remain with the car to rest, while Mr. Franzini sat with Sir James and me, but kept his counsel to himself, glancing occasionally at me as if to question whether I had overheard some part of his exchange with Mick. I can only hope I did not give too much away, but regardless, he seemed to take whatever he read from me as assurance that if he dared say a word, he might no longer be welcome at our table.

  Nerves reinforced by conversation and drink, and now the exercise in calm that is putting chaotic events into words, I believe I have noted today's events with reasonable accuracy, but now I am especially grateful that the rest of our company is safe at Dr. Mitchell's secluded abode, under the watchful eye of Mr. Taylor, and not left to their own devices and without sufficient protection in New York.

  (10)The more water-efficient Engine based on the technology of the Coltrane suit was developed in 1829, specifically for adding rail to the vast reaches of Australia, however it also aided in the Americas. There are still vast miles of unused rail lines in Europe. However, oxen-pulled carts are commonplace on those rail lines without engines, most of which are short stretches away from the cities then abandoned when Napoleonic war fronts moved, and England shifted their supply chains. – C B-W

  From the letters of Giovanni Franzini,

  June 20th, 1815

  Sirs,

  Despite our best efforts, it seems your lapdogs are hunting hounds. When we earlier refused your offer of employment, I thought we had made ourselves quite clear, but it seems we find ourselves in a position of no choice. I will do what you had asked of me in regards to your hand-picked company, but be certain that this employment is under duress, and the money had best be there, else we shall have further problems.

  Likewise, if we continue to come under assault from outside help, my price will increase commensurate to the risk, particularly if former associates of mine continue to be pointed in the direction of our company. I have difficulty enough with my previous dealings without finding they're being paid to put a noose or stray bullet to me.

  I cannot speak to Miss Penn's loyalties. She has come along, per your request, as an adviser. So far, she is either suitably frightened of consequence of failure, or is suitably loyal to your coin to keep her mouth shut. I will attempt to keep an eye on her to ensure this situation continues, but cannot guarantee anything if she continues her infatuation with the Bowe boy. That one is too sharp by half. Should that association lead to our failure, be assured, sir, I'll be looking for you with some very pointed questions as to why he was deemed necessary to have along.

  Your servant, reluctantly,

  Giovanni Franzini

  P.S. I can see why this group needs another hand, Sir, although I wish it weren't me. Not one of these are willing to get their hands properly dirty.

  Mad Dr. Mitchell's Laboratory

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  June 29th, 1815

  ~44N ~68W

  We have returned to Dr. Mitchell's hospitality, and I must immediately wonder if our fellows would not have fared better at risk back in New York. It is true that they have been quite physically safe here. In speaking with them since, however, it seems that the doctor's initial bout with melancholy followed by a period of manic activity was no isolated event, but a regular pattern now. At the end of any project, or upon hitting obstacles sufficient to force reconsideration in his approach, he descends into a morose fit. When in such a state, they have gone days without seeing a hint of the doctor. They are permitted free run about the upstairs laboratories, including use of his tools so Miss Wright can continue progress on at least basic repairs and refitting of the ship, with the aid of our engineers. According to those who remained here, after each disappearance by the doctor, he would reemerge some time later, sometimes mere hours later, sometimes days, but always full of new inspirations and energy.

  Despite the troubles this situation obviously presents, on reviewing the work done, Sir James has conceded that the Doctor lives up to his reputation. I do not at all understand the precise nature of what's been done to the ship, but apparently it will drastically increase our fuel efficiency and speed, thus enabling greater long distance travel outside of civilization. Given the doctor's weak constitution most of the actual repairs and refittings are put in place by Miss Wright, and now Sir James, directing the engineers when a task requires many hands or heavy lifting while the doctor primarily provides blueprints and inspirations.

  His instability and unpredictability is not limited to his moods either. At times, once he has finished the latest designs for fixing the dirigible he moves on to unrelated projects. He has created the revised camera device he claimed he would be able to, and I must admit, it is a vast improvement over my original device in virtually every fashion. Upon our return, when he heard about the rumors of a new pistol with multi-shot capabilities he also grew quite excited, and has thrown himself into a design of his own with similar ends. Some effort was made to try to get him back on task with work on the airship to better speed us on our way, but all such attempts met with failure. After learning of his descent into melancholy when presented with enough trouble, it wa
s decided that his technical brilliance was worth the price of allowing the doctor to work at his own pace on the projects that suited his damaged mind.

  Sir James has thrown himself into helping with the work on the dirigible and organizing for the next stage of our journey. Eddy has mostly stayed well out of the way. Mr. Bowe has shown an utter disinterest in all matters of high technology save one device. In our walk-through of the place he discovered an odd winged contraption of metal and wood and fabric. The doctor was quite dismissive of it, claiming that it was a failed experiment. Despite this claim, the device moves on its own, folding the wings back such that it will fit through the hallways and wheeling itself after Mr. Bowe. I have no idea as to how any device could do such a thing without a human hand pushing it about, but I have observed it often enough to assure that somehow the doctor has created such a responsive machine. Mr. Bowe, in turn, seems quite fond of the device, speaking to it openly as if it could perceive and understand the words. The doctor has not commented upon this arrangement, entirely dismissive of the device and eager to get onto other projects.

  At this time we have elected to restrict the Europeans from access to most of Dr. Mitchell's work and especially his journals. Despite their claims of loyalty to our trip it would be unseemly to allow Europeans access to Oxford technology beyond the absolute necessity that we take them aboard the dirigible eventually. For now, Franzini has complained, as we have come to expect from him, but no more protest than he's put forward over much smaller matters, while accepting the restriction and making no effort to sneak around it. Miss Penn has taken it in far better graces, mostly resigning to her temporary quarters or the area used at appropriate times for dining where she socializes with those who will speak to her. I remain wary of both of them, and do not at all look forward to being confined to the tighter quarters and familiarity of the airship with them. Despite that particular misgiving, I am very much looking forward to leaving this place and proceeding to New York. I do not at all think I will be sad to see no more of Dr. Mitchell and his laboratory.