HAWTHORNE: Chronicles of the Brass Hand: Mystirio Astronomiki

by Christopher C. Meeker

  The crew hurried about their business on deck, and I could scarce keep the thrill of our approaching departure from overcoming me altogether. The Captain, noting my obvious state of excitement, called out to me, “I feel the same way, Mr. Hawthorne,” a rather anticipative look upon his face born from years of reliving this very moment. “I assure you adventure awaits us just over the horizon! I’ve yet to experience the contrary!”

  I watched as the men scrambled about, catching up lines, securing hatches, and making fast any loose bits that might roam stray on the deck of the enormous airship during her departure. Well-rehearsed and repeated, each man moved about as if affixed to a rail, not a single soul was out of place nor any misstep given, and soon, just as the sun winked good night, all was ready on the deck of His Majesty’s Airship Stratos.

  Captain Bowman stood at the helm within the pilot house, looking very much like a maestro preparing to conduct his finest symphony, excitement and anticipation visible in his eyes and upon his face.

  I took my position, or at least the position I thought I should take, near the Captain, but not so near as to cause him any form of distraction or to cause any encumbrance to the crew as they took their positions, lined in good order along the rail of the upper deck, each man facing out toward the shipyard below.

  The excitement was quite palpable, and from my vantage point I could see much of the rather expansive shipyard below, the town of Dover to the north, and at my back, the flickering lights of Calais. I cannot with any adequacy describe to you my feelings upon that single moment, but it was quite akin to, what I would imagine, the feeling upon opening a large buried chest to reveal all manner of spoil inside.

  “Ready away!”

  The Captain’s voice burst through the chill evening air, and a single crewman waved his arms to some unseen member of the shipyard below. Without delay, the great vessel, freed of its moorings, began a rapid rise, soundless and smooth into the atmosphere. The feeling, I recall, was more that of the earth falling away below us rather than the ship rising above it. It was altogether a rather stirring sensation and one which I shall long remember.

  As Earth and its tiny inhabitants receded beneath us, I found that I could not prevent my mind from turning to thoughts of adventure and what experiences this journey might put before me once again. It was as I was pondering this that a voice behind me asked, “Would you be interested in taking a look at the engine room, Mister Hawthorne?”

  It was McNeil, the first officer, and alongside him was who I believed, and in a moment confirmed, to be the ship’s engineer. The thought of witnessing the inner workings of the Stratos was almost too much to have wished for. I nodded and we proceeded down to the decks below. First passing the cabin which I was assigned and several others that I assumed were occupied by crew-members.

  Following a narrow passage, winding our way through the heart of the vessel, we came upon another ladder which we descended to a still lower deck. After following this passageway a short distance we came upon the engine room and were greeted by the sounds of its operation; the thunderous cacophony of noise the great machine produced was quite deafening, and upon entering it became difficult to hear, so much so that if we did not shout to one another we could not be heard over the din of hissing steam and mechanical workings of gears, pistons, and other such apparatus.

  The engine powering the vessel was an enormous contraption, being of similar design to the most current steam engines as conceived by first Mr. Savery and all but perfected later by Mr. Trevithick. The boiler and firebox, being a single unit as is most common in typical steam designs, was the height of about twelve feet, the length twenty-four, and the width another twelve.

  Power was delivered to a set of rotating shafts that were terminated by two large propellers external to the craft, which served to drive the airship forward. In addition to the large shafts, no less than eight steam pipes ran the full length of the ship and exhausted themselves, with great velocity, at each corner of the craft for manoeuvring in every direction, both vertical and horizontal. This movement was achieved through controls running upwards to the pilot house which, when activated, released powerful jets of steam, causing the craft to move counter to its current plane of motion.

  I watched the levers, arms, and pistons for several minutes, noting their exact movements and operations and in so doing deduced the functioning of the entire mechanism and was fascinated by the workings in whole. I surmised that if given the opportunity, one could, with some relative ease, pilot the Stratos almost single handed given that its entire design was fashioned in a manner that lent itself to being operated by a rather small crew, consisting of perhaps a captain, engineer, boatswain, and several deckhands.

  We were interrupted by the Captain’s voice emerging from the speaking tube connecting the boiler room to the pilot house two decks above as he called for more steam. McNeil then suggested we return to the pilot house, an area which I had passed through earlier in briefest fashion as I was escorted to my cabin.

  With a nod we made our way to back to the ladder, my ears continuing to ring even as we ascended the two decks to the pilot house above. It was not so severe as to cause me any distraction or discomfort and in short order ceased altogether. I should imagine that a small amount of cotton wadding, placed in each ear, would be a welcome accessory to any engineer or person otherwise serving in the engine room.

  As we entered the pilot house the Captain greeted us with a smile that would be more apt on a head waiter’s face than that of a seasoned air captain. The pilot house was astonishing, as it was adorned with such amenities as would be found in the wealthiest sitting rooms in London and the most luxurious and posh I had as yet been witness to.

  The walls, constructed of live oak and finished with polished cherry, were bedecked with all manner of fine paintings commissioned, at great expense I imagined, by the most talented artists in all of England and without doubt, beyond England’s shores. The Captain’s chair, built of oak, padded with the plushest of velvet and adorned with polished bronze and brass, mounted upon a swivel, was affixed to the deck in the centre of the pilot house.

  Before the Captain’s chair were located all manner of controls, dials, and gauges, the majority of which, to my understanding, were for the monitoring and measuring of the ship’s orientation, elevation, and steam power conditions.

  A small device located above the others was used, as I was later to learn, to mimic the natural horizon of the earth and the condition of the craft as to whether or not it was ascending, descending, diving, or climbing. I was not able to assess the correct manner in which this instrument functioned; however, it performed its duty to perfection throughout our entire journey - something for which I became grateful for on a number of occasions thereafter.

  On either side of the controls column were two large doors that led to the topside deck of the Stratos, and the entire pilot house was surrounded by a thick dark-coloured glass that allowed sufficient light to enter the cabin but prevented too much from entering so as to keep command personnel from having to squint in order to see all that was before them, even while the vessel was facing the direct rays of the sun.

  At the rear of the pilot house were located two hatch doors on left and right. These were used for accessing the lower decks of both the port and starboard hulls. The entire of the command centre was altogether impressive, and it was very much apparent that great expense was not spared in its design and construction.

  The next several hours were spent with the Captain as he showed me all the finer details of piloting and navigating the Stratos and even allowed me for a spell to take the helm and try my hand at flying the magnificent vessel, which to my own accord, having never attempted an exercise of this sort on any previous occasion, managed rather well, slight errors notwithstanding of course.

  Although having enjoyed my experience in the pilot house a great deal, and not wishing to detain the Captain any longer, preventing him from his more serious
duties, I excused myself and returned to my cabin as it was fast approaching midnight, and I wished to rise fresh the next morning in order to view the splendid sunrise, which I was promised by the venerable first officer would be quite spectacular.

  Upon entering my cabin I was scarce able to close the door before being interrupted by the ship’s chaplain, who in a haste introduced himself as Chaplain Bernard Moreton. I make note of this for the simple reason that the chaplain repeated his name several times during our brief exchange, intent upon my memorizing it as though he feared I would forget it. He repeated it several more times, and I wondered if it were me he was trying to impress the name upon or indeed himself.

  Moreton was a curious fellow garbed in the traditional uniform of the ship’s chaplain: neat, clean dress uniform with the standard chaplain’s insignia pinned to his chest and matching chevrons upon his shoulders. His shoes, however, seemed more worse for the wear than the remainder of his uniform. Stained with oil, water spots, and salt rings, which were, I presumed, from his many years spent aboard seafaring vessels. Moreton, as it was apparent, was in severe need of proper footwear. I took no note of it at the time but in reflection, had I considered it longer, I might have gained a more complete understanding sooner than I had at that moment.

  I say that Mr. Moreton was a curious man for the reason that at all times during our conversation his gaze shifted without ceasing about my cabin as though he were searching for some unseen person or object that had in some mysterious manner found its way to my quarters. Although his behaviour seemed nothing more than habit of character, I found the whole experience to be a bit unsettling.

  As our conversation continued, he became quite adamant about releasing the details concerning my journey to the south of Africa. I stated that I was on a trip to visit an old family acquaintance and nothing more. He seemed to relax at this, but stiffened an almost imperceptible amount when I continued by informing him that it was our good friend John Herschel of the Royal Observatory I was planning to call upon.

  I found it quite interesting that the chaplain halted his wild gazing about my cabin in so sudden a manner and fixed his eyes upon me without the slightest necessity to blink. He continued his questioning to my annoyance until at which time I, with all the politeness I could gather, attempted to usher my unexpected guest from my cabin, closing the door behind. This action, however, was thwarted by yet another stream of incessant questions.

  When asked about his fascination with my journey and ultimate destination, the good Mr. Moreton replied that he was fascinated with all things astronomical and would be in great appreciation if I were to allow him to accompany me to the observatory when I should chance to visit upon my arrival. To this, with some hesitance, I agreed, for I was desperate to silence the droning noise of his nagging voice.

  I made one final effort in moving him to the outer passageway and, succeeding in doing so, with firm hand closed the cabin door behind him. I was well pleased to be rid of my uninvited visitor, although I did feel the pangs of guilt at my sudden rudeness toward Moreton. I believe my actions valid, however, in consideration of the circumstances of the encounter. It was after all quite late, and no man should be expected to retain the manners of a lord or duke when being deprived of the rest that the weary brow so pines for.

  I poured a basin of hot water, which was diverted from the pipes running fore and aft of the ship where it was heated, cooled, and recirculated as it flowed to and from the large boiler in the engine room. Hot and cold water was available whenever needed in each of the crew’s quarters with no reserve.

  Waste water, with the exception of the head, flowed into a drain where it was captured and pumped through a rather elaborate filtration mechanism. It then returned to the reservoir where it originated by means of a system of mechanical pumps and gravity fed pipes. Even the simplest functions of the Stratos, no matter how insignificant they seemed, continued to fascinate me and take my mind captive at every encounter.

  Upon washing and other quotidian customs as I did each night, I hastened out of my clothes and donned a nightshirt, and as I was wont to do placed my trousers and shirt in neat order across the foot of my bunk in the event that I should find it necessary to dress in relative haste. I turned down the single gas lamp in the small cabin and climbed in silence into my bunk for a good night’s sleep, which fell upon me almost at once.

  As is the case on frequent occasions the first third of my night was filled with the nightmares of my beloved twin sister, Ophelia, lost a decade ago to cholera. We had both been stricken by the disease, yet it was I who survived alone, due, in all likeliness it was said, to my sheer stubbornness for I continued to force myself to eat and drink in as normal a fashion as possible by will alone. In this way I was able to recover at great length; however, Ophelia shared not my fortitude and soon passed. I continue to bear the guilt of my survival to this very day. How I miss her and am haunted by her memory, for I loved her much and now long for the carefree days spent in play on the grounds of our estate. As twins we shared the better part of our childhood together, and a finer playmate I could have not wished for. We had been chided on many occasions of causing Father no small amount of trouble, for it was said that what mischief one of us was unable to imagine the other was sure to.

  How Father managed us alone I cannot say, for without the aid of a spouse, as mother passed in childbirth, the raising of two spirited children must have been quite challenging. It would have been a rather simple matter, and a well-accepted one, for Father to relinquish the duties of child rearing to any number of nannies for hire that could have been found in the better parts of London. Nevertheless, Father chose to take up the task alone and at the end earned for himself my greatest admiration. A good deal of my being was lost the day Ophelia left us, and never a day passes that I do not long for her.

  I tell you these things now for in the unravelling of my tale you will become privy to certain events and happenings in which this information, I am sure, will become most enlightening. For the present, however, I will refrain from disclosing anything further, as it may become nothing more than a stumbling stone to your belief of this report, though I assure you this story as told in total is true in every action and event.

  The remainder of the night I slumbered in quiet contentedness, waking but once to pull the covers tighter about me as the temperature seemed to dip quite low in the early morning hours. It was, however, in the midst of this silent repose, close to dawn, that I woke with a start to a thunderous discord.

  Not yet having gained my full senses, I was unable to comprehend the situation; however, it was at the second, third, and fourth soundings that I was well able to determine the source of the commotion. It was none other than the four tremendous cannons two decks above roaring to life which, I surmised and in but a short while confirmed, meant but one thing. The Stratos was under attack and our ever vigilant Captain was defending her from the yet unknown assailants.

  Chapter III

  IN WHICH EDGAR AND THE CREW OF THE STRATOS FACE A MOST CALAMITOUS EVENT AND OF THEIR HEROIC ACTIONS THROUGHOUT

  I arose without hesitation and dressed in quick order despite the events transpiring around me. Each blast of the heavy deck guns shook the Stratos to its very core. Finding my balance I made my way to the cabin door and, throwing it open in wild fashion, dashed into passageway beyond and made my way with the greatest of haste to the topside ladder. The crew, also in an obvious state of confusion and emergency, were making their way to their appointed posts.

  I travelled up the passageway toward the first set of stairs which led to the deck above where was situated the mess, infirmary, and ammunition store. I had yet to reach the first set of steps when the vessel shook with such might that I found it quite impossible to keep my footing. It was evident to me that the Stratos was receiving return fire, and the impact of the enemy’s cannonade’s striking the hull was the immediate cause of the intense and violent shaking with which the ship was being
afflicted at present.

  The attack, which I consider an act of utter cowardice, came just prior to dawn before the first rays of morning light were cast. This served a two-fold purpose, which was to catch the Stratos unaware and conceal the enemy in darkness, making it difficult for those manning the guns to bring the artillery to bear.

  Making my way up to the next deck, as I passed the infirmary it was quite evident that medical staff were already receiving injured, the major part of which being deckhands; however, several officers had also been brought below for treatment.

  After what seemed to me an eternity of climbing I reached the pilot house, where the good captain was found dispensing orders to each crew member in as firm and calm a manner as could be expected while under full siege. Upon spying me he directed his gaze toward the open locker of armaments, where he indicated I should equip myself with whatever weapon suited me best. I scrambled across the room as quick as I was able, treading shards of glass and splintered wood, which had been the result of the pilot house’s being holed by a single large calibre ball.

  As the marauding vessels began to overtake us, I recognized them to be the Rogue, the Scourge, and the Chaos. Their infamy preceded them, and I was not at all uncertain that their purpose was our total destruction; however, why they should choose to attack a vessel of the Royal Air Brigade, I could not understand, for the Stratos in particular was a quite well-armed ship and rather outclassed any of those which bore down upon us now. Thus I made the assumption that our attackers perhaps carried with them a letter of marque, though the Carlists were not known to employ the services of privateers and in general restricted the majority of their conflicts to the properties of Spain alone. In any case we were now caught in a conflict, which for whatever purpose would suffice to test the fighting prowess of the Stratos, an action I am but little ashamed to admit I had anticipated with some eagerness.