Dawn of Steam: First Light Read online

  In any case, despite the fact I am unsure if I'd trust him to cross the street, Sir James swears by him, and I find myself hard pressed to doubt him. Perhaps it is simply that our Captain is quite at home in his native element of the skies, and a bit more divorced from the sensibilities of the more literally down to earth.

  The captain is dressed in a hodgepodge of both archaic and modern dress, which does nothing to further encourage my thoughts as to his competence and focus. His jacket is Colonial War period, kept in nigh immaculate condition, as if he was prepared to be pressed to service once more, though it is quite out of date for the modern military, of course. Even so, it certainly does give the man a certain dusty sense of history. The rest of his attire is civilian, and of simple and comfortable stock such as workers in the city wear by preference. Contrasting both is his pocket watch, in the style of those pieces of Swiss make, worn on a long silvered chain. Another chain of the same sort crosses it over his chest like a bandoleer, leading to the opposite pocket, wherein he keeps a compass in very much a similar style to his pocket watch, a top snapping open to reveal the face. My comfort that he keeps such a device is tempered perhaps a slight amount by the fact that while he seems the type to regularly check his watch – a habit I understand and have certainly seen in many other gentlemen – he seems to alternate from checking one device to the other every few minutes. All this while the dirigible is loaded, as if we, unmoving, may have shifted some significant degree away from our current locale. Either that, or he does not trust this most critical of his instruments, or poorly differentiates port and starboard. Neither possibility does wonders to fill me with hope for our success.

  As businesslike as the Captain is not, his wife is about and quite focused on the task at hand. She knows where everything goes and how best to achieve every task of organization and preparation for launch, and it is she who receives most questions from crewers and engineers, so as not to disturb her already sufficiently disturbed husband whilst he ensures that we have not shifted one degree east or west for the fourth time since my last trip to help load our supplies. She is a stocky woman, with hands that show she is no stranger to some bit of work when necessity dictates. Life on shipboard, it seems, being akin to accounts from that on a farm where there are simply times where idle hands are not welcome, and anyone who does not pay for their passage must put their worth in, regardless of gender.

  Despite this singularly masculine feature, she is otherwise a dignified woman of her advancing age, put together in fashion which was the latest fashion only some few seasons past, rather than her husband's mixture of that which was the height of fashion recently, that which was so two wars past, and that which was never in fashion and with fortune never will be. She is put together such that a gentleman can only imagine the hours put to setting hair just so, dressing just so, and all of the other efforts a lady puts herself to to be presentable, but she clearly feels the effort well worth it even when long since married, and when about to board a ship for a long venture, rather than any social occasion. I cannot call her elegant – Miss Coltrane's presence offers too many unfair comparisons – but she is nonetheless a woman both handsome for her time, and efficient. That she should be attending this voyage with us gives me somewhat more confidence that we might reach American shores yet. Or at least in the process of going where the wind takes us, we should at least have a most gracious hostess and polite surrounds in which to get hopelessly lost.

  Speaking of Miss Coltrane, she has written to a number of people of import, both for their well wishes, and to ensure that we will have hospitality should we need it in our travels. I can now see why Sir James has been as successful after the war as he was in it, with her holding the reins of his affairs in daily life, though she rightly defers to her more learned brother on matters concerning pounds and pence beyond the small matters not needing his attention.

  In attendance as well is poor Harriet, who made some effort to put herself to work until such time as the Captain's wife learned of her efforts and scolded her most roundly. Mrs. Fisher made considerable effort to try to keep her diatribe below the hearing of most of the workmen, lest she embarrass herself as much as Harriet had already embarrassed her. Apparently it continued for some time, though I did not hear of all of the details. The error of what a lady does and does not do when presented with physical labor such as loading the ship, the errors in her wardrobe, the fact her hair had come somewhat too loose beneath her hat, which, incidentally, was apparently worn at an unacceptable angle – and so on. Undeterred in her own way, Harriet indeed seemed quite pleased to have a ready and willing tutor in how a lady of England comports herself and made extensive effort to correct each and every detail as it was brought up, in the process turning one of her buttonholes into a small tear in her eagerness to correct herself, leading to some increase in Mrs. Fisher's volume. I can see that this relationship, such as it is, is going to be a very long and loud one as we venture forth, for Harriet seems to have no lack of problems with her behavior and dress, and Mrs. Fisher showed no signs of a lack of time to correct each and every such error. The workmen, at least, seemed somewhat relieved for the most part to be permitted to do their jobs without further questioning or direction.

  There is one other addition worthy of note as part of our company now, along with the Fishers. The Captain's young nephew, and after the war, his ward, Matthew Fisher-Swift, only just ten years old, flits in and out amongst the workmen, currently too shy to approach anyone unknown, but quite curious as to virtually everyone. He shows some familiarity with the men working, calling them by name and with reasonable respect, but constant curiosity. They seem familiar with him as well, for they have considerable patience with his constant stream of questions, and a couple of them seem to have brought sweets for the boy, which seems to shut him up for a time. He is an athletic lad, running about, climbing, and darting from hiding spot to hiding spot, trying to get a better view of the strange new people who have hired his caretakers.

  He seems particularly curious, understandably, regarding Sir James and Eddy, for his gaze was quite fixed on them for most of the work period, and whenever they would move, he would as well to make sure he did not miss anything of importance. I can only imagine that he has heard the tales everyone else in England has, and marveled at them with the rest of us, but also with a boy's fascination and imagination. Indeed, later on in the day, when we were near departure, I spotted him a time or two when he thought he was unobserved attempting to hold himself in the manner of those military heroes when relaxed, shoulders back, chest puffed out, holding his breath as long as he was able to help him hold the rigid posture. At least until his attention span failed him, and he ran off to see to some other vital task related to staying out of the way as he had been firmly instructed several times over.

  Given my other observations, I surmise that these random tasks may often have been gathering more small rocks, for he has quite the bag of them at his belt, dirty fingers, and a well crafted slingshot of quality enough that it might be imagined if he has the patience and aim it may be used to hunt small rodents. I am uncertain what he plans to do with this on our trip, or if he is simply prepared and armed for whatever eventuality, in the manner of boys of his age with limited enough supervision to be allowed such a tool. This, as well, probably does not bode well.

  The ship itself, called by Sir James The Dame Fortuna, although that was not its name during its HMS duty, is much the same as nearly every other constructed since the time following the Colonial wars. Most were made to carry as many troops as could be fit into the vehicles for rapid transport to the war, though some small number were created later by the minds at Oxford when the forces were in need of smaller, faster vehicles for scouting high above enemy lines. This is definitely one of the former, once used to pack as many men into the confines as could be managed. In many of the rooms, you can still see the ties and construction designed for rows of hammocks where men would be stacked, given only some
small amount more room to each than should they be stacks of firewood. Now it is significantly more roomy, with only two assigned to each room, with a few rooms yet left empty for those we have yet to add to our company.

  The ship is sturdily built, designed to navigate even in difficult weather, but unlike a ship of the sea, it has no armament of its own, for ammunition for such things takes up space, and is considerably heavy, and on a conveyance such as this, weight and space are at a premium. Rather, in the days of the war, it would be defended by the men aboard moving to the rails at the outer edge of the ship, exposed to the elements, and armed with rifles or muskets. As the only threat to these vehicles came from enemy rockets, often only a small bit of fire raining down upon the enemy would discourage them from long attending such arms, leaving them exposed and in the open, though more than a few of our dirigibles were lost as Napoleon's forces studied our tactics and became more effective at shooting them down. I understand that when such occasions happened in the field, the first duty of any survivors was first to rescue men trapped within, and second only to salvaging what manpower as could be gained by a quick survey of their part of the ship, the second duty was to set fire to the dirigible and evacuate, then protect it until it had burned beyond salvage that our enemies could not steal understanding of its construction and use.

  As it is their airship, Sir James has his own quarters, while Miss Coltrane will be rooming with Harriet, of course. I currently share chambers for this first stretch of the trip with Mr. Toomes, to my regret, but will be rooming with a man of the continent, one Giovanni Franzini, if we should be able to recruit him. I admit to considerable curiosity as to what he has to add to our company that we are recruiting an Italian, but I trust that our employer knows what he's doing, to risk such a man getting aboard an airship and in the company of two of our greatest war heroes. Despite his foreign origins, I can scarce imagine that I will enjoy his company less than that of Mr. Toomes, who has been particularly cross since learning that fires were not to be lit in the upper levels of the ship, so he cannot smoke in our chambers. The gory manner in which the crewman who related this rule reminded him of the Late George III and his celebratory cigar at the battle of Yorktown did not help Mr. Toomes's mood. The crewer hastened to remind us that the hydrogen envelope had been modified for safety since then, but that it still wasn't safe. Apparently it now results in a longer, slower burn, more likely to destroy the whole ship and keep the secrets of its inner working safe. At least George Rex went fast.

  The back of the ship has been converted into a workshop, where the Coltrane battle suit is stored, maintained and also deployed. I have had some small explanation from Sir James as to how this works in the time I have been in his company. The springs and steam pipes mounted on the legs that allowed the prodigious leap I previously witnessed allows the suit to make a small number of such jumps, given some small boost and control over its ascent through the sudden venting of steam, but most importantly the actions of giant and powerful springs built into the knee mechanisms. This same technology also allows the suit to be dropped from a great height, whereupon it can land without loss of function, and no harm to the pilot. He has quietly admitted that it is also quite jarring, and that it always requires considerable maintenance shortly thereafter, but it still allowed him many times to drop directly from an airship onto the battlefield to directly engage and surprise the enemy, and to leap over even significant guard walls to bypass enemy defenses and engage their troops. Such ingenuity, and even having seen it in action I can still scarce imagine it.

  The ship has a lower floor as well, from which most of us are restricted. This region contains most of the vital components for providing the steam power used to inflate the dirigible and enable it to fly under its own power rather than being at the mercies of the fickle winds. For those times that the winds are more favorable, the ship has numerous sail mechanisms the Captain can control directly, allowing the ship to be driven by the wind to save power and coal. This, I understand, is by far the preferred method of locomotion, even if variable winds make travel speed occasionally unpredictable. The savings in fuel reserves are a more than worthwhile trade-off.

  Beyond those lodgings so far detailed, Eddy will be bunking with the ship's first mate, Mr. Taylor, whom I have not yet met. Unsurprisingly, he is another man of military background and a friend of Sir James from the war. So far, however, he has kept to quarters, or spent his time consulting with the captain. The latter is an activity I have not yet worked up the nerve to attempt, and I am entirely uncertain if I wish to know what arcane activities he has gotten himself to in the piloting of the ship. Each time I think of it, I imagine him working on navigating by pocket watch. Sir James seems unworried, however, which does a good deal to reassure me that we are headed more or less in a westerly direction as opposed to, say, in a more or less nine-ish direction.

  The flight itself has been an unsteady-seeming and lurching affair. (6) Those times I have seen airships such as this one flying overhead, I had imagined smooth and comfortable flight, gliding blithely through fair skies, as figuratively far above the chaos and rough surrounds of the battlefield as they were literally. As has occurred so often in recent days, my imaginings have been most harshly shattered by the reality. At one moment we were on the ground and still, though restricted to chambers for the moments before takeoff. Unsurprisingly, both takeoff and landing seem to be considered particularly eventful and chaotic times for the crew and command of the ship, and all others are to be kept out of their way in these times. After that moment, with only the churning excitement in my stomach giving me any sense of motion, there was then a terrible lurching, and the ship seemed to move not so much upwards as rocking unsteadily side to side so hard that I was nearly dislodged from my hammock, even with my feet braced on the floor.

  In the process, one of Mr. Toomes's traveling cases, apparently insufficiently secured, clattered to the floor, strewing his collection of pipes all about our cabin. This, of course, has done nothing to ease his mood, for though I aided him in collecting them once we were permitted, two of his prized collectibles were cracked in the impact. In any case, when the rocking ceased at last, there was a groaning noise and the sound of metal scraping stone. The body of the dirigible shifted, sending us leaning back hard in our seats, and sending most of the scattered pipes tumbling underneath the bunks.

  Just as I was certain all my misgivings regarding the Captain would be proven true before we had gotten entirely off the ground, we were righted all at once and simply felt the occasional bump. I was, at the time, somewhat certain that this was the mooring ropes being released, or that were were running along the ground, but peering out the porthole style window, I was amazed to find that in what had seemed a brief time, we were now far above the ground and beginning to move. Without this frame of reference, it is oftentimes hard to tell if we are moving, and how quickly. With the gentle winds that have prevailed so far today, the motion of the dirigible is more akin to rocking, swaying, and the occasional slightly jarring bump over any sensation of forward momentum.

  On this realization, for the next half of an hour, I grew more and more ill. Perhaps it was simply all of the excitement at the trip and realization that we were now at the mercy of the skies, and so far above the ground, in combination with this most particular of motions. I made my first venture outside not to experience the wonders of flight or admire the view so much as to lose my breakfast on the countryside below. I can only hope that there was no one beneath. My one other point of gratitude in all this was that there was only one witness to my moments of illness, though I am certain that Mr. Toomes was aware of the reasons for my departure.

  Matthew Fisher-Swift was already outside, racing along the outside of the ship, only occasionally steadying himself with the rails. I marvel at his balance, his quick transition to gaining his sea legs, and his utter lack of fear of heights. In any case, he assured me that it happens to most people during their first trip in an
airship, before he began to question me about all manner of things, though he was at first most curious about my camera and how it worked.

  Questions, of course, I could scarce answer, for though I am well aware of how to refill the chemical trays and with what, and how to fix minor and common mishaps, I do not at all understand its inner workings or how it achieves such a marvelous thing. Still, he wanted his picture taken as soon as was convenient, which I assured him would be no problem. When he was done interrogating me as to my war service and the wonders of my device, he was quickly on to questions regarding Eddy, about whom the boy has an insatiable curiosity. Sir James, it seems, he is well familiar with, though still quite admires. So he restricted his questions to wishing to know more of the sniper, who seems not particularly fond of children, or at least this child, and did little more than growl at the boy's pestering, quite thoroughly driving off young Mr. Fisher-Swift. He may have no fear of heights, but at least the lad has some common sense when it comes to poking at the gruff and dark-humored Scot.

  The combination of emptying my stomach, and speaking with Matthew left me feeling quite better. Sometimes, it seems, distraction can be a good thing when it pulls one away from the peculiar motions of the ship. I spent some few minutes once Matthew had departed clutching tight to the rail and looking out over the country before a feeling of guilt overwhelmed me so that I returned to our chambers and assisted Mr. Toomes in collecting his pipes from under the bunks. Though this elicited no thanks, of course, he perhaps snarled less at me for that brief time than on the average. I was still quite glad to leave his company and return to observing our progress – and seeing my beloved country from this unusual vantage point – until the urge to put pen to page and document the experience finally pulled me from the rail.