“Smaller, more self-contained engines to move the turrets?” Ramsey said.
“The very truth! I see that you are an engineer as well as a military man, General. That is indeed what I needed. Since an engine of this type does not exist, I, of necessity, had to invent one myself. This way, please.”
Davis showed them into a large workshop that was well lit by an immense skylight. Ericsson pointed to the squat metal bulk of a black machine. It was about the size of a large steamer trunk.
“My Carnot engine,” he said proudly. “I am sure that you gentlemen know the Carnot cycle. No? Pity. The world should understand this cycle because it is the explanation behind all the forces of energy and propulsion. An ideal cycle consists of four reversible changes in the physical condition of a substance, most useful in thermodynamic theory. We must start with specified values of the variable temperature, specific volume, and pressure the substance undergoes in succession—”
“Excuse me Mr. Ericsson,” General Grant interrupted. “Is that Swedish you are talking?”
“Svensk? Nej. I am speaking English.”
“Well, it could be Swedish as far as I am concerned. I can’t understand a word that you said.”
“Perhaps — if you were less technical,” Ramsey said. “In layman’s language.”
Ericsson drew himself up, anger in his eyes, muttering to himself. With an effort he spoke again.
“All right, then, at its most simple. A quantity of heat is taken from a hot source and some of it is transferred to a colder location — while the balance is transformed into mechanical work. This is how a steam engine works. But the Carnot cycle can be applied to a different machine. That machine is what you see here. My Carnot engine has two cylinders, and is much more compact than any steam engine which must rely on an exterior source of steam to run. Here, using a very volatile liquid I have refined from kerosene, I have succeeded in causing combustion within the cylinders themselves.”
Grant hadn’t the slightest idea what the man was talking about, but Ramsey was nodding agreement. Ericsson signaled to a mechanic who was oiling the engine with a long-spouted can. The man put the can down and seized the handle of a crank that was fixed to the front of the machine. He turned it, faster and faster, then reached over and pulled a lever. The engine burst into life with a thunderous roar, then it poured out a cloud of noxious smoke. Ericsson ignored the smoke, fanning it away from his face, as he pointed to the rear end of the machine at a rapidly rotating fitting. “Power, gentlemen,” he shouted above the din. “Power to rotate the heaviest turret in the biggest ship. And the end of the deadly steam lines.” He reached to pull the control lever back and the roar died away.
“Very convincing,” Ramsey said. Grant was less than impressed, but kept his silence. Davis, who left the workshop before the demonstration had begun, had returned with another man, well dressed, small, and rotund.
“Why, Mr. Parrott,” General Ramsey said, smiling broadly, “how very good it is to see you again. General Grant, this is William Parker Parrott, the eminent gunsmith.”
This General Grant could understand. “Mr. Parrott, this is indeed a pleasure. I believe that your weapons are the best in the world. God knows that I have fought and won many a battle with them.”
Parrott beamed with delight. “I shall treasure those words, General. Now let me show you why I asked Mr. Ericsson to invite you and General Ramsey here. Or rather why Mr. Ericsson and I have collaborated on an invention. It all began when Mr. Ericsson was visiting my office some time ago and saw on my wall a British patent application for a totally impossible invention.”
“As it was then designed,” Ericsson said. “But improving on the original is not impossible to men of genius — which is a distinction that Parrott and I share.” The inventor was never the one to hide his light under a bushel. “When I had finished my Carnot engine, I thought at once of the patent for the impractical steam wagon. Now, I said to myself, now it can be built. And between us we have done just that.”
He led them across the room to a bulky form draped with canvas. With a dramatic gesture he pulled away the cover. “There, gentlemen, a practical engine wagon.”
It was such a novel machine, so strange to the eye, that they could not take it in all at once. It appeared to be a triangular platform of sorts with spiked wheels on its two front corners, a single wheel at the back. The stocky black engine sat sideways across the device. A cogged wheel was fixed to the engine’s shaft. This, in turn, transmitted power to a heavy chainlike device, which, in turn, rotated another cogwheel on the shaft connecting the two front wheels. Behind the engine was a small seat facing some gauges and a tiller that was connected to the steerable rear wheel. The mechanic started the engine and stepped back. Parrott climbed proudly into the seat, worked some levers — and the machine rolled slowly forward. Using the tiller to move the rear wheel, he trundled slowly about the workshop, making a complete circle before he returned to the starting place and turned off the engine. Even Grant was impressed with the demonstration.
“Remarkable!” Ramsey said. “Strong enough to tow a heavy gun over rough terrain.”
“Yes, it can do that,” Ericsson said with a smile. “But it can do even more.” He signaled to the door, where two men were waiting. They went out and returned with a wheeled Gatling gun. With practiced movements they placed a ramp before the machine and rolled the gun up onto the platform between the front wheels.
“So you see, gentlemen, with a single addition the powered wagon becomes a mobile battery.”
Grant was still puzzling out the precise meaning of this new machine when Ramsey, who dealt with ordnance on a daily basis, gasped with sudden comprehension.
“A mobile battery — no, not one — but a squadron of them! They could take the battle to the enemy, decimate him.
“Your engine will bring the guns swiftly into battle. Firepower that no army can stand against. Why — I think that this invention will change the face of warfare forever.”
IN THE ENEMY’S HEARTLAND
“All aboard. All aboard, if you please,” the guard said, nodding at the two well-dressed gentlemen. They had dark silk hats, expensive suits, gold cuff links; he knew the gentry when he saw them.
“And where is first class?” the Count asked.
“This entire carriage, sir, thanking you.”
Korzhenevski led the way down the corridor and slid open the door of an empty compartment. They sat at the window facing each other. General Sherman patted the upholstered seats.
“Cut-glass mirrors and brass fittings,” he said. “The English sure know how to take care of themselves.”
Korzhenevski nodded in agreement. “They do enjoy their luxuries and little indulgences. But only at the top, I am afraid. If you looked into a third-class carriage on this train, you would not be that impressed. In all truth, I do believe that this country, at many times, reminds me of Mother Russia. The nobility and the very rich at the summit, then below them a modicum of the middle classes to keep things running. Then the serfs — they would be the working classes here — at the very bottom. Poverty-stricken, deprived, ill.”