The book didn't mention that both a solar hot water system and a solar still are open thermodynamic systems. That radiant energy, sunlight, is converted into thermal energy. That the thermal energy is concentrated temporarily because the hot water rises faster than it loses its heat to its surroundings. It didn't mention the second law of thermodynamics at all or the fact that someone who wasn't all that familiar with it might assume that the temporary concentration of thermal energy violated it. Which it didn't, because in terms of heat transfer the solar hot water heater, the solar still and the bastardized half and half that Jeremy came up with were all open system, not closed systems and didn't violate it at all.
On the up side, Jeremy proceeded in a sort of blissful ignorance that more closely resembled wisdom than the sort of certitude of impossibility that a partial understanding of thermodynamics' second law might have produced. On the down-side it meant that he had a vague and limited understanding of what was going on and even less notion of what was important. He didn't, for instance, realize how important the transfer of heat from the outer surface of the pipes to the water in the pipes was.
Jeremy wasn't at all sure that it would work. There were things the books stressed, like how the pipes had to be dark, preferably black. That black absorbed more light and so got hotter, sooner, in sunlight. What he had in mind wasn't exactly like any single thing in the book. He would take it to the captain.
* * *
Captain Waddle wasn't as intimidating as Mr. Burnside, Jeremy told himself. At least, not intimidating in the same way. Besides, this was for the ship. Jeremy knocked on the door to the captain's cabin and discovered not only the captain but the second mate in his cabin. Mr. Wesley was on watch.
"What do you need, Mr. Toot?" the captain asked.
"Ah. Well, sir . . . I was teaching the ships boys using those books I got in Hamburg and Perkins had a thought. When I looked it turned out that there was something to it. According to the books the up-timers had a way of . . ."
"Bushwah!" Burnside stared at him. "Bushwah, Toot. Now is not the time to get lost in fairytales 'bout mythical magi from the future."
Captain Waddle harrumphed. "Leave the boy alone, Burnsey. The sextant and the clocks have proved useful enough."
Jeremy winced. The captain had used a fake Scot accent, which was guaranteed to put Burnside in a foul mood. He insisted that he was English to the core, not a Scot. Only the captain could twit him about it, though.
"What does this up-timer book have to offer us?" Captain Waddle pointed at the book. "I assume it's in that one?"
"Yes, sir. It's called a solar still, sir."
"You want to make rum?" Mr. Burnsides asked.
Jeremy shook his head. "No, sir. It's a way to distill fresh water from sea water, sir."
"Now see, Mr. Burnsides? The lad has solved all our problems." It was clear from the captain's tone that he didn't believe it would work but he had decided to be amused rather than angry.
"Yes, sir," Mr. Burnsides agreed in the same lack of belief but taking his cue from the captain. "No doubt. And with the added benefit that it doesn't require taking off our clothes like Seaman Crocker's rain dance. Your scheme doesn't require me to strip, does it, Mr. Toot?"
"No, sir!" Jeremy felt his face turning red.
"Well, if Mr. Burnsides' modesty is assured," Captain Waddle said, "trot out your plan, Mr. Toot."
So Jeremy did, showing them the drawings in the books of the solar still and the solar hot water heater. And describing how Perkins had suggested that there might be some combination of other things in the books."
"And what do you think of Perkins?" asked Captain Waddle.
Jeremy was caught. Perkins hated Jeremy's guts, of that Jeremy was sure. And truth be told, Jeremy wasn't that fond of the resentful ship's boy. But . . . "Sir, Perkins dislikes me and all the midshipmen, but he doesn't let that interfere with the good of the ship. He's smart and hard working, sir. He works harder at everything than any of the other ship's boys. I just wish he'd give up the chip on his shoulder."
Jeremy waited as the captain and Mr. Burnsides exchanged looks. Jeremy realized that that they disagreed about something but Mr. Burnsides was the captain's choice, unlike Mr. Wesley, who had been selected by the owners. Neither man gave ground and the moment passed.
"And you'll need glass?" Mr. Burnsides asked. Then he grinned. "My modesty is safe, Skipper, but not your windows."
"Yes. There is that," the captain acknowledged. "But just think . . . if I doesn't work I shan't have to explain it to the Mrs."
"Aye, sir, there is that."
"Take your project to the bos'n, Mr. Toot. Have him look it over and advise you."
* * *
After the boy had left, Captain Waddle turned to his second mate and long time friend. "Jeremy seems to be shaping up fairly well, don't you think?"
"And Bob Perkins, Skipper," Sam Burnsides said. "My problem with your midshipmen is that they're coddled. They've been coddled all their lives and they're still being coddled. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Perkins may not have the education that Toot has, but he has more grit. And I'd say more sense as well." At the captain's glance Burnsides shrugged. "All right. Your Mr. Toot did acknowledge that Perkins had the idea and that speaks well of Toot. But, Captain, Perkins deserves his shot and it's not fair to have these pampered mama's boys put ahead of likely lads because their parents have more money."
"The world's not fair, Franklin. It never has been and never will be. You know it as well as I. The midshipmen's parents have paid for their education and the education they bring with them makes learning what they need go faster."
"So what do you think of this solar still, Skipper?"
Captain waddle snorted. "I think the same thing you do, Franklin. It will keep the crew occupied and not brooding. There's a good chance they can keep tinkering with it till it rains."
Burnsides nodded grimly. "Or till we're all too weak for it to matter."
* * *
"Never work." Bos'n Jordan spat over the side. "Not possible, not on board a ship."
"But, it shows how . . ." Jeremy started to say pointing to the combined drawings he had made.
"Shows how on land, lad. Think a moment, you with your seasickness. The motion of the ship—that's the problem." Jordan pointed to the solar still part of the drawing. "Look. 'Tis a long, flat box, not a bit higher than, say . . . oh, the length of my hand. This is a ship. It rolls and yaws with every wave. What do you think would happen when that long box tilts with the motion of the ship? Whoosh . . . sea water in this section here all flows to one end, then up over the wall betwixt it and the fresh. All the way up to splash the glass, if we had glass. Near as I can tell from what this shows, it's the drops of water on the glass that are the good water, yes?"
Jeremy hadn't considered that at all. He let himself slump against the rail. "Well . . . well . . . damn."
"Let me take a look at that book again." Jordan held out his hand. "We'll see if there's something that might work a bit better." He grinned. "Downright pity it doesn't tell how to make beer."
Jeremy grinned. "Aye to that. But right now, I'd be happy to have a bit more than a mug of water a day. Especially in this heat."
A cloud passed over the sun, and they both looked up hopefully. Unfortunately, the cloud was high and white, not the type that portended rain.
They bent to their studying.
* * *
"There must be something we can do." Jeremy slumped back against the wall. "Something. Anything."
"Could be. Could be. We'll start at the beginning," Bos'n Jordan said, pointing at the pipes of the solar hot water heater. "Now what do these pipes do again?"
"They make the water hot." Jeremy said. "The water comes in the bottom cold and gets hotter as it goes up through the pipes."
"This bit here?"
"That takes the hot water from the hot water heater to the still."
"And the flat box with the windows is the still," B
os'n Jordan confirmed. Then pointed to the pipe that went from the still back to the solar water heater. "What's this for?"
"It takes the salty water back to the heater."
"I can see that, lad, but why?"
The problem was Jeremy wasn't really sure why. "Well, the drawings of the solar hot water systems all have that circular flow in them. I think the water has to be able to flow for it to work. I almost had the distilled water go back but would just make it salty again." He shrugged. "I'm not totally sure we need it but better to have it when it's not needful than not to when it is."
The bos'n nodded. Then pointed back to the solar still. "What does the glass do?"
"That's a bit confusing," Jeremy said. "The drawings in the book show little arrows which must be light going through the glass and hitting the water . . . maybe going into the water. It's hard to tell. And they show the water collecting on the glass and dripping down the side of it. But it doesn't explain what's happening." What the drawings from the book showed but didn't explain was that the light didn't turn into heat till it was stopped by something. Because the light passed through the glass rather than being absorbed by it the glass stayed cool so the water vapor condensed on to it.
"Let me think on it. Meanwhile I'll get the ship's carpenter on these pipes."
"If you say so, Bos'n. But they need to be put together a bit odd. See here?" Jeremy pointed to the drawing. "Can he do that?"
The pipes were obviously meant to be metal, but all they had was wood. That would mean carving and forming a hollow channel in the wood, then putting two halves of channel together, probably with glue, then covering the seams with pitch. And the rather odd configuration would be very difficult and have a lot of seams.
"Well, I'm wondering if it has to be that shape." Jordan pulled the drawings toward himself and looked at it again. "From what you said the hotter the water gets, the higher it will rise. So why this shape? If it will rise, why not maybe this?" He drew a Z shape in the air. "The bottom starts low, goes up a bit, then the next bit is a bit higher, it turns, goes up more, turns again and goes up to your still? Looks to me like if the water will rise in the one, it would rise in that. If we can make it hot enough in the first place."
"I don't see why that wouldn't work." Jeremy ran his finger across the page as he read aloud. "'The pipes should be painted black and should not be very big around.' I've been thinking about that, too. We don't have black paint, but we do have ink. Perhaps stain the wood with the ink? Make it darker?"
"Ah. That might work. I'll go speak to Fred."
Jeremy was just as glad it would be Bos'n Jordan going to see the ship's carpenter. Fred Grundy was about as big as Jordan, after all. And a lot less patient.
"We'll need some container to draw off the water. Glass would be best so we could tell how much we're getting and maybe adjust stuff," Jeremy pointed out.
"You leave that to me," the bos'n said with a gleam in his eye.
* * *
"It's a waste of time, Bos'n," Fred Grundy complained.
"Ah. Beyond your skills is it, Chippy?"
Fred just looked at him and Garry Jordan gave back a half grin. A ship's carpenter was the elite of all carpenters, at least according to ship's carpenters. A good ship's carpenter could build a ship, given the supplies and time. A more prideful set of craftsmen you'd not find on land or sea.
Fred was no less prideful than any other ship's carpenter, but he was wise to the ways of the bos'n. At the moment, Jordan knew that Chippy was inclined to agree with the second mate on the value of the work he was being set to. "It's the captain's orders, Chippy," Jordan finally said with a bite in his voice. Then, in a more reasonable tone, "Listen, Fred. If it don't work, at least it's something to do and if it does even just a bit it could make the difference. Myself, I'm starting to think it might. I've listened to the midshipman as he read from the book and it makes sense."
Fred sighed. "Show me what you want."
Of course, once he had seen what was needed and had why it was needed—as Jordan knew it—explained to him, neither the book's nor Jordan's design would do. First making a whole set of pipes, solar water heater design or not, would be a pain in the rear end. For what they wanted, they didn't need pipes. Instead, he made a simple, very flat, box with internal supports that acted as channels for the water. There was a wall between the back chamber and the front—the sunny side and the shaded side—that went to about half an inch above the bottom of the box. The water he explained would "flow down the back chamber and up the front." The front chamber was only about a half inch thick internally so there was a lot of surface area for each cubic inch of water in the box.
* * *
Garry Jordan didn't creep. He was an experienced seaman and doing no more than his duty, after all. He did make note of the fact that the second mate was on watch and would be away from his cabin for some hours before he got around to collecting the clear bottle that Mister Toot required for his device.
He picked up the bottle and admired the rich dark amber color, not of the bottle but of its contents. Then he carefully wrapped it in a cloth he had brought along for the purpose. This was to protect the bottle from breakage and had nothing to do with the fact that wrapped in the cloth it might be anything at all.
The bottle being wrapped, Jordan took it to the crew's quarters and called together the ship's petty officers. "Lads, I have a problem." Jordan unwrapped the bottle and held it up for all to see. This produced some nervous looks. For it was well known that Mr. Burnsides liked one thing and one thing only about the Scots. Their whiskey. "Now, Mister Toot needs a clear bottle for his project. He told me so himself. So I collected the only clear bottle on board. However, it's almost three-quarters full, since it was filled shortly before the storm from the second mate's personal stock. What we need is an empty bottle. Now, I considered the simple solution of pouring it over the side, but that seems wasteful."
The mid-watch crew chief looked around him at the many containers that might store the whiskey. Before he could speak, he was kicked in the shins by the chief cook. "Don't be trying to think like an officer, Dobbsson," Cookie told the junior chief. "You don't have the brains for it."
"We all must make sacrifices for the welfare of the ship," Chippy said portentously. "I am very much afraid we are going to have to . . ." He paused and shuddered, then visibly forced the words out. "Drink it!"
"What a clever notion," Jordan proclaimed. "Get your cups, lads."
The cups were gathered and Jordan, with great ceremony, poured a shot or so into each man's cup. Dobbsson took his down in a shot, much to the disgust of the others present. This was, after all, fourteen-year-old sipping whiskey. Mr. Burnsides had commented on it several times.
* * *
The bos'n smiled pleasantly at the second mate. "Mister Toot needed a clear bottle to collect the water. The captain said that he was to have what he needed and you had the only clear bottle on board."
"And where is my whiskey?" Lieutenant Burnside looked around the crew's quarters.
"Well, sir, I poured it out," Jordan told him quite truthfully. "We just needed the bottle, not what was in it."
"Into what? A jug? Which one?"
"Why, what a clever thought, sir. I never thought of such a thing." Jordan shrugged self-deprecatingly "That's why there's officers to think of things like that, sir."
* * *
"He claims he poured out good whiskey." Lieutenant Burnside pointed at Garry Jordan.
"If Garry Jordan says he poured it out, then he poured it out. I've known him for years. He's an honest man." He looked over at Jordan. "What did you pour it out into?"
Burnside interrupted. "I asked him that, sir. He denied pouring it into another container."
The captain gave Jordan questioning look.
"I didn't poor it into a jug, sir," Jordan said.
"Of course not. What did you pour it into?
Caught, Gary thought. "Cups, sir."
T
he captain sighed. "Sit down, Mr. Burnside." He waved Jordan out, with a glare that said "I'll take care of you later."
* * *
The still had lots of little boxes in it, that would keep the water from sloshing all over the place. Each little box was filled with black cloth to hold the water and absorb the heat.
"But how do we fill all the boxes from just the one tap?"
"They leak, Midshipman. Just not real fast."
Along one side was a trough and a higher partition between the trough and the little boxes. The wall between the trough and the boxes, thankfully, didn't leak.
* * *
Lieutenant Burnside was beginning to look as ragged as the rest of them by four days later. The water was down to thirty-five barrels, with a half ration of water per day per man. Still, Burnside wasn't being at all helpful, although Captain Waddle kept him out of the way most of the time.
Meanwhile, the port side of the poop deck looked a mess. The contraption, side on, looked a little like an upside down L, or perhaps a weird P, with the vertical hanging off the port side of the poop deck. The vertical was the solar hot water heater. The bulgy horizontal was the solar still. With the larger-than-they-should-have-been windows Captain Waddle's wife had insisted on.
"It couldn't be helped, sir." Jeremy very carefully placed the window in position, then covered the edge with more pitch. "They're all we've got and something has to let the light in, so the sun will keep the water hot."
"If we get another storm, Toot, you'd best make your best effort to save that glass. The wife will have my guts for garters if it gets broken, indeed she will."
Jeremy hid a grin. Captain Waddle had a fund of "the wife" stories. The woman sounded like a terrible scold, but Jeremy had seen her once. Tiny, a good bit younger than the captain, and very dainty. There was no way that little thing could have the captain truly fearful. "I'll do that, sir. Meanwhile, I think we're ready."
Jeremy looked over at Seaman Timothy Booby. "Start filling the tank, Tim, and we'll see how it works."
* * *
The wait was excruciating. Finally . . . drip drip drip. Water—not a lot, but some. It tasted a little of tar but not of salt. It would help but it clearly wasn't enough.
Grantville Gazette Volume 25 Page 12