by Jeffrey Cook
Also a significant problem, we do not know how many local men the Spanish can muster, or how much of indigenous tribes they have impressed for this conflict. I have now come to understand that the native peoples of this land were where the Americans learned many of their tactics, making up for inferior arms and sometimes manpower with stealth, ambush, and knowing the territory on which they fight. If the Spaniards have numerous of these tribes collected on their side, then I do not envy the fighting men of the American colonies the times to come. Still, with any fortune the morale of the opposition will soon be crushed, and perhaps the Spanish are having as much trouble with some of the tribal peoples of their lands as has been rumored, and which has hindered westward expansion efforts in places along the frontier lands. Miss Bowe has also had some words to say for native fighting techniques, for she has apparently spent some time among some of the tribesmen. Given her fighting style and training, and capabilities as a scout, this somehow does not surprise me in the least, though it does not excuse her behavior: after all, she is still a woman of European blood, and yet even when returned to the civilized Daughterland, her manners were atrocious, and have not been much better in any territory. One at times would almost think that she was cheering for neither England nor Spain, for but for the savages in between them. I will be that much more glad when we can return her to her frontier, but for the time being, she keeps giving me occasion to be grateful for her presence.
In the meanwhile, Sir James has put all of his time and effort into speaking on behalf of the Crown and working to expand the effort and cause for war for occupation of Spanish territory, facing the question again and again as to why the Americans should need more land than they now hold, but he has convinced them. Eddy is just as much a local hero, asked again and again to tell his stories, for the idea of a rifleman of his skill seems very much to appeal to the American spirit, and many of their men can more empathize with him than a graduate of Oxford, even as much as the technology produced by that university has taken hold here.
If this winter is as harsh as it is beginning to appear to be, however, I do indeed fear for the people out in the wide expanses as needed to work on the rails. This shall be an interesting time for many people, given the conflicts that currently grip America. Though war is always a difficult time, and it has at last come here, it also seems to quite unite the spirit. I think, in the end, this may be a helpful thing for the colonies. A common cause and a common enemy may repair some of the deep divisions between them. No doubt the reconciliation taking place between England and France, now that the latter's royals have returned to power, will also help.
I do wonder somewhat as to what Giovanni Franzini is up to. Having proven himself twice now, he has used this greater trust and longer leash to spend a great deal of time in the city and perhaps, if the rumors are true, has found himself acknowledged as something of a gentleman war hero such that he has inserted himself into the clubs and gambling halls here. I can only hope that he does nothing to besmirch our reputation in this land, for so far it appears quite sterling.
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
August 28th, 1815
New York
40º 47'N 073º 58'W
We have settled in here only briefly, in order to assess the conditions and determine if any effort to the north is worth the trouble now. Sir James has conversed often with Miss Bowe to this end, seeming to put significant stock in her opinions and claims of knowledge of the area. These efforts have been somewhat slowed by her regular annoyance that we left New Orleans in the hands of Col. York at all. Originally against taking military actions here at all, she seems to feel that it should now be our responsibility to see it through, no matter how often she is assured that it will be handled capably. We have been assured that a decision will be rendered soon, though the current beliefs seem to be trending towards the thought that the cold is coming on too fast, and unseasonably cold temperatures will make any chance of finding the hoped-for Northwest Passage impossible.
Nonetheless, Sir James has expressed some interest in at least surveying the area from the air, and getting some feel for using the dirigible as a mapping and exploration craft before we venture far into the West, far away from any kind of repair facilities. Everyone has been practicing taking to their roles on shipboard in anticipation of spending a lot of time aboard, and needing to be ready to shift from a more military mindset to that of adventurers and cartographers.
Miss Wright has also made some friendly overtures towards Miss Bowe, trying to come to, if not a friendship, at least a working relationship. Miss Wright has not spent a great deal of time otherwise engaged with most of the talk of war and the situation in New Orleans, but she does seem interested in what parts of the journey she can contribute towards. She has so far had the most success in gaining access to the ornithopter, both to study its construction, and to try to show Miss Bowe the necessary steps and materials for making repairs to the construct should it ever become necessary.
Miss Coltrane has also been most busy, and I begin to understand just how wide she casts her net of social influence. Her shopping in New York, apparently, has been confined primarily to more paper and additional ink, as she has prepared dozens of handwritten letters for the wives of men of wealth and influence all over England and the Americas. She has acknowledged she is trying to make sure that if there is to be war, all preparations will be made, and there will be resources enough to equip the soldiers, and enough support from the Motherland to make sure there are sufficient officers and ships to put to the effort. She truly is a remarkable woman, and far more aware of the situation at hand and what, precisely, would be needed, strategically speaking, than I had given her credit for. Her brother, meanwhile, takes her activities enough as a matter of course that I do not doubt that she has done the like before.
September 15th, 1815
Far North
53º19'N 60º25'W
Dear Sir,
I regret to inform you that we have not found the Northwest Passage, and will not be continuing an active search for it at this time. On seeing the waterways in their current conditions, Miss Bowe assured us in no uncertain terms that the waterways would be too frozen over to gain any useful information from. She assures us that we should not doubt that the route does exist, but it requires travel much further to the north than we had hoped, though such was indicated by Dr. Bowe's journals. Sir James initially wanted to press on anyway, hoping we would find something to mark and map that we might have an easier time resuming this type of effort later.
If anything finally convinced him that the effort needed to be abandoned, it was likely the Captain's doing. He complained bitterly about the cold and indicated quite often that the controls were sluggish, and mechanical troubles were likely if we continued on this course.
I am certain that this news will come as disappointing. We have made almost no progress in achieving your goals, I fear. What's more, it will be at least several months before we could resume the effort here. Even then, with some believing the weather will remain unseasonably cold for some time to come, it could be even longer than that.
If it is any solace, sir, Dr. Bowe's notes and our guide, plus the ability to survey the land from the air did allow us one bit of information which could be of great benefit to the colonies, and through them, England. In the process of surveying the area, we did discover a navigable route from the Atlantic to the Great Lakes by water, with the assistance of an easily placed canal, above Montreal. I am including our maps of the region, and pictures from the air of the waterways. I can hope that this will provide enough good news and solace that the setback in our overall mission will not prove too much of a disappointment.
Yours,
Gregory Conan Watts
September 23rd, 1815
New York Colony
40º 47'N 073º 58'W
My Dearest Cordelia,
Tragedy has struck, and while I hate to burden you with such new
s (although this letter may well never reach you, and likely just as well) I need to share this news with someone lest my heart should burst. And it seems as if five brave souls should be in as many prayers as might be possible.
We were returning to New York yesterday when a terrible storm arose, far worse than anything I have ever seen or encountered in all my life, coming in from the sea. The air had been quite disturbed for some time, but there was no chance for anything but to try to make it back to land, for in trying to make use of the winds for travel, we had ended up some way out, though we were quite close to reaching our destination. A number of us were resting, for our journeys had taken such a great deal out of us that the few days' rest while traveling had not seen us entirely recovered.
We could not help but notice the dirigible being thrown about on the turbulent winds. Most of the crew rushed forward to see if there was something we could aid the captain with, though the walk alone was difficult enough. I cannot imagine that I would be writing you now at all if we had any lesser pilot than William Fisher. Right now, I would believe near any tale he wished to tell me, though it may be some time until he finds his voice once more. He shouted over the howl of the winds that the instruments were not reading properly, and he was having great difficulty finding his heading. Eddy quickly climbed forward to be an extra set of eyes but declared he could not see enough. Securing his goggles firmly to his face, he left the inside of the ship entirely, exposing himself to such a torrent of rain that it had to be like rocks pelting the skin. He lashed himself most securely to that vantage point, and proceeded, ignoring the horrible pain he must have been in, being struck so by wind and rain and chips of ice, to give what he could make out to the Captain through what language on navigation they shared. I marvel still at the strength of the man, for while I tried at one time to reach him to bring him a blanket, I was pushed back before I could get more than a hand out from the ship, and then we rocked so violently that we were briefly almost on our side, and the first flash of lightning lit the skies.
Everything was thrown about, ourselves included, though some few had opportunity to grab for something more permanent. Miss Coltrane had come forward, and most luckily grabbed for a railing, saving herself from the worst of the buffeting about. Miss Wright was able to grab for her cousin, and spent much of the difficulty with a death grip upon Miss Coltrane's dress until she was able to climb to the railing herself, leaving them both in terrible disarray. It is fortunate that Miss Wright is a strong young woman, else she may well have been lost. Sir James may have had opportunity to grab for the rails as well, having been standing near his sister as usual, but instead he noticed that Mrs. Fisher had nothing but open space near her. He grabbed for the woman just as we pitched so harshly, and the pair of them crashed against one of the windows, which cracked, but did not shatter yet.
I had a better vantage on all of this than I ever would have wished, hanging in space by a blanket which had gotten itself quite entangled in a doorway now sealed shut by gravity and force of the elements. In trying to struggle free, I found myself hopelessly entangled, thoroughly tied to the ship. So bound, I found myself pondering, of all things, how in a disaster sometimes everything seems to slow down to such degree as to allow one to see everything flashing before one's eyes, and yet not be able to do anything. I noticed Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright struggling, as they would for some time, and I think Miss Coltrane may have broken a bone somewhere in her hand amidst the struggle. We will know soon. She also has terrible scratches upon her legs, we have been told, but I believe that owes mostly to her ending up saving Miss Wright's life in the scramble. The window cracked sufficiently that Sir James had an arm break through it, though the damage to his arm seems to look far worse than it actually was. Mrs Fisher was able to find another rail and climb to it, freeing Sir James to grab onto the side of the window before it broke away entirely, though he was hanging from the ship for a time, and even such resolute nerves as his own have been quite shaken by the experience.
Miss Penn, thankfully, was in her quarters, and while we would later find her unconscious, the injury to her head does not appear as if it is anything too lasting or serious, though she is abed even so. Mr. Franzini was likewise abed, and the violence of the ship was so great that he was thrown from his bunk and into the path of his trunk. While alive, I do not envy him his bruises or broken leg, which will keep him off of it for quite some time.
The worst of this first wave of turbulence was reserved for Matthew and the first mate, for both were in their rooms when the rest of us rushed forward. As we were turned on our sides, their doors swung open, and both were tossed violently against the far walls. Mr. Taylor appeared stunned, while Matthew was already trying to struggle to his feet, only to tumble again when the ship righted itself. While difficult for many people, that may have saved Sir James's life, for he was able to climb back through the window and dove for a hold within the structure of the bridge before we rocked again.
The next tilt of the ship was the other way, and almost as severe, nearly throwing Sir James the other way out of the ship, but he held on. Captain Fisher, meanwhile, was fighting the wheel as hard as he was able, using it to keep himself at least at his station when we shifted. I cannot imagine Eddy's state at that time, and all I could hear about the ship was screams, both from those I could see ahead of me, and from the still sealed chambers behind me as Miss Penn and Mr. Franzini were tossed about.
Miss Bowe emerged from her room then, swinging from her door frame and managing to advance up the corridor, leaping across floor and wall as we shifted. I think she shouted to me as to where Eddy was, and I attempted to free a hand enough to point to the door, though I was forced after that to grab full hold once again. Unfortunately, Matthew also noticed this gesture, and I still have not forgiven myself. The wind was not calm then, but we briefly ceased being rocked about so wildly, instead rising suddenly so fast that I felt my stomach sink. My nausea and surprise was such that I somehow only ended up staring dumbfounded as Matthew headed for the doorway, managing to find handholds and crawling at one point, calling for Eddy, likely not knowing that the Scotsman had been tied to the ship itself. During this brief lull, it seemed everyone but myself had made some use of themselves, the first mate was shouting something about a rope coming loose and rushing for the same doorway, not noticing Matthew in his path.
The Captain lashed himself to the wheel. I can only imagine how many storms he has piloted through thus, but he had such panic in his voice and on his face that I am unsure even he had seen the like of this storm before. Mrs. Fisher also found herself something to first hold, then tie herself to, and Sir James seemed to be about the same thing when suddenly he was struggling to untie himself instead and shouting. His voice was drowned out with another howl of wind, and I was spun about in time to see Miss Bowe and the first mate both on the walkway and rails trying to get hold of a section of rope securing the main ship to the balloon above. What neither of them seemed to notice – or perhaps could simply not deal with at the time – was that in their rush, Matthew had been pushed out as well, and was grabbing tight to the rails. In all of this, Miss Bowe's companion had also found its way out of her chambers. Tossed about on its wheels, it struck me quite squarely in its attempts to get to her, unable to quite align itself with the door, which was fortunate at the time. Mr. Taylor had only just gotten hold of the rope when we pitched violently again, and he was thrown over the edge. I resumed my struggles to get free to go and help, but remained firmly tangled up in the blankets tying me to the ship. Much as I regret not having been of more use, it is quite likely fortunate I was so thoroughly stuck, else I may have been lost overboard. Miss Bowe found a good hold and was reaching for the first mate while Sir James was struggling back towards them, or must have been, for he ended up quite close in all the confusion. Just as Miss Bowe was drawing Mr. Taylor back aboard, we hit another rise while still turned about on our side, and now I could see the storm behind us, a horrib
le funnel of wind and violence such as none I have ever encountered. I prayed at that moment as if the devil himself was behind us, for I thought he might well be. A terrible scream that will fill my nightmares came from behind me, even as I was spun about more, and I saw the wind sweep Matthew entirely overboard, and the first mate, who had been clambering towards the door, managed only to grab the hanging rope before he too was swept overboard. Miss Bowe whistled, a piercing sound that somehow carried over the storm, and then leapt fully off of the side of the ship, pushing herself away from it. The ornithopter struggled through the door at last as it had been trying to do, almost dislodging my web in the process, and dove or fell after them. I saw it extend its wings, and Miss Bowe grabbing for it, though I never saw if she caught hold before it was being pulled away by the wind, and the ship shifted again. Sir James found his way to the doorway, helping to pull me in to more secure hold before being pitched back out himself. He found the rail, and grabbed for Mr. Taylor's hand. I am unsure if the mate saw him at all, focused entirely upon his grip on the rope. Had he reached back, perhaps he might be alive still, or perhaps he would have pulled Sir James into the abyss with him. Either way, the rope was torn free, and I saw him disappear into blackness, still clutching to a short length of thick cord as if it might still somehow save him.