So Near So Far (9 page)

“Don't overplay it, love. You could be
too
ladylike!”

“Warn me if I overdo it. While I quit the stage, I shall not cease to play a part. It will become habitual but all the time you will know that there is another Fiona. If ladies reluctantly submit to love making, as I am told they do, you will know that I demand it!”

“You may have more than you bargained for. What then? You cannot reject me and go back to your family!”

”No, I can't do that. I weep to think that I am at your mercy. I do believe, however, that we should visit my aunt and uncle at Dumbarton. They are my only relatives and I want to tell them how badly you are treating me.”

“We'll do that. When we come south again you shall then visit my sister at Bristol. I want to tell her how deceived I have been by a girl with all the airs of a great lady who is really no better than she should be.”

So the journey to Scotland was agreed upon following their stay in Scarborough. They went by coach to Newcastle, sailed from there to Leith by a coasting vessel, and so went by coach again to Dumbarton which is some fourteen miles from Glasgow. It was a place of no great commercial importance, once the site of a castle built at the confluence of the Clyde and the Leven. It was not then, nor is it now, a scene of great events but it is placed within easy reach of places which were to be the very heart of Scottish industry. Mr and Mrs Sinclair turned out to be an elderly couple living in a cottage to which the Delanceys were made very welcome. Mr Sinclair, like Robert Burns in at least this one respect, had spent most of his active life as an exciseman. It was not a career which was consistent with great popularity and he had been glad to move from Perth on retirement to this cottage which his wife had inherited. Taking Richard to look at his garden, he explained that he had not seen Fiona for some years. “My younger brother Hamish,” he explained, “was a wild young man, would not settle down to any steady occupation, but was clerk for a time to a merchant who did good business at Leith. He never married but he lived for some years with a bonny Highland lass called Katrine. There was the one child, Fiona, and then Katrine died in childbirth of her second, a boy, who never lived. Fiona was brought up
by poor Katrine's sister, another wild creature—that is, after Hamish died—and I scarcely wonder at her living the life she did at one time. I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to see Fiona married to a good man who will know how to keep her in order. She is bonnier than her poor mother was—and
she
was among the prettiest lassies you ever saw—but she seems to be steadier these days and something of a lady and an officer's wife. She'll settle down even better after she has had a child or two.”

Mrs Sinclair also took Richard aside and expressed her own relief that Fiona was so well married. “She had no sort of chance in early life with her mother dying so young and her aunt drinking too much and scarcely ever seen in the kirk. She was a handful as a child, or so I've been told, but never did real harm. She was always affectionate, you know—too much so with some of the boys—but kind to younger children. She is a good girl at heart.”

When family matters had thus been settled, Mr Sinclair took Delancey to his workshop and revealed what was clearly his main interest in life, the building of ship models. The point of his models, however, was that they were propelled by steam. He was no inventor but had closely followed the work of Mr William Symington whose first steamship had been launched on the river Carron in 1789. It was this vessel that Mr Sinclair had carefully imitated, his working model having two paddle-wheels on the same side. She had belonged to Mr Patrick Miller of Dalswinton and had been tested on Loch Dalswinton, reaching a speed of no less than five miles an hour.

“But all this,” said Mr Sinclair, “is only by way of experiment, you'll understand. Mr Symington has now completed another steamboat. This has been built for Lord Dundas and is
for use on the Forth and Clyde Canal. My model here is an exact replica, from which you will see that she is driven by a single stern-wheel. On a trial trip in March, only a few weeks ago, she covered a distance of nearly twenty miles at over three miles an hour.”

“So she was not as fast as Symington's first ship?”

“Aye, but she had two barges in tow and was steaming into the teeth of a gale.”

“So the trial was judged a success?”

“Weel, it was and it wasna. The engine did fine but some gentlemen of the Canal Company were worried about the effect on the canal banks.”

“I can understand that.”

“Weel, I'll confess that my interest is merely in the engine itself. The point about it is that the steam acts on each side of the piston—Watt's idea, as you know.”

“Just so.”

“The piston then works a connecting rod and crank—as you see in the model—
here.”

“
Quite, I see that.”

“Then the crank is joined with the axis of the paddle-wheel, as you can see for yourself.”

“Very clever indeed.”

“Yes, but copied from Pickard's invention of 1780—the idea for the reciprocating action on the connecting rod.”

“So Pickard should have some of the credit?”

“Yes, but the paddle-wheel we owe to Miller.”

“Well, I am amazed—and not least so by the skill with which you have built your model. What is this latest steamboat called?”

“The
Charlotte Dundas,
named after his lordship's daughter.”

”Would it be possible for me to see her in motion on the canal?”

“It shall be arranged. I know all the gentlemen concerned. It so happens, moreover, that we are expecting a visit from an American gentleman, a Mr Fulton, who has made just the same request. You and he can visit the
Charlotte Dundas
on the same day and perhaps take a short trip in her. I hear that the Duke of Bridgwater is interested. We may expect a visit from him some day. Steamboats are very much the thing of the future.”

In bed that night, Delancey told Fiona about the local interest in steamboats.

“Your uncle told me about cranks and connecting rods, about ratchet wheels and cylinders, and I haven't the least idea what he was talking about.”

“You poor dear. It is the Sinclairs who have the brains.”

“But I'd like to see this steamboat, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, I should. But why the fuss about it? When you have your frigate, the wind will blow it along and the wind will cost you nothing. But a steamboat has to be driven by a furnace which is so greedy of coal that the vessel can carry nothing else, neither guns nor cargo. It makes no sense at all!”

“It might make sense if there is no wind or again if the wind blows from the wrong direction.”

“And then the smoke will blow into your eyes and dirty your linen. I'll look at this steamship but I shall say nothing in its favour. I prefer ships with sails.”

“So do I, darling. We mustn't stay too long with your aunt and uncle. They don't have too much money.”

“I know, dearest. So I have been giving money to my aunt without my uncle's knowledge. We'll go soon after we have seen the
Charlotte Dundas
and make our way to Bristol. Do you think
we shall be at war again soon?”

“By next year, I should think.”

“Then we shall be in London again by the end of this year…. Do you still love me?”

“But of course, darling!”

“Why don't you prove it?”

They talked no more that night about marine engineering.

Delancey first saw the
Charlotte Dundas
on a date in early July. She was at Lock 20 on the Forth and Clyde Canal and Mr Symington was already there, the furnaces stoked and a thin column of smoke ascending from a tall funnel into the windless air. There were several artisans at work on the engine, one with an oiling can, and two boatmen forward, keeping well away from the noise and dirt. On the road opposite the lock there were half a dozen carriages drawn up with grooms holding the horses' heads. Some of the gentlemen to be seen were casual visitors but two, standing by the gangplank, were evidently there by invitation. Symington presently came ashore to greet them and then extended his greetings to Mr Sinclair and Captain Delancey. Introductions followed and it appeared that Symington's other guests were Mr Fulton and Mr Williams. Fulton's accent was plainly American. Mr Williams was obviously from the less fashionable part of London. Both were engineers and both were fascinated by the
Charlotte Dundas.
Fulton was tall and handsome, aged 37 and a man of culture, accustomed to good society and known (Sinclair had whispered) to the Duke of Bridgwater himself. Williams was an older man, aged perhaps 45, and probably unknown to anyone of consequence. Unlike Fulton, he looked like a man who could work with a spanner or even with a shovel. Symington, a little older than
Fulton, was an eager-looking inventive person, keen to talk about steam navigation to anyone who would listen. The group collected round him and stared down at the queer-looking vessel in which the engine had begun to vibrate. She was of no great size, the machinery occupying the stern half of the vessel and leaving little room for anything else.

“Pray step aboard, Mrs Delancey,” said Symington. “Come gentlemen. If you go forward in the bows you will find that the smoke all goes astern.”

They went aboard and forward as advised and felt the vessel shaking under them as the engines worked up to a higher speed. Disturbed by this sensation Fiona held Delancey's hand tightly. Then the engines stopped abruptly and the vibration ceased. Joining them, Mr Symington explained that there was a minor adjustment to be made. It would take no more than a few minutes. He pointed out, in the meanwhile, that there was an east wind, blowing almost directly down the canal. He would take the
Charlotte Dundas
into the teeth of the wind. “We have sails,” he went on, “and we use them if the wind is favourable, as it will be on our return. With a headwind like this, we shall hoist no sail but rely solely on the engine.” Within a minute or two the engine restarted noisily and the vibration intensified. “I'm frightened,” whispered Fiona, and Delancey's arm tightened round her waist. “There's no danger,” he assured her as the mooring ropes were cast off their bollards.

The boatmen pushed the craft away from the wharf and she began to sidle into the middle of the canal. The stern-wheel started to revolve and the canal banks slowly slipped past. The vibration increased and the sound could be heard of more coal being shovelled into the furnace. The smoke all went astern as Symington had predicted and the passengers went further aft
to see the engine at work. It was an impressive sight and the paddle-wheel's action, beating the water into froth, was as novel and exciting. An engineer pulled a lanyard and there came a hooting noise from near the funnel, which alarmed Fiona still more. Now far astern, the grooms could be seen trying to calm the frightened horses on the quayside. A great adventure had begun but the novelty had worn off in half an hour. The speed, which Symington estimated at four miles an hour, was impressive only in being against the wind, and when the craft went about, hoisted sail, and began the speedier return voyage, the smoke drifted more forward than aft. Passengers tended to choke and cough, Fiona brushing the soot off her dress and everyone being rather relieved when they were back at Lock 20, dirty but impressed. When the engine had been stopped, Mr Symington made a little speech:

“You have seen, madam and gentlemen, what the
Charlotte Dundas
can do. What you must understand, however, is that we are in the very early days of steam navigation. There are many problems still to solve but I myself have no doubt that steam is the thing of the future. The first use of the steam vessel will be to tow sailing ships in and out of harbour when the wind is contrary. Think of the time wasted and the mounting expense when an outward-bound merchantman is wind-bound, perhaps for weeks at a time. Later, and perhaps within our lifetime, there will be the man-of-war fitted with an engine, able to progress in a flat calm or against a contrary wind. Then will come the merchantman under steam herself. What you have seen today is just the beginning of a revolution in nautical history!”

He was applauded, congratulated, and thanked, his passengers then making their way, in conversation, towards where
their carriages were waiting. After saying goodbye to them, Symington made his way back to the engine. Delancey, making a quick decision, asked Fulton and Williams to have dinner with him and Fiona at the Burnside Inn, which would be on their way back to Dumbarton. The two gentlemen accepted and the party foregathered for a simple meal, in which haggis was the main feature apart from boiled mutton. All the talk, inevitably, was about steam navigation, Fulton taking the lead: “It is in America,” he maintained, “that we shall see the most rapid progress. We have great distances to cover, with rivers and lakes affording our only means of transport. Here in Britain the distances are small and you already have a good system of roads.”

“Very true,” said Delancey, “but our immediate problem is how to thwart the designs of Bonaparte. Shall we apply the steam-engine to the purposes of war? It seems to me, I might add, that the basic idea in this invention is simple enough. You take the steam-engine, familiar to Cornish miners, and apply it to the waterwheel, the ordinary mill device with the process reversed. It takes no genius, surely, to think of that. The real problem is to design and construct the actual machinery, making each part with sufficient accuracy and fitting the piston to the tube. But suppose the engineering problem solved, how do we apply the machine to the war at sea?”

“First of all,” replied Fulton, “its use must be confined to small craft in coastal waters. At the end of the last war, Napoleon had collected a vast number of vessels in which to ferry his army from France to England; a distance from Boulogne of, shall we say, thirty miles? These craft still exist. Should the war be resumed, his first idea will be to think again of invasion. He is a soldier and that is how his mind works. Now, were you,
Captain Delancey, to have a steam-vessel, perhaps of twice the tonnage of the
Charlotte Dundas
you could attack these invasion craft during a dead calm when they would least expect it. The effect on their morale would be out of all proportion to the actual damage done. Suppose, however, that you had a dozen steam-vessels, the French would have to abandon their whole idea as something too hazardous to contemplate. I see no reason why a dozen such vessels should not be built.”