CHAPTER TWO:

NEW GOALS; NEW PROSPECTS; AND ONE TO RECONCILE WITH.


Nearing 2:00 PM,Tuesday; July/12/1842.

"Advanced (eleves) Artillery School & Grounds" in Chalons-en-Champagne; over 150 kilometers from Paris, France.

Horses tied up nearby were violently straining at their leashes, a look of terror in their eyes, wailing and screeching in fright as they beheld a flimsy-looking wheeled vehicle being pushed by a handful of soldiers onto a flat hard-packed stretch of linear road on the grounds of the military
facility. It wasn't the first time those terrified horses had seen the odd-looking
skeletal metal-framed conveyance mounting
what looked like a dumpy metal barrel near its backside conjoined by a pair of tubes to a rearward-facing metal bowl fused to a truncated cone; all of it braced and fastened to the horseless carriage's chassis. There were also rods, and some other fixtures, protruding from that portly assemblage in the vehicle's hind parts.

Hundreds of soldiers, officers, one civil servant, and one representative from the French Navy were on hand to witness its encore performance that day. Professor Valcour and a handful of soldiers and officers had carried out a rather restrained and limited demonstration of its capabilities the day before, yet even that initially inhibited test-run on Monday was enough to terrify both men and horses nearby who witnessed it.

Showing no concern for the passing commotion that his invention caused the day before, the professor vigorously pushed the preparations for the full-duration run of his exotic wheeled
craft. He had twelve kilograms of 66-percent concentrate nitric acid, "nitrous acid" as he called it, loaded into the machine's oxidizer-tank; and he put four kilograms of 190-proof "wood-spirits", methanol, into the fuel-tank. Then bringing over materials he was increasingly acquainted with: a block of limestone and a compatible quantity of 33-percent concentrate hydrochloric acid, "muriatic acid" as it was then called; he separately loaded them into an adjoining pressurizing compartment.

With just minutes to go, three French Army volunteers, two of them armed with breach-loaded needle guns, scrambled up into the vehicle, taking up their positions. Two sloped iron sheet-metal shields were mounted up front for their benefit and for demonstration purposes.
As a final touch, a wired electric-arc device, with a projecting magnesium-based pyrotechnic stick attached, was temporarily clipped to the lip of the metal cone.

As the ground crew prudently dispersed to safe locations, taking time to temporarily insert waxed cloth-plugs into their ears, Charles Valcour awaited a hand signal from one of the three volunteers
in the horseless carriage as he prepared to immediately touch two wires to each other; dry-cloth bound wires hooked up to a set of electric batteries nearby forming an incomplete series-circuit at that moment.

As he waited he diligently kept an eye on one of the volunteers, observing him through a protective double-glass screen repetitively hand cranking and drawing out a screw-threaded cylindrical stopper
out of the side of the ribbed metal barrel.
Once that task was completed, the young soldier began to do some observations of his own: carefully eying a protruding, shifting metal strip on the barrel, which happened to be the "fixed air" pressure indicator.

The young professor was hunkered down behind an temporary rampart off to one side and not too far from the vehicle, well aware of the potential hazards posed by his invention, when he saw the man wave. That was it! Charles touched the two wires together and blindingly bright bluish-white light flared up at the mouth of the conical device, followed almost immediately by a much larger reddish-orange eruption accompanied by
a rapidly billowing mass of pale-brownish smoke spewing out. All of that was promptly superseded by a bright orange flaming geyser shooting out the mouth of the wrought-iron cone. The deafening roar rattled and cracked windows hundreds of meters away. The hundreds of observers present, most of them covering their ears, found themselves awestruck.
Professor Valcour's protective double-glass screen, with its sandwiched gelatin layer, remained largely unscathed thanks in part to the rampart's own shock-absorbing properties.

The novel horseless carriage, violently spewing flame and smoke out its backside, was first slowly propelled forward, then it relentlessly picked up speed as the precious seconds passed. And finally, as the last of its liquid rocket-fuel was spent, its speed matched that of a race horse as it rattled down the lengthy stretch of road trailing flame and a long evil-looking plume of pale reddish-brown smoke. It had covered a distance of close to 150 meters in just over 18 seconds. As the rocket motor died, still emitting some noxious fumes, the vehicle continued coasting along in more-or-less a straight line, steadily losing speed, until it had covered a distance of over 200 meters from start to finish.

Creaking to a halt, its volunteer tillerman
having braked the conveyance, the then immobile vehicle became an instant makeshift sharpshooter's platform.The two riflemen on board took careful aim from their protective prone positions and fired off two quick shots; their experimental Pauly needle guns sending two acorn-shaped rifle bullets tearing into
two separate wood-framed canvas targets, less than 200-meters-away. The canvas were painted with images representing two scarlet-tunic attired army generals. Professor Valcour could see the targets quiver slightly from the bullet impacts, followed almost immediately by the 'cracking' sounds of the gunfire; and then hearing the faint 'thuds' of the targets being struck.
He turned and observed two senior-ranking French Army officers smartly approaching his location. The older officer was a colonel in the artillery, the younger one was a commandant in the cuirassiers. Behind them, most of the rank-and-file soldiers present were speedily hustled and harried into lines & formations by barked-out orders from their superiors who then promptly marched them off towards the nearby barracks. Most of the commissioned army officers however, accompanied by a visiting civil servant from Paris, along with the navy officer, began to make their way over to Professor Valcour.
The commandant, stiffly marching up in his squeaking knee-high black leather boots, wasn't too pleased at having to approach Charles dismounted, his tied-up steed still extremely agitated as a result of the fiery deafeningly loud demonstration; as were the other heavy-cavalry horses at their posts. He hid his displeasure though. The colonel's face revealed only a little more emotion than his colleague: his broad graying mustache masking a faintly skeptical frown. The two came to an abrupt halt, standing side-by-side, and promptly saluted the professor. Charles, smiling triumphantly, doffed his shiny black top-hat.
"Bonjour, Colonel! Bonjour, Commandant!
You do not have to salute me, I'm a civilian now. But I do hope that you two have enjoyed seeing the successful results of my labor."
The look on their faces remained unchanged.
"Bonjour, Professeur." they politely called out. The colonel, speaking for both of them, added, "The experimental technological exercise of yours appears to have gone well. May we go over together and examine your invention, if it is safe to do so?" Charles' face brightened in approval, "Of course, gentlemen! Please follow me."
Charles Valcour leisurely escorted the two senior army commanders over to his rocket-propelled carriage while giving out a self-promoting lecture and narrative to the two as he did. Arriving on the scene the two senior officers and the professor were met by the three junior-ranking army volunteers who hastily snapped to attention, saluting their superiors who returned the gestures and began to question the three brave young men, who were coughing, before dismissing them.
By then, the small crowd of enthusiastic junior officers began to arrive at and congregate around the idle vehicle as well.
"I wouldn't touch the metal cone, Commandant, it is still searing hot."
Charles Valcour warned, seeing the senior-ranking cuirassier leaning closer to the rocket-motor, about to extend his hand to touch the outside of the nozzle. He wisely drew it back before any contact was made.
The commandant stepped back, ignoring a developing eye and throat irritation, pulling out his sabre and used it as an ad hoc probing instrument to physically examine the inactive motor. The blade on his weapon scraped off some of the carbon deliberately fused to the inside of the metal cone and bowl that made up the nozzle.
Satisfied with his casual probing efforts,
the officer slipped his side arm back into its sheathe. Charles was eagerly standing by to answer any of his questions.
"Professeur?" he asked, "This carbon encrustation appears to be over a centimeter in thickness. I gather that it was baked or burnt on, eh? Was it meant to protect the iron cone from the acid?"
Charles cleared his throat coughing, some lingering fumes and smoke proving a persistent irritant to him and others nearby. "It's about two centimeters thick," he finally explained, "I heated layers of cornstarch until it was thoroughly charred
and blackened, keeping the thickness of it as evenly distributed throughout the interior as possible. But the reason I applied it had more to do with protecting the iron from the intense heat than from the acid. The unprotected iron rocket-nozzle would have started to soften, even melt, were it not for the carbon layering. Elemental carbon doesn't melt, even at temperatures high enough to cause platinum to ooze. And as a basic rule, carbon conducts heat ten times slower than metal more-or-less."
The colonel stepped into the conversation.
"I can attest to the value of the encrusted carbon and to this new rocket-motor design of his, Commandant Sauve!" the colonel interjected, "I witnessed one of the first perilous experiments carried out by our distinguished professeur here about five months ago when he used a similar - apparatus, but with some important differences.
He used a clamped-down bare iron cone
as a rocket-nozzle with no hemispheric bowl at its frustum. The apex - the tip of that cone melted and was blasted away in a shower of white-hot metal. An explosion in the fuel-line and tank followed. Fortunately, no one was injured." Looking chagrined, Professor Valcour remained silent.
The commandant, ignoring both men, continued to closely examine the rocket-motor.
"Well, the protection offered by the encrusted carbon was not totally sufficient it appears." he pointed out, casually gesturing to the outside of the nozzle,
"You can see what appears to be warping and minor buckling on the outside of the cone. And inside? The carbon crust is cracked in places. And of course the bluish streaks in places."
Professor Valcour flashed a smile at him,
"It maybe a liability for rocket-motor operations of longer duration, but it is not an insurmountable problem for this motor, I assure you, Commandant."
Charles received a tap on his shoulder,
the colonel beckoning him to take a look at
something that interested him pertaining to the rocket-propelled carriage.
"Professeur Valcour? This is most fascinating. The carriage platform looks like it's made of numerous undulating strips of iron soldered together. It resembles a honeycomb. I can see that it has remarkable lightness and strength combined." he enthused, giving the honeycomb-like metal frame a vigorous jostle with both his gloved hands.
"I must correct you, my dear Colonel,"
Charles cautiously retorted, "the wrought-iron strips have been - welded
together, not soldered where they contact. I patented the electric-arc welding technique that I used on it last year, along with a separate patent for the material and devices required. Welding makes a much stronger bond than does soldering."
Suddenly, Charles felt flat metal tapping on his shoulder. Startled, he spun around to see the flat of the commandant's redrawn saber carefully be retracted; the blade returning to its sheathe.
"I must ask a further question of you, Professeur Valcour, he vaguely
pleaded, "Have you calculated or measured the force applied by this propulsion device?"
The young professor nodded then pointed towards a distant, sturdy wood-frame structure, 100's of meters away, partially obscured by some trees.
"As a matter of fact, I have, Commandant. Over there is a scaffold
construction made of heavy timbers. I attached this rocket-motor here a few weeks ago to one end of a horizontal bronze rack-gear installed there to measure the thrusting force - - - You can see the connecting vertical rack-gear as well! They are both connected to each other by means of a large pinion. There are lead-weights still attached to the upright rack-gear, I might add." Charles elucidated,
"As for the results obtained? I have shown that this rocket-motor can briefly generate thrusting forces greater than one-thousand, even eleven-hundred kilogram meters per-second squared.
That's a greater force than the weight applied by a hundred - a hundred-and-ten kilograms. Alas, as this rocket carriage demonstration has shown, the propelling forces can initially be considerable, but they tend to wane significantly for most of the combustion process," he sighed, "and then, in the final seconds, the forces again climb, waxing greatly before being snuffed out. It's not a
great drawback. I feel solutions will present themselves given time."
Charles and the two senior officers had largely ignored the junior army officers
milling about, examining the peculiar vehicle for themselves; that suddenly changed. The colonel and the
commandant immediately spotted a young officer approaching, one whom they had been introduced to earlier, wearing a French Navy uniform.
The colonel and commandant received a quick and formal salute and salutation from the somewhat squat, grim-faced young man; they responded in kind. Again the colonel spoke on behalf of the two Army commanders.
"Bonjour, Ensign Bris. I do hope the Navy will find your report on this experimental effort to be of great interest. I also want to introduce you to Professeur Valcour who arranged this successful spectacle. This peculiar conveyance is his invention as well." Charles' features suddenly came alive again with renewed enthusiasm. He speedily tipped his hat in welcome.
"Bonjour, Ensign le Bris. I am glad I finally have opportunity today to meet with you."
The young naval officer swiftly removed his naval officer's cap and gave Charles a quick nodding bow.
"Bonjour, Professeur Valcour. And likewise goes for me."
Charles invitingly patted one corner of his now-silent rocket vehicle.
"Ensign le Bris? This rocket-propelled carriage is yours to inspect as well! I'm sure the Navy will find the rocket-motor, if not the carriage, to be of interest. I must inform you that I have a family connection with the Navy. I have a younger brother, Maurice, who has in recent weeks graduated from the Ecole Navale as a newly commissioned Ensign Second-Class."
That got the approving attention of the 25-year-old naval officer. His deep-set eyes seemed to sparkle at the news; his broad jutting chin relaxing: a hint of a smile appearing.
"I extent to him my congratulations through you. Though I have yet to meet the man, I would be his immediate superior if he and I were to find ourselves posted together on any ship in the near future," he quipped, "I hold the rank of Ensign First-Class. Has he informed you yet what ship he may be assigned to?" he inquired, while simultaneously craning his neck to begin his examination of the rocket vehicle.
"Yes. He mentioned a ship called the - Gomer. A paddle-frigate he called it. Are you familiar with it, Ensign?"
Ensign First-Class Jean-Marie le Bris paused, looking up, nodded reluctantly,
"Yes, I know the boat. The Gomer is not a ship-of-the-line, being somewhat at - a disadvantage. As a paddle-wheel warship. an experimental vessel, its paddles are - vulnerable to cannon." he sighed in regret.
"I see." Charles nodded.
There was an awkward pause.
"But I do know that the Gomer
is part of the naval squadron that frequents the Caribbean." Jean-Marie diplomatically declared, "I'm sure your younger brother will love the warm Caribbean waters with their wonderful bluish-green hues."
Charles-Philippe started to chuckle under his breath, "I'm sure he will."
Changing subjects, Charles asked,
"May I ask you, Ensign, what interest does the Navy have in either this rocket-motor or the carriage?"
Quietly stepping back from a close look at the dormant rocket-motor, the Ensign replied, "I am designing and intend to build
a soaring winged-carriage for naval purposes. Your rocket-motor here could be of extreme benefit when it comes to sending my proposed flying-craft to heights considerably higher than that of a ship's crow's nest. Did you know that from an altitude of two-hundred meters the horizon appears at a distance of fifty kilometers out at sea?..."
Professor Valcour's eyes widened in both surprise and admiring approval. Ensign le Bris, not expecting an answer to his near-rhetorical question, continued speaking uninterrupted,
"...I and my naval superiors are also interested in purchasing one of your patented large artificial-wind tunnels to aid us in both designing modern naval vessels and to help me design a practical soaring winged-carriage."
Charles shook his head in amazement, smiling thoughtfully.
"Here I designed and tested a rocket-carriage, assuming that the Army might prefer it to that of a rocket-propelled flying-craft I had planned," he confessed, "and now I find the Navy has expressed
interest in designing and building a rocket-assisted flying-contrivance of their own. A winged-carriage, you say? Hmmm. You must be aware that an Englishman, George Cayley is nearing completion of a winged-carriage of his own which he hopes to send aloft soon?"
The young Navy officer didn't look impressed,
"From what I understand and from what I have read, Professeur, this man Monsieur Cayley is building
a flying-craft that will only glide through the air; descending - never soaring! My proposed flying-vehicle will both soar and, after momentarily reaching its prospective height on its rocket-acquired momentum, it will begin to gently glide down to the waters below, safely depositing its airborne passenger into the water where his cork-filled vest will keep him afloat until a ship's crew will pluck him out. So would you be interested in making a large artificial-wind tunnel for the Navy? one that would be large enough
to contain a one one-hundredth scale model-ship? not to mention its ability to test a model of my proposed winged-carriage?"
Charles-Philippe Valcour suddenly found himself momentarily distracted, surprised to see a known visitor whom he no longer regarded with warm affection. Grimacing, he hesitantly pointed a finger beyond the ensign.
"That is the man whom you should talk to about it, Ensign." Charles listlessly indicated, showing no enthusiasm, "He shares a patent with me for the invention of the artificial-wind tunnel."
Tersely and formally tipping his hat,
Charles impersonally addressed the visitor. "Bonjour, Monsieur Marchand." Looking disappointed, George-Richard Marchand grunted & sighed, "Bonjour, Professeur." uneasily doffing his hat as well. There was a distinct frostiness between the two.
Charles gave him a curt wave,
reluctantly signaling him to approach.
Having a strong sense of unease, George hesitated.
Reminding himself of his duty as a civil servant, being the only civilian present invited by the Army to witness the proceedings, George stepped up and was formally introduced to Ensign le Bris.
The two talked, George taking a liking to the young Navy officer, enjoying what he had to say; agreeing to the request made by the ensign. Paperwork would be done later; handshakes were sufficient for the time being. George-Richard Marchand also took the opportunity to mention that he had carried out scientific research on his own involving a smaller version of the artificial-wind tunnel which resulted in him discovering that doubling the rotational speed of the tunnel's propellers required an eight-fold increase in falling lead weights fitted to the clockwork mechanism driving them. Tripling the propeller's speed required twenty-seven times as much falling mass. George-Richard proudly announced that his first science paper based on that experiment was on the verge of being published. He had discovered that the ratios between differing velocities of any object moving through the medium of "elastic-fluid", common air, at a constant-pressure, was dependent on the cubic ratios between the
power outputs propelling or impelling any such object to the speeds it was measured at.
Ensign First-Class le Bris was one of the first to congratulate him. Likewise the other officers present extended their felicitations upon being informed. The chill between the two estranged friends began to thaw as well...
Charles Valcour and George Marchand began to drift away from the crowd of military officers. Charles tried to conceal a grudging look of admiration for his fellow alumnus. He
was silently pleased to hear about his former fellow student's soon-to-be published science paper. In marked contrast George looked anything but cheerful: allowing his head to bob down, doing little to hide the shame
he felt.
"You do know that an English scientist about one-hundred years ago published results on elastic-fluid resistance to moving objects like cannonballs? - Ahhh - Benjamin Robins was his name, I think?"
Professor Valcour recalled, trying to keep the conversational subject matter tame.
"That has something to do with my results?" George warily asked, puzzled, "From the little I recall of his writings, I think he gave us some rather simplistic mathematical examples of the loss of speed that objects moving by initial impulse alone through the medium he called air experienced. In my opinion he was more interested in the shape and sizes of moving objects as they related to fluid resistance than in formulating reliable mathematical equations to adequately quantify it.
Since it is sustained power, forces, motion as well as fluid resistance that are the legitimate defining factors in my experiments, I would think
Monsieur Newton, Pascal, Galileo, Bernoulli, Countess du Chatelet, and other notables would be better examples to use; not that I consider myself to be as gifted as they where." he concluded.
Suddenly pushing aside those academic thoughts, George stopped in his tracks and let out a plaintive sigh. Looking a great deal more hurt, he yearningly asked, "Why can't we be friends again? You know that in my heart there is great deal of hurt. I hurt because I know I did you wrong when I stayed away and kept silent at a time when I could have at least offered you verbal encouragement and public support during your work on the helicoptere and its resultant test-flight. Little did you know at that time that I secretly admired you for your resolve and courage.
I admit that this now makes me look like a coward. I want to make it up to you, Charles. Please give me that opportunity!" he pleaded.
Charles was groaning inside, fighting with his emotions. Finally he gave in.
"My friend, how can I stay angry and bitter at you?" he gently confessed at last.
The two embraced and gave each other
Gallic kisses in reconciliation.

Two weeks later, back in Paris....

"Hello, Papa!" a young eager voice cried out, unbridled glee showing on
a four-year-old boy as he rushed to the door.
Charles' face lit up in delight as well. He flung his arms open invitingly and reached down to grab the young lad,
hoisting him up in one energetic swoop.
"Hello, Edouard! I missed you!"
While smothering him with hugs and kisses, Professor Valcour happened to spot his nearby two-year-old daughter out of the corner of his eye grinning shyly.
'Dada!" she impishly called out.
He briskly strode over and joyfully scooped her up with his one free arm, causing her to squeal and giggle as she and her older brother were smothered by their father's affections.
The good feelings did not last. Charles shortly spotted his wife
parking herself near the entrance-way to the kitchen, confronting him with a disapprovingly cold stare. A younger woman, humbly differential to her, wearing a
frumpy maid's outfit, circumspectly
wandered up behind her with a towel in her hand wondering what all the commotion was about.
"You're back!" Charlotte softly huffed, "about time too."
Her voice revealed more than a hint of bitterness as she shot him an icy stare.
"Charles Valcour suddenly looked intensely uncomfortable, caught off guard by his wife's obvious displeasure. He softly groaned, looking apologetic as he drifted over to his wife and planted a kiss on her cheek; she showing no hint of pleasure in it.
"I'm sorry, my dear. I wanted to be
back home last week but business interfered." he sighed, demurely lowering his two oldest children to the floor as he did.
The two began to whine, yearning to keep their father's affection and attention.
Their mother responded swiftly and firmly. Her back to her maid, she called out, "Jacqueline!"
The tone of her voice matching her expression.
"Yes, Madame." her maid demurely
responded, anxiety developing.
"Please take Edouard and Gabrielle
up to their bedroom now!"
The 18-year-old female servant, giving a hasty nod, immediately complied and scurried over to them.
"Come along, children." she breathlessly pleaded, taking each by the hand and led them out of that room and up a flight of stairs, though not without a protest from Edouard.
"Do as she says, young man!" Charlotte loudly demanded, squelching his whining but not his tears.
Charles looked somewhat grieved and anxious after the two children were shuffled away, leaving him and his wife alone in the reception room. He sensed the growing tension between them.
"This business that delayed your return," she sniffed, "was it because the Army found your rocket carriage so appealing to them?"
Her husband flashed a look of annoyance. "Is that what this is truly all about?" he asked, his voice starting to get edgy, "Is it because I didn't yield to your pacifist viewpoint when I made the decision to avail myself of the Army's resources and facilities to help make this project a reality?! Is that it?! Is that the reason?!"
In his emerging pique he started to
gesticulate sharply. Charlotte's
face flushed in anger.
"NO!! That's NOT the primary reason!" she shot back, "YES! I DESPISE the armies of this world with their bloodlust! Their glorification of war! And I don't want you MAKING
these devilish instruments meant to kill!! But the primary reason I'm upset at you is that you have spent more days away this year than with me and the children, and you don't even bother to write!! And when you are home, you ignore me more often than not!!" she bitterly screeched, tears starting to form.
He threw up his hands in vexation,
angrily sighing, "Alright!! Alright!!
You're raising your voice and will probably wake up little Marcel!!
I'll cancel all my planned trips that would take me more than twenty kilometers outside the city and do all the experiments, tests and manufacturing work closer to home, to be closer to you and to the children, even though it means I will have to spend more of my own money on the projects I'm working on, bringing in less money to this house!! I'll do it for you and the
children's sake!!" he impatiently rasped out, "And furthermore I promise to arrange no more contracts with the Army from today on!! They have already ordered two of those rocket carriages! I have signed a contract last week to make two available to them; and I will keep my word!! But that's it!! After that, no more dealings with the Army!! If that's okay with you?!" he grumbled, sarcasm welling up, "And I suppose that in spite of the fact that my youngest brother is in the Navy, you have no desire that I help him and his fellows with some of my inventions, eh? Even though the Navy has carried out admirable science and exploration activities in peacetime over the past two centuries?" Charles Valcour glared in irritation at his wife, impatiently anticipating her answer.
"You want to help your brother and the Navy?! Some invention they could use in peacetime?! Fine! Help them!!" she angrily countered, "Don't you think I know that the Navy has advanced science and exploration in peacetime?! And I don't care if your work takes you away a month at a time, or maybe two or three months, I just don't want to be IGNORED by you anymore!!"
Her disquiet and ire caused her to tremble and to shed tears uncontrollably. Charles countenance began to change: his features softening with genuine affection for his wife as he sensitively drifted over to Charlotte. He tenderly sighed and in a near whispering voice soothingly replied, "I promise never to let my work take precedence over our marriage again. I will never again ignore you nor the children.
And I promise that if I should be
away from home for any length of time in the future, and you are unable to accompany me, I will write. - - - And I will write you and the children often."
Her grief and anger began to melt away. He put his arms around her, waited a few seconds for her to
quiet down a little more, then gave her a kiss.

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