"Come along," Jonathan felt a tug on his arm that caused him to almost tumble into his mother's skirts that swept around her as she dragged him along at a pace somewhere between a brisk walk and a slow jog; the fastest that his mother felt was dignified for a lady of her status as the wife of one of the moderate merchants in the docks district of Dublin. "We will be late if we don't hurry. We don't want to miss this do we?" She winced at her own words, and Jonathan knew it was a sign of her distress at the possibility of being late that she allowed her British accent to show through.
Though his mother had been born in London she had immigrated to Ireland and had fallen in love with the people of Ireland, especially Jonathan's father. That love for Irish grew with each atrocity the British Empire committed while those same atrocities spawned a deep hatred for her home country. Despite her love for her adopted home, many of the Irish still hated her or at least distrusted her so she attempted to suppress her London accent in favor of a Dublin accent. Still, when she was extremely stressed her British accent resurfaced even after all these years.
Jonathan nodded and tried to match her pace with his shorter legs. At barely ten years old and barely above his mother's waist such a feat was easier said than done, but he made a heroic effort to keep up. He really did want to be there.
A loud noise that sounded much like a cross between a steam valve's hiss and a constant roll of thunder rose above the rumble of the crowds. Instantly, the hustle and bustle of the crowds that lined the docks quieted to muted whispers and the muted "clunks" of women's boot heels upon the wooden planks that made up the boardwalks lining the docks.
Jonathan's mother came to a sudden stop and belatedly he realized that she had found what—or rather who—she was looking for as his father slipped one hand into his mother's and drew her to stand beside him. His mother flushed slightly as his father gave her a kiss on her cheek and murmured something in her ear.
Jonathan looked up to see his father give him a soft smile and a nod. Before he or his father could say anything two things happened at once; somewhere a fanfare of horns sounded in a deep regal salute and an opening in the crowds allowed the boy to see a sight that took his breath away and forever burned itself into his mind.
Her name was the IRN Queen of Argyll and she was a breathtaking mixture of wood, brass, gold, canvas, and iron almost 800 meters long from bow to stern and rapidly approaching at least 50 meters in height. Built by the Irish Resistance, the Queen of Argyll was a warship. Built as the Irish Resistance's contribution to the American Cause, the Queen of Argyll was also meant to pull double duty by serving as flagship for one of the squadrons of the American Colonies trying to break away from the British Empire. Additionally Queen of Argyll was also to serve as a working prototype for what the Irish Resistance hoped would eventually grow into a full navy to support their own bid for independence.
Thus, the Queen of Argyll was as powerful as she was beautiful. Nine masts adorned the ship like peaks of the crown. Three masts were vertical like her seafaring sisters and three more on each side that spread out at a 30 degree angle from vertical on either side while she lay docked but would later lower to an almost horizontal position once she took flight.
Along the two stern-most positioned of these masts ran a series of pipes that held the gears and shafts which powered the Queen of Argyll's six propellers. Each propeller was easily twice as tall of a man and carved from a single piece of imported mahogany. Furled white sails hung at the ready on all nine masts carefully spaced so that when unfurled the sails would not be caught in or interfere with the propellers.
On each side 36 polished iron cannon muzzles poked through the open gun ports. Four more poked through the ports on the stern; two on each side of the massive rudder. Two smaller cannon muzzles from the guns mounted on the bow mounted on swiveling platforms peeked over the bow railing.
Thick rigging on both sides of the bow and stern connected the ship to the massive golden balloon above the ship that was rapidly filling up. Large pipes and hoses connected four large burners to the ship and special rigging and brackets connected the same burners to the balloon.
Jonathan stared mesmerized by the ship and he almost didn't notice when his father reached over to tussle his hair. Another horn fanfare sounded across the docks and a man in the uniform of the Irish Resistance tossed a bottle of Champaign that shattered against the hull of the Queen of Argyll. Very slowly the ship started to slide forward out of the docks.
Slowly the ship cleared the docks and channeled into the series of canals that served as the runways and taxiways for the ships. The ship turned to the port, so that it appeared to be heading for Jonathan, though he knew the ship would never reach the crowd. Sure enough after a few minutes the ship began to set higher and higher in the water. Eventually it left the water altogether, rising over the crowds.
As Jonathan looked up, he caught a view of the figurehead of the ship, a golden figure of a woman in a tight fitting gown hugging herself with her arms. Long curly locks seemed to cascade down her shoulders and chest. Interwoven within those locks and scattered down the gown were dozens of roses, each one carved with so much detail that they were exquisite. As beautiful as the roses were, none of them could match the angelic beauty of the figurehead's face.
To Jonathan the face of the figurehead could have been that of a goddess or an angel. Soft features, a slightly upturned nose, pouty lips, and wide expressive eyes burned their image into the young boy's mind. Her expression seemed to be both vulnerable and fierce at the same time. Something in her carved eyes seemed to call to him.
As the ship passed overhead dripping water on the crowd, the taxi propeller hidden on the bottom of the hull slowly came to a stop and the six folding masts lowered into place. With a single audible snap the white sails unfolded and the Queen of Argyll set sail on her maiden voyage.
Jonathan turned to his parents. "Someday, I am going to be aboard that ship."
أنت تقرأ
Brass Skies Vol. 1: The Battle of Chesapeake
الخيال العلمي"Declaring our Independence From the British One Airship at a Time." The colonies tried to protest once. They were brutally and ruthlessly crushed by the Red Coats. Now, no one thinks of rebelling. Not when the British have forts all throughout t...
