Excerpt from That Anvil of Our Souls by David Poyer, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Twenty minutes later, after a brisk walk through gaslit downtown, Hubbard was shown into an upstairs room by a cowed-looking housekeeper. The inventor of the steam fire engine, the screw propeller, and the forced-draft blower sat in rolled-up shirtsleeves at an enormous drafting table. His balding head was bent under an intense light and considerable heat from large oil lamps with polished reflectors.

-- What the hell do you want?

The inventor barked the words without turning his head. His Swedish accent was overlaid with Scots. Stocky, with bearded cheeks but clean upper lip, his forehead was as broad and his expression as determined as any physiognomist could wish. The nib continued to scratch, noting calculations with incredible rapidity on a sheet of foolscap, then moving back to specify the length of a lever arm.

-- Sir, I am ordered to assist you in the construction of your steam battery.

-- And who the devil are you?

-- First Engineer Theodorus Hubbard, United States Navy. He extended his gloved hand, but the man waved it off impatiently.

-- I am no schoolmaster, sir. Why does the Navy insist on sending me dolts to instruct? I have no time. Good day.

-- I'm not here for instruction. Mister Isherwood feels I may be of service in lightening your load.

For the first time Ericsson looked at him, blinking reddened, pouchy eyes. He obviously hadn't slept for a long time. His shirt was ink-stained, his hands and fingers black. It looked as if he'd wiped his pen on his forehead. -- Isherwood, eh? You one of his minions?

-- I'm a naval engineer.

-- A machinery oiler, you mean. Ericsson nodded at the diagram. -- No doubt you can drive a steam engine once it is explained to you. But only those familiar with mathematics can understand my construction. If you don't know the calculus, you had better go back to your stoking.

Stung, Theo transferred his attention from the irascible tyrant to the diagram before him. And was struck speechless.

Pinned out under the artificial brilliance was a drawing of such elegance, purity of style, and, yes, beauty that for a moment his dazzled eye saw a work of art rather than an abstraction of machinery. He searched in vain for clutter or clumsiness, for the usual contrivances lesser designers employed to cram machinery within the confines of a hull. All was simplicity, efficiency, direct action. Most amazing, Ericsson had been sketching it freehand. No pencilled tracings lay about. He was drawing direct to manufacturing diagram, and doing his calculations as he drew. The brain before him was accomplishing the work of four men simultaneously.

The Swede was smiling contemptuously. Theo cleared his throat. -- It seems to be...the rotating gear for a gun cupola.

Ericsson hoisted heavy eyebrows. -- A naval officer in here yesterday identified it as the works of a coffee grinder. Anything strike you as interesting about it?

Theo gave it several seconds' more examination. The terrific weight of the iron cupola, or turret, had been dealt with in an unusual way. In other proposals, such as Coles's sketch in Blackwood's, the weight rested on the bottom edge, supported on balls or friction rollers. This drawing showed a ring but no bearings. Instead a central spindle supported the entire massive assembly, guns, men, and armor, transmitting the weight downward through an iron pedestal to the keel. He pointed this out, and the inventor nodded. -- The advantage?

-- Less friction. Thus, a smaller drive engine. Less mechanical advantage necessary in the cogwheel train. A greater speed of rotation?

-- What strikes you as the weak point of such a system?

This threw him for a moment; he was not used to hearing any mechanical contrivance described as a "system," a word usually reserved for philosophical reflections. He finally pointed to the gear train. -- I should say it lies in the possibility of a bending moment developing. Should the craft take a steep roll --

From That Anvil of Our Souls by David Poyer. Copyright © 2005 by David Poyer. All rights reserved.