Chapter 1057: The Unlucky Inventor
Fox continued his report. "The Persians recently suffered a crushing defeat, and their King was assassinated by mutinous soldiers. The current situation, I fear, is far from optimistic."
Most of the British ministers present had read the report titled "The Great Game." In fact, this document had recently become a sensation, serving as the primary topic of conversation in every high-society salon.
As Fox finished speaking, the expressions of those gathered grew solemn.
Sir Grey had detailed the volatile conditions in Persia and Afghanistan within the report.
Persia had only recently been unified by Agha Mohammad, and the central authority in Tehran was fragile at best. With his death, the powerful tribal leaders were likely to break away and declare independence from the government.
This meant the Russian army would face little significant resistance as they marched toward Tehran.
Afghanistan was in even greater shambles. More than twenty princes each held their own territory, and the land was soaked in the blood of their fratricidal wars. The Russian forces wouldn't even need to fight; marginalized Afghan princes would likely invite them into their domains just to secure protection from their own brothers.
Once the Russian army occupied Kabul, the Afghan capital, they could march boldly through the Khyber Pass and descend into India.
East of the Hindu Kush lay vast, endless plains. The Indian princely states had no natural defenses to speak of. Given their pathetic military capabilities, they would have no choice but to surrender to the Russians.
At present, the Indian colonies were the British Empire's most vital "heart pump." They could not afford even the slightest mishap there.
The focus of the meeting at 10 Downing Street shifted instantly from the sugar crisis to the grand strategy of the Middle East.
The session ended at dusk, only to resume at dawn the following morning.
"I concur with Sir Grey's recommendation," declared Jervis, the First Lord of the Admiralty. "Our best course of action is to support the Persians or the Afghans to bog down the Russian military in the Middle East."
"We could dispatch a detachment of Marines to Persia and provide them with a shipment of arms..."
Fox immediately shook his head. "No, as I stated before, we cannot enter into a direct conflict with Russia. That would place us in a disastrous diplomatic position."
William Pitt Junior nodded. "Correct. France and Russia are already linked by marriage. We cannot afford to push the Russians any further toward the Palace of Versailles."
Jervis sighed. "Then our only option is to arm the Persians."
"But that requires a buffer period. It will take at least three or four months to train Persian soldiers, and reinforcing their fortresses will likely take even longer."
After another full day of deliberation, the British leadership finally reached a decision. Essentially, they followed the advice laid out in "The Great Game," as it was the very strategy the British government would historically confirm as the most advantageous after weighing all options.
Grenville signed the documents to be submitted to Parliament and gave Fox one last instruction. "You will depart for Saint Petersburg tomorrow. Use every diplomatic means at your disposal to delay the Russians."
He then turned to Jervis. "Please arrange for officers to be sent to Persia, along with a supply of flintlock muskets and cannons."
Petty, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, muttered under his breath, "But this will require another massive allocation of funds..."
Grenville couldn't help but shake his head in frustration.
He was painfully aware of Britain's current fiscal state.
The expeditionary force in Portugal was a bottomless pit, devouring military expenditures daily.
The Cape of Good Hope had yet to yield a single penny in profit, and the colony was already suffering frequent raids from Boer resistance groups. Just ten days ago, 120 soldiers had been ambushed and killed while out foraging for supplies. The Governor of the Cape was demanding an additional 1,500 troops at minimum; otherwise, he could not guarantee the stability of the region.
These expenditures meant that Britain would likely face a deficit of over a million pounds sterling this year.
Now, funds had to be poured into the Middle East as well.
Moreover, trying to stall a behemoth like Russia was not something that could be accomplished with a meager sum.
Grenville estimated it would cost at least five or six hundred thousand pounds.
He struggled with the decision for a long moment before finally instructing Petty, "Release six thousand tons of sugar onto the market and simultaneously reduce sugar subsidies by twenty percent."
...
Paris.
In a building on the north side of the French Academy of Sciences.
An American in his thirties, wearing a worn, dark grey coat, looked out the window. He had high cheekbones and a prominent aquiline nose. Watching the bustling streets and the high-tech glow of the gas streetlights, he couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion.
This country, ruled by a monarch, was the greatest ally of the United States, the world's largest republic.
This nation, which carried the heaviest debt in Europe, was the very place that offered scholars the most generous treatment.
This state, where a King could issue laws at will, possessed the most comprehensive patent laws in the world—and they were actually enforced with rigor.
"Pardon me, are you Mr. Eli Whitney?" A young staff member looked at him politely.
Whitney's French was somewhat rusty. He nodded haltingly. "Yes, I am. Is it time for my evaluation?"
"Yes, sir. Please follow me."
Minutes later, Whitney was seated in a spacious hall. Facing him were seven evaluators from the Talent Committee.
After brief pleasantries, an elderly man looked at the documents in his hand and asked, "Your application mentions that you invented an automated cotton gin."
"Yes, sir. It utilizes a system of gears and wire hooks. It can increase the efficiency of removing seeds from cotton by fifty times. It has already been implemented in dozens of plantations..."
Another evaluator interjected, "However, as far as I am aware, you are currently embroiled in patent litigation over the cotton gin and have been losing every case."
"Those shameless thieves stole it!" Whitney exclaimed, his voice rising with emotion. "I invented it from the very first screw!"
"Please, compose yourself," the evaluator said calmly. "I also see your proposal for an improved milling machine, but unfortunately, it is merely a concept. Do you have any other achievements that might convince us?"
Whitney grew anxious, his American accent becoming more pronounced. "Interchangeable parts! Look at page five of the application. It is a method I devised to increase factory production efficiency. By providing uniform training to all workers and having them use identical tools and production steps, we can—"
The elderly man from before raised a hand to cut him off. "Yes, you are quite familiar with the 'standardized production mode.' That is commendable. However, it is common knowledge that His Royal Highness the Crown Prince developed this method six years ago. Nearly every factory in France is using it today."
Whitney froze on the spot.
This brilliant, sophisticated method was still a fresh idea in his own mind, yet the French had apparently been using it for years.
Indeed, Joseph's concept of standardized production was originally based on what Whitney would have proposed in history. Of course, Joseph's theory was far more refined, having been polished by the subsequent improvements of many others.
A moment later, Whitney walked out of the evaluation room, looking as if he had lost his soul. He knew that his application for talent recognition was likely hopeless.
'What a cursed world!' he thought. He had gone into massive debt for his inventions, yet no one seemed to recognize his genius.
Just then, a young evaluator rushed out after him. "Mr. Whitney, please wait!"
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