Chapter 664: The Race
The funnel of the "Pyroscaphe"—the world's first functional steam paddleboat—billowed black smoke like ink. With a subtle tremor, the ship's hull stirred. The massive wooden paddlewheels on its sides gradually accelerated, striking the Seine River with a rhythmic 'thwack-thwack'.
This vessel was already vastly different from Geoffroy's initial design.
Its hull lines were more streamlined, enhancing stability and reducing drag. The boiler and transmission system had been significantly optimized, boosting effective power by as much as 20%. Internal structures like the cargo hold and cockpit were no longer haphazard; space had been utilized to the fullest while ensuring structural integrity.
No matter how brilliant a civilian designer, their capabilities paled in comparison to the design prowess of the state-backed military-industrial complex.
The latter merely needed a spark of inspiration from the former.
Once given that flash of genius, they could swiftly produce exquisitely refined industrial products.
After circling the river and showcasing its elegant form, the "Pyroscaphe" docked once more by the pier.
Joseph and a dozen attendants boarded the ship via the gangplank. Behind him, more nobles, excited and curious, followed suit onto the "Pyroscaphe".
Indeed, Joseph, well-versed in the importance of propaganda, would never miss such a rare opportunity as the steamship's maiden voyage.
Soon after, the "Pyroscaphe"'s paddlewheels turned again, and amidst the cheers of the onlookers, it approached a very long banner stretched across the center of the river.
Seventeen or eighteen boats were already moored there, varying in size, some propelled by oars and sails, others purely by oars.
And the words emblazoned on the banner, which spanned half the river's width, declared: "First Seine River Cargo Boat Race".
The prize money for this race, organized by Versailles, amounted to a considerable 30,000 francs, attracting boat owners from almost all over France. Of course, most boats had been eliminated in the preliminary qualifiers; those present here were generally renowned powerhouses of the shipping industry.
Hundreds of journalists from various countries had also arrived. They had hired numerous carriages and gathered along the banks, prepared to cover the event from start to finish.
Truth be told, even a steamship of this era couldn't outrun a horse.
On the foredeck of the "Pyroscaphe," Joseph raised a pistol high and pulled the trigger.
A resounding "Bang!" echoed across the river. All the competing boat owners, eyes red with excitement, roared commands to their crews, urging their vessels forward.
Each boat carried 20 tons of cargo and over 50 passengers, and the first vessel to reach the Port of Le Havre and return to Paris would claim the entire 30,000-franc prize.
Five or six smaller oar-and-sail boats shot away, leaving all their rivals behind and quickly disappearing from view.
Aboard the "Pyroscaphe," Joseph watched various refuse drift past both sides of the boat, strongly resisting the urge to cover his nose, as many nobles and journalists were gathered around.
Although the Seine's sanitation had greatly improved after years of continuous efforts under the "Beautiful Paris" campaign, the stench on the water's surface was still quite assaulting to the senses.
Well, in truth, this problem remained unsolved even into the 21st century...
Joseph took a perfumed handkerchief from Camelia, pressing it to his nose and mouth, muttering to himself, 'Once this race is over, the European inland waterway shipping market will belong to steam paddleboats. And I'll double the fine for dumping waste into the Seine!'
Until they sailed out of Paris's vicinity, large crowds of people lined both banks of the Seine, watching, waving, and cheering continuously.
This race had opened up betting lines: the "Silver Eel" had the highest odds at 15 to 1, while the "Pyroscaphe" was at 3.5 to 1, which wasn't low either.
In reality, almost no one bet on the "Pyroscaphe" to win.
So Joseph estimated that this race wouldn't just cover its own costs; it would actually turn a profit of over a hundred thousand francs.
The stench on the river finally began to fade. Joseph looked front and back with his telescope; the "Pyroscaphe" was generally in the middle of the pack.
He figured some journalists were already drafting articles declaring 'steamships are useless'.
However, as the competing vessels approached Vernon—a small town over 70 kilometers from Paris—the boats that had been leading began to slow down.
These smaller boats had only managed to lead by their rowers' desperate efforts. By this point, the oarsmen were nearly exhausted.
Meanwhile, several larger oar-and-sail boats, along with the "Pyroscaphe," overtook them, forming the leading group.
Four more hours passed, and the steam paddleboat relentlessly maintained its speed of 8.5 knots, leaving all its competitors behind.
Only three oar-and-sail boats, including the "Mountain Treasure" and "Seven Birds," managed to keep up after entering Normandy, having replaced all their oarsmen at great expense.
Camelia, ever diligent, bustled back and forth between the deck and the captain's cabin, updating the Crown Prince on the ship's latest status. Occasionally, she would also descend to the second hold to bring poor Perna coffee and offer her some comfort.
Indeed, Perna had also come along, still suffering severely from seasickness. She herself didn't know, but perhaps subconsciously, she hoped to receive the same meticulous care from His Royal Highness as she had during their trip to North Africa the year before last.
At 6 PM, the "Pyroscaphe" passed Rouen, and no other competing vessels could be seen on the river.
It was no surprise; without wind, steam-powered vessels were virtually invincible.
Joseph, meanwhile, surrounded by a retinue of nobles, proceeded to the ship's restaurant for a prepared dinner.
The maidservant was again busy confirming the dishes in the kitchen; if the onboard chef's skill proved inadequate, she would even cook herself—Her Majesty the Queen's foremost task for her was to ensure the Crown Prince's dietary needs were met.
What she didn't know was that, from a corner of the cabin, a pair of venomous eyes was fixed on her.
If Camelia had seen the face beneath the pink wide-brimmed hat, she might have remembered that the person's name was Annemarie Herriot—the noblewoman who had once bid against her for a 'true love voucher' at Notre-Dame de Paris.
'That damned Austrian slut!' Herriot seethed, staring at her, gritting her teeth.
She used to be exceedingly arrogant, having hailed from Versailles. Her own beauty was exceptional, her family held an earldom passed down for over two centuries, and her father was immensely wealthy. In the past, everyone around her would flatter her, praise her, and greet her with smiles.
Yet, that Austrian slut had utterly humiliated her at Notre-Dame de Paris. And to make matters worse, that slut was far more beautiful, came from a wealthier family, and was able to serve by the Crown Prince's side!
That day, after returning from Notre-Dame de Paris, she had been consumed by jealousy and resentment, her personality even turning gloomy.
And today, after pulling many strings and spending a fortune, she had finally secured an opportunity to be on the same ship as His Royal Highness, only to see that woman again!
She felt her chest constrict.
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