Chapter 950: Schérer's Travelogue II
Nohfelden, a city in northern Saarland.
Schérer's carriage came to a halt on the outskirts of the city. The driver tucked his whip into his waistband, his expression appearing pitiful, though his tone remained firm.
"Sir, we had an agreement. You hired my carriage for half a month. Look, it's already been seventeen days since we left Vienna..."
To raise enough funds for this journey, Schérer had been forced to sell his own family carriage, leaving him with no choice but to hire transport to France.
If they had traveled through Strasbourg, two weeks would have been more than enough. However, because they had taken a detour through the Rhineland and the driver had managed to lose his way, they had only just reached the French border.
In truth, they were already deep within French territory; the Rhine River had become the functional border long ago.
Schérer let out a weary sigh. "I will pay you an additional three florins to take us as far as Reims."
The driver's eyes darted back and forth as he shook his head. "You know, Mr. Metzger has already reserved my carriage for his own use."
"Oh, have some mercy."
Schérer spent several minutes haggling with the man, but seeing the driver refuse to budge, he was about to give in to the extortion. Suddenly, he spotted a carriage in the distance vanishing behind the buildings of Nohfelden at an incredible speed.
What shocked him most was that the vehicle was drawn by only a single horse, yet the cabin was twice the size of his own, and it maintained that blistering pace with ease.
Curiosity piqued, he walked to the edge of the road and discovered several rows of wooden rails laid into the ground.
Following the tracks a short distance, he came across several more of the oversized carriages he had just seen. A man stood nearby holding a wooden sign, shouting to the passersby: "To Lorraine for only six sous! Departing in twenty minutes!"
'A wooden rail bus?' Schérer had seen such things in the cities of the Palatinate. His interest flared, and he stepped forward to address the man. "Excuse me, sir, is there a coach bound for Reims?"
As a well-educated aristocrat, French was a mandatory part of his upbringing.
"Of course, sir," the solicitor replied enthusiastically. "Our line goes all the way to Paris. A ticket to Reims will cost you one franc and four sous."
Schérer was overjoyed. For both him and his wife, the trip to Reims would cost a mere two francs and eight sous.
That converted to little more than a single florin.
He was in desperate need of money now; every penny saved was a victory.
He immediately marched back to his hired transport and waved the driver off dismissively.
"Unload my luggage. You may return to Vienna now."
Ten minutes later, the Schérers were seated in a carriage designed for six passengers, gliding westward along the wooden rails.
An elderly woman sitting across from them was complaining to the young man beside her. "We should have just taken the 'Barrel.' The 'Swift' is far too expensive..."
The young man smiled, explaining that he had just received a raise and could well afford the fare for the "Swift."
The old woman, however, continued her incessant nagging.
Schérer quickly pieced together the situation from their conversation.
The so-called "Barrel" was a large carriage that could hold ten people. It was cramped, but the fare to Reims was only nine sous per person.
The six-passenger carriage they were currently in was called the "Swift." While significantly more expensive, it was far more comfortable.
He felt a pang of regret. He should have asked more questions; he could have saved even more money.
The carriage moved swiftly and smoothly over the tracks. By noon that day, they had already crossed into Lorraine.
Schérer watched the trees blurred by the window, marveling at the sheer efficiency of French transportation.
Just then, the young man across from them said to the old woman, "Grandmother, we're lucky the war is over. Otherwise, the tracks would be reserved for the army, and we would have had to hire a private carriage to attend sister's wedding."
"Hire a carriage? Preposterous! Too expensive," the old woman said, waving her hand dismissively. "If it came to that, we would have simply walked..."
Schérer was suddenly struck by a realization.
Yes, this wooden rail transport was not only fast but incredibly cheap. Its capacity was several times that of an ordinary carriage.
If used to transport military supplies, the efficiency would be staggering!
A sense of gloom settled over him. It seemed France's victory over the Coalition of Britain, Prussia, and Austria had not been a matter of luck.
As a nobleman, he had been required to study military science, and he understood perfectly well the importance of logistics in warfare. If the Coalition could only get one hundred shells to the front lines while the French could deliver five hundred, how could they possibly win?
A thought occurred to him: if His Imperial Majesty had thoroughly investigated France's transportation capabilities, would he have reconsidered the decision to go to war?
As they moved deeper into Lorraine, a bitter, acidic scent began to permeate the air. Thick plumes of black smoke could be seen rising into the sky in every direction.
The elderly woman across from them covered her mouth with a handkerchief, breaking into a fit of coughing.
She glared at a particularly thick column of dark smoke nearby and grumbled to her grandson, "What on earth are the people here burning? Cough... it's dreadful."
The young man chuckled. "That's likely a coking plant. They're burning coal into coke. It's used for smelting steel. That pair of exceptionally sharp scissors I bought for you at the start of the year was manufactured right here."
He pointed in another direction. "Look, those thinner trails of smoke over there are from steam engines."
"I've heard that the steel mills in Lorraine are already using steam engines for forging. Work that used to take a dozen men several days can now be finished by a single steam engine in a single morning."
Schérer's heart sank even further.
'Good God.' In Vienna, blacksmiths were considered fortunate if they had a water-powered wheel for forging, yet the French were already utilizing steam power.
Along this single stretch of road, he had already counted the smoke trails of at least five or six steam engines, and this was only a small corner of Lorraine.
How much faster was French steel production compared to Austria's?
That translated directly into the production speed of flintlock muskets, swords, gun carriages, and wagons.
He felt a surge of resentment. 'That foolish Emperor and the greedy ministers surrounding him... how did they ever convince themselves that France was on the verge of collapse?'
A day and a half later, the "Swift" rail carriage rolled into the city of Reims.
As one of the top three cities in France, it was remarkably prosperous. The streets were clean and orderly, with almost none of the stench of waste common in other major cities.
Exquisitely crafted gas streetlights stood every few dozen meters along the roads, lending the city a modern, industrial atmosphere.
The streets were crowded with people, many of whom stopped to haggle with roadside vendors. Newsboys darted through the throngs, shouting headlines and hawking their papers.
Mrs. Schérer noticed that many of the pedestrians were dressed in loose, grey round-collared jackets and black linen trousers. Though simple, the attire looked quite practical and neat.
"Is that the latest fashion in France?" she whispered to her husband, nodding toward the crowd.
A middle-aged woman sitting beside her overheard and let out a muffled giggle. She whispered something to the man accompanying her, and the two of them began to laugh more openly.
The man cleared his throat and said softly, "Celine, dear, that's quite rude."
He then turned to Schérer with a polite expression. "Judging by your accent, you must be from the Rhineland?"
He gestured out the window. "Actually, those are factory uniforms."
"According to the Labor Protection and Safety Decree, any factory with assets exceeding twenty thousand francs is required to provide a set of uniforms to their workers free of charge."
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