Marian enjoys the sights and sounds of the city, taking copious notes and delighting in every surprise, every unexpected turn of events. Waving goodbye to thousands fills her with such awe that she finds herself overwhelmed with happiness, the pure joy of something new. Something so incredibly different from her big empty house back home, haunted only by the ghost of her old life and her long passed husband. She felt...alive. So much so that a twang of guilt stabbed her. But no. James would never begrudge her being happy. He'd want this. And so she waves all the harder at the crowd, finding herself wiping her eyes, which had inexplicably become teary.

Now, discussing matters with her shipmates, a welcome calm and routine winds down her excitement. God but she needed a cup of tea. She listens, nodding and murmuring comments, but definitely more subdued than her usual, perky self. Yes, I count myself lucky to be in such good company, she agrees with a small smile at Grimsby's words. I'm sure whatever we run across, we'll muddle through. It is our way, after all.

In reply to Grimsby Baskerville (msg # 708):

That was good to hear, and Maybelle felt relieved.

"I don't think Bali Ha'i has any kind of government on it, other than the natives granting permission to visit it," Mercy comments.

"Since we couldn't get any of this hydrazine fuel, we won't have enough coconut oil to get us there anyway. Are we going to stop in Queensland to refuel?"

Grimsby responds, "Queensland may be the nearest safe --which is to say British -- place to refuel. I suppose we could reach Brisbane; we would need a fairly large port for it to have the supply we need."

In reply to Grimsby Baskerville (msg # 712):

     "How about Port Kennedy, on Thursday Island?" Dash suggests, "It's just off the Cape York peninsula in northern Queensland, Australia."

     "It's a fueling port for shipping going from the Australian east coast, through the Torres Straits, to points in Southeast Asia.  I recall reading a dispatch from one of the Japanese ship captains we often deal with, reporting a thriving pearl and shell trade there.  There's even a British Naval Fort and I believe an undersea telegraph cable was laid not too long ago, so there is now telegraph service to mainland Australia."

     "We should be able to buy marine diesel fuel there, at least.  And it's less of a diversion from our course than Brisbane, itself, would be."


OOC: Yeah ... I geeked-out and Googled Cape York, Australia.  All the info, abouve, was in place by the 1880's, and the fort wasn't shut down 'til 1912.

Grimsby said, "If Port Kennedy has the fuel we need, I agree it would be better, as being closer to our route. I must confess my knowledge of the smaller ports of the Pacific is limited -- anything east of Calcutta, or perhaps Singapore, is beyond my bailiwick."

"Well, then, Mr. Wander... set a course for Fort Kennedy," Mercy said, more as a repeat of what Joseph and Grimsby had said.

After all, Bellgrove was the defacto captain of the airship now.

In reply to Mercy Kincaid (msg # 715):

     "Well, there will probably be some diesel fuel available for sale..." Dash shrugs, "...as you may know, diesel marine engines are more popular with the smaller ships -- we call them Pilot Engines; for use in harbor and when coming into dock.  They're even starting to replace steam engines in the larger vessels."

     "Marine diesel fuel will probably cost a little more than the coconut oil -- but luckily, we might have an In with the British Fort Commander..."

     Dash gives Grimsby a big grin, whilst giving him an obvious wink.


OOC: What little there is to find out about that Fort overlooking Port Kennedy implies it was built by the British Navy -- and not any Australian military force -- in response to "adventurism" in the region by both the French and, believe it or not, the Russians!

In reply to Denholm Hawkesbury (msg # 716)

Grimsby says, "My influence, like my knowledge, may be thinner in the Pacific, but since it has proved useful so far, I hope it will again -- after all, supplying fuel is not a very controversial contribution to our expedition."


OOC: It must be remembered that from the Crimean War until the Entente Cordiale in the early 1900s, Britain was consistently hostile to Russia, and hostile to France once it was Russia's ally, and Britain's rival in colonial Africa. I just read George Griffith's Angel of the Revolution, written in 1894, which imagined a great "world war" in 1904 between France and Russia (and Italy, which switches sides just as it really did in WW1) against Britain, Germany and Austria-Hungary -- in our timeline, Joseph Chamberlain was still trying to negotiate an alliance with Germany in 1902, though it fell through.

"Could always brew up some coal oil," came a familiar voice, and soon enough Connor was padding into the room, a steaming cup of tea in one handpaw and the remnants of a what looked to be a fried wonton in the other, a big bite having been taken out of it.

"Figuring out where we're going to fill this thing up again?" The big cat asked as he settled down in a chair, "Sorry, could hear you down the corridor as I was coming up, just got done with supper and thought I'd check in before turning in for the evening."

Marian listens to the discussion of fuel with mild interest. I don't have much of an opinion on where we get fuel, so long as we get it, she chuckles.

"As long as we're not expected to row!" Rosabelle comments. "I haven't seen any oars on board. Have you?"

Grimsby remarks sardonically, "Perhaps we could hire a team of experienced Polynesian oarsmen in Tonga or the like."

One of the advantages of an airship is that you can look down and see the land below you in order to know where you are going. This is particularly true with coastlines.

Since they were mostly flying over open ocean and following the coastlines, it wasn't difficult to get to the Cape York peninsula in northern Queensland.

Finding Thursday Island was only a little bit harder, but the ships sailing in and out of the port were a prime indicator.

At altitude on approach, you had plenty of time to decide how and where you are going to land.

Grimsby suggests "I believe we will want to land, or at least halt, at what is called Port Kennedy. That is probably where those ships are going, so we can simply follow them."

Marian is always grateful when they land. The rush of air travel is exhilarating but there is a healthy dose of nervousness that goes along with it too.

Why is it called Thursday island, do you think? Why not Friday or Saturday? Come to think of it, I rather prefer the sound of Wednesday island. Hm. Missed opportunity. She muses.

At Grimsby's suggestion she gives a nod. Sounds splendid, she grins.

In reply to Marian Holroy (msg # 724):

Grimsby responds, "I'm told two islands in these parts were named Thursday and Friday Islands after the days they were discovered. However, someone later reversed the names on the map."

"Oh, yeah. I remember reading about that. It was in an engineering journal of all places," Mercy adds. "According to the article, the Captain that discovered the islands named them in the order in which he discovered them, which was west to east."

"I think it was the administrator of Port Kennedy that decided it made more sense if the islands were named east to west, and then just changed them. There really wasn't anybody at the time that could tell him 'no'."

"It's not like there were a lot of maps back then that actually showed the islands. And once his revised maps were submitted to the Admiralty... well, that's the way it's been ever since."

"If there's a fort there, I think it'd be prudent if we fly the Union Jack before we come under the fort's guns, wouldn't you say?" Professor Cavor suggests.

"I think what she was getting at was whether we just fly over and descend, or come in low from a particular direction, such as the sea. That'd be the direction mostly likely we'd be spotted as early as necessary."

"Remember, we're flying a very strange-looking BLACK ship. And Mr. Grimsby, sir, I think it would be prudent if you came up with a cover story of why you... and us... are on this ship. One of Armstrong's latest inventions maybe?"

Grimsby said, "I quite agree that flying the Union Jack would be wise. That fort was built out of fear of the Russians, and many Britons --and colonials --still fear them.
There is a story that the tsar has offered a vast reward for a functional military airship, and the garrison here might suppose that we represented that threat if we did not make it clear from the first that we were friendly.
Once I have had a chance for a good talk with the local commandant, I believe he will accept our good intentions, without the necessity of inventing a cover story. I still have, if I may say so, reliable support within the British colonial establishment, even in this distant shores."

"I'll see what I can find in the flag kit, might have to improvise something," Connor chimed in from his place by one of the windows. He'd been very quiet for a long time, almost brooding as he'd rested his head in his arms and watched the world go by beneath the airship, but was inwardly glad of something to distract from his thoughts.

Popping down to the control car, he knew from past experience there was a set of maritime signal flags and semaphore flags to choose from, but he wasn't all too sure about national colors. Pride of his adopted homeland bristled at the thought of having to use British colors, but it was worse to his thinking to be shot at....again....

If nothing else, he hoped to find a pure white banner (or make one from a bedsheet) then it would simply be a matter of putting a red cross with a bit of red paint to make a St. George's cross, a bit old fashioned compared to a Union Jack, but still the traditional flag of England.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, Connor finds no signal flags. Then again, he realizes there's no way to fly them any how. While everyone searched the ship when you first acquired it, no one paid particular attention to the cache of flags that had been rolled up and stashed in one of the cabinets.

There are a dozen: Spain, France, Russia, United States, Prussia, Italy, United Kingdom, Denmark, Sweden, Austro-Hungary, Japan, and one he can't identify--it's a red double-headed eagle on a white field, with the left eagle saying "Aye" and the right eagle saying "Nay".

There is a stay extending from the front of the gondola out to near the front of the ship from which a flag can be flown (hanging down). It can be accessed from the bridge, of course, so you don't have to go outside to fly it.

In reply to GM StarMaster (msg # 730):

OOC: The yea-and-nay eagle is the banner of Grand Fenwick, I believe. Beware of the mouse!

After his thorough search, Connor felt a trifle uneasy as he came across the box of all the different national colors, the implication not lost on him as he rifled through them, apparrently the old Trojan Horse trick not being lost on the Vrill his companions and himself had pilfered the airship from.

Briefly picking up the twin-headed eagle flag, his feline festures cracked into a small smile of recognition, murring to himself, "Make a good wine, this bunch.." Putting it away again, the big cat eventually pulled out the Union Jack, folding it up into a tidy roll with the grommets facing out as he carried it back down to the control car, going up to the front where the stay was and neatly tying the flag to the line attached to it with a bit of cord tied into sturdy knots, all naval style.

This done, Connor eased the line along the pulley smoothly to lower the flag out into the airship's slipstream, the folds of the cloth unfurling into the breeze and flapping, eventually reaching the end of the stay, and Connor then secured the pulley with another firm knot. Sometimes it paid to be an amateur sailor, he thought as he gave the pulley line a firm tug to make sure it was fastened before heading back to rejoin the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:23, Mon 07 Nov 2022.

Grimsby watched respectfully as Connor ran up the Union Jack, humming "God Save the Queen" and restraining an impulse to salute.