Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Campbell was clearly not convinced, but he didn't want to press the matter further, so he could only say, "Then just wait and see. Whether Abel sees you or not is not up to me."

Richard nodded and looked into the depths of the factory area.

In the fog, a flatbed car slid out of the narrow-gauge railway. It had no engine and was just moving at a constant speed on the track by inertia.

Frederick Abel is a government employee and cannot be easily seconded to Richard's laboratory.

But he had a way to get Abel to come himself, without needing a transfer order.

Soon, footsteps came from the mist.

The young soldier jogged back and reported to Campbell: "Reporting, Mr. Abel requests that Mr. Brian come to his laboratory for a detailed discussion."

Campbell nodded reluctantly, then turned to Richard and said, "Come on, I'll take you there."

Richard followed behind him, his gaze sweeping over the rows of arched cast-iron windows, and strode toward Abel's laboratory.

Abel's laboratory was located deep within the factory area, away from the roar of the forging workshop and the whistles of the steam locomotives.

The entire north-facing wall is filled with huge glass windows because scientists at the time relied more on natural light to observe the color changes of liquids, and this orientation prevented direct sunlight from interfering with the lighting conditions for chemical reactions.

Several thick ventilation ducts climb along the exterior wall, with the flange joints sealed with hemp rope and white lead, rising from the ground floor all the way to the roof.

The two pushed open the door. The laboratory was very quiet, with only the soft sound of the balance weights falling onto the tray, the rustling of the glass rod stirring in the beaker, and the sound of someone breathing restrainedly.

The long, thick wooden table was filled with advanced glassware: distillation flasks, condensers, and several Leyden flasks.

The most eye-catching item is a gunpowder stability testing device, consisting of six glass test tubes in a row, each sealed with a rubber stopper and with its lower end immersed in a constant-temperature water tank.

The notebook next to him was open, its pages filled with dates and reaction results.

Abel stood in front of the experimental table, wearing a clean white cotton lab coat, his hands holding a pair of precision mechanical balance weights, writing down a string of numbers in his notebook with each weighing.

He was around forty years old, sporting the most fashionable door-shaped beard among scholars at the time, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and behind the lenses were a pair of bloodshot eyes from long hours of hunching over a desk.

Richard could tell from the deep wrinkles between his brows, caused by worry, that he seemed to have been stuck in this laboratory for some time on some kind of project.

His assistant stood at the other end of the testing table, his hands hanging at his sides, not daring to move.

He saw Richard and Campbell come in and wanted to warn Abel, but dared not make a sound, only glancing at them quickly with his eyes.

Campbell opened his mouth, about to cough, but Richard quickly reached out to stop him.

He turned to look at Richard, hesitated for a moment, and remained silent.

The two of them stood in the laboratory for several minutes, waiting.

Abel continued weighing the white nitrocellulose, which was much lighter and more sensitive than cotton.

Finally, he put the weights back in the box, wrote down the last string of numbers, and put the pen into his notebook.

Then he turned around.

A hint of apology flickered in his tired eyes: "You're Richard Brian?"

His voice was younger and more energetic than Richard had expected.

Richard nodded: "Exactly."

"Mr. Abel, this Mr. Brian says he has some constructive suggestions for the project you are working on," Sir Campbell said.

Abel rested his hands on the edge of the table, his chin slightly raised: "Alright, then tell me."

“If you don’t mind,” Richard said, looking at Sir Campbell, “I would like to speak with Mr. Abel alone.”

Upon hearing this, Abel also looked at Campbell.

Now there were three pairs of eyes staring at him—plus his assistant's bewildered look.

Campbell sighed, turned and walked out of the workshop. His assistant, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, practically clung to the wall and slipped out without looking back.

The door closed behind him.

Abel straightened up: "Can you tell me now? You've really piqued my interest. I hope your opinion isn't a waste of time."

Richard wasn't offended by his blunt way of speaking, but he understood his assistant's reaction somewhat.

He walked to the test bench and placed his hand on the back of the chair: "I understand that you are worried about the problem of the cotton gunpowder burning too quickly."

Abel's eyes narrowed.

Cotton powder burns much faster than black powder, which is its greatest advantage and also its greatest disadvantage.

If the combustion rate is too fast, the chamber pressure will reach its peak in an instant, and the barrel will not have enough time to transfer energy to the projectile, and it will be torn apart first.

He spent months in the lab trying various methods to suppress it, but all to little avail.

"This kind of gunpowder is also used in bullet propellants," Richard continued. "So I'm here today to offer you a different solution."

Abel's gaze lingered on his face for two seconds, then he stroked his chin. "The cannon that was test-fired at the Schubernes artillery range the other day, wasn't that yours?"

Richard smiled. "You know about me?"

Abel grinned: "Your cannons gave these self-proclaimed scientists, these lazy bums at the Royal Arsenal, a resounding slap in the face."

"Those few days, everyone in the factory looked like they'd been plastered with lime," he added, "including me."

Richard lowered his head humbly: "It's not the first time this has happened, since this place is more concerned with production than basic research."

Abel didn't respond. He couldn't agree with that statement because he was an employee of the Royal Arsenal, and his research was supported by the salary and equipment there.

But he did not deny it; his silence and the smile on his face were themselves an answer.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. "So, what are your thoughts on gunpowder?"

Richard cleared his throat and began to explain: "You compress extremely pure cotton fibers into blocks, which solves the production safety problem, but microscopically it is still porous."

He gestured with his hands to explain: "The more porous it is, the larger the burning surface, so the faster the reaction speed. Even if you press it into a stone, the flame will still burn in through every tiny hole at the same time, instantly igniting the entire block of gunpowder."

Abel tapped his hand lightly on the table: "Go on."

"If you could use a solvent like ether or acetone to completely dissolve the fiber, turning it into a uniform gel, and then let the solvent evaporate, leaving a dense solid," Richard said, slowing his pace to give Abel enough time to think.

"Without gaps, the flames can only burn from the surface inwards little by little," Richard explained. "This creates a continuous and stable high pressure, propelling the projectile from the bottom of the barrel to the muzzle, which is the ideal situation."