Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The evening tide of Mersey repeatedly washed over the rusty red riverbanks, and the flags on the hundreds of masts in the river were the first to be torn and rattled by the wind. It passed through the red brick houses of Liverpool, swirled outside the stone walls of the Adelphi Hotel, and then disappeared into the twilight.

This is a luxurious hotel that has hosted nobles and wealthy businessmen for over forty years. Gladstone stayed here for his speaking tour.

Richard was invited to a private box on the top floor of the hotel, where dark red damask brocade wallpaper stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and the smooth oak wainscoting had been waxed countless times.

Heavy velvet curtains hang on both sides of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a balance between view and privacy.

Richard sat down on the sofa, the cushions so soft that his back sank into them.

On the coffee table in front of me was a bottle of red wine that had already been opened, next to a crystal goblet.

He poured himself a glass, picked it up and swirled it, then brought it close to his nose and took a sniff.

The aromas of blackcurrant, plum, and a hint of oak are so rich that even someone who doesn't know much about wine can tell it's a top-quality red wine.

"Hmm." He took a sip and couldn't help but let out a sigh.

Gladstone's speech must have just ended, and Richard could imagine the thousands of people crowding the hall to the point of bursting.

Then, the door was pushed open by a waiter.

William Yurt Gladstone walked in.

His hair was already gray, his cheeks were sunken from years of travel, and the contours of his cheekbones were sharply defined by the gaslight.

But his eyes burned with fire.

He had just stepped down from the podium, and the heat from the breaths and heartbeats of thousands of people had not yet dissipated from him; Richard could almost see the magnetic field around him.

Gladstone seemed to have just defeated one of his arch-enemies, his spirits high but his body exhausted.

Richard stood up. He rose faster than usual, but ignoring the discomfort from his wound, and walked over to Gladstone, extending his hand: "Good evening, Mr. Gladstone."

Gladstone smiled with satisfaction, grasped Richard's hand, and shook it vigorously.

"You must be Mr. Brian." His voice was a little hoarse; his throat must have been burning from giving speeches for several hours straight.

Even so, he still enunciated very clearly: "Member Henry said in his letter that you have more foresight than all the merchants in London."

Richard gave a slight bow: "You flatter me, sir."

Gladstone was a businessman by trade, and although he served two terms as Chancellor of the Exchequer, he was not an aristocrat. Therefore, the two maintained a fairly equal and harmonious relationship, like that between business partners or friends.

He turned to the waiter standing at the door and said, "Excuse me, a cup of warm honey water."

The waiter nodded and silently withdrew.

Gladstone sat down on the sofa opposite Richard: "No need to be modest, Mr. Brian. Your name and deeds have already spread throughout Wells, not just because your MKII rifle won the Army's bid, or your system was adopted by the Woolwich Royal Armory, but of course, those two things alone are enough to make people remember you."

A waiter came in carrying a tray with a white porcelain cup on it, from which wisps of white steam rose.

Gladstone took it, blew on it, picked it up, and gulped it down, like a traveler who had been walking in the desert for too long finally finding water.

He put down the cup and wiped the water off his lips with the back of his hand.

"I read about your attitude and deeds towards Irish workers in the newspapers, and they were very impressive."

"I could have done better." Richard nodded. "What workers need is not charity from benefactors, but a decent wage to support their families and the right to recover peacefully. This is the most basic dignity of being human."

“Yes, dignity.” Gladstone tapped the table with his finger. “That’s why I advocate abolishing the Church of Ireland. It’s unjust and shameful to take a portion of the food allowance of Catholic Irish people to support a church they don’t even believe in.”

“Yes,” Richard agreed, “this is indeed a problem that must be solved right now, otherwise the Irish will never be able to feel a sense of belonging to the United Kingdom.”

At this moment, the waiter brought in another glass of honey water, this time with a thin slice of lemon in it, replacing the empty white glass.

Gladstone picked up his glass, and this time he drank more slowly.

"But I invited you here today," he said, "not to discuss this."

Richard straightened up. He knew that the previous conversation about the Irish Church was Gladstone confirming whether he was the person described by Congressman Henry, and whether he was ideologically aligned with him.

As for the church and land reform, Gladstone could handle those himself.

The reform bills he is about to implement are all in his mind; those are his battlegrounds.

But what he's about to say is a problem he can't solve.

"The Prussians," Gladstone said, "their Krupp cannons were incredibly effective in the Austro-Prussian War two years ago. The Austrians didn't even see a Prussian soldier before the shells blew their command system to smithereens."

Gladstone picked up the honey water and took another sip.

"But we're not much better off. Before firing, our gunners have to pray to God that it won't explode."

Richard's eyebrows twitched.

This is no exaggeration; the Armstrong gun was indeed the world's first breech-loading rifled gun and a source of pride for the British Empire.

However, in actual combat, it exposed many problems.

The breechblock was not properly locked, allowing propellant gases to leak out through the gaps. The barrel material was not reliable enough, the rifling wore out too quickly, and the barrel was prone to cracking at any time. However, this was not entirely a design problem, but rather a problem with the materials.

Richard looked up at Gladstone and said, "Sir Armstrong's design concept is sound; the direction of the breech-loading rifled cannon is correct. However, the British arsenal uses wrought iron barrels, which expand and deform during firing, causing the rifling to wear down under repeated high temperatures and pressures, resulting in a poor seal between the breechblock and the breech."

Richard went on to explain, "The Prussian Krupp cannons used high-strength cast steel barrels. Steel is more stable at high temperatures, so the barrels have a longer lifespan. This is a difference in materials, not in design."

"Moreover, the Prussians' parts are all standardized and mass-produced," Richard said, circling his finger on the table, "while we still insist on having artisans build cannons, each one unique, so that parts from one cannon won't work in another."

"If this continues, our army and navy will be as fragile as paper in front of the Prussians." Gladstone gently touched his forehead.

Richard nodded with concern.

After a moment of silence, Gladstone stared at his wine glass, then asked Richard thoughtfully, "And what's your suggestion?"

Richard knew the time was right and he only needed to go with the flow.

"Actually, you don't need to worry," he said. "I already have a solution."

Gladstone raised an eyebrow: "Oh?"

"I plan to go to Swansea first to meet someone."

"Who?"

Charles Siemens.

Gladstone's eyes lit up, because that name was more famous in England at the time than many nobles.

Charles William Siemens, a Fellow of the Royal Society, is a title that carries more weight than a knighthood in the hearts of engineers and scientists.

That year, he had just completed the Indo-European telegraph line from Calcutta to London, one of the greatest engineering achievements of the Victorian era, and his name resounded among every young engineering student.

But Gladstone's eyes suddenly dimmed, and he asked, "He's a scientist. If you ask him to build cannons, do you think he'll listen to you?"

Richard smiled; he knew Gladstone would ask that.

"Well..." He picked up his glass, "I've heard that Disraeli is unbeatable, but you did it, didn't you?"

Gladstone paused for a second, then smiled. He knew that the young man in front of him didn't have unfounded confidence.

He picked up the glass of honey water and gestured to Richard: "Then I'll leave it all to you."

Richard moved his glass forward and lightly touched it to his.