Life of Being a Crown Prince in France - Chapter 132

Chapter 132: Chapter 123 Genius Inventor_2

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“I’m very familiar with steam engine technology. In fact, I’ve always wanted to open a steam engine factory, but I lacked the funds. Until I heard from Mr. Dupont that you planned to invest in the steam engine industry, so I immediately came over,” he said.

“Your Highness, if you let me help you build a factory, I swear, I will definitely do no worse than Mr. Watt!”

Murdock had worked in Watt’s company for over a decade, losing many patents but receiving low compensation, brimming with resentment, yet for the sake of survival, he had to compromise.

It wasn’t until over a year later when he invented coal gas technology by dry distillation and earned money from the patent for gas lighting that he finally broke free from Watt.

But Joseph’s steam engine development plan gave him another option!

Joseph had not expected that missing out on Watt, he would scoop up Murdoch.

This expert’s skills were undoubtedly no less than Watt’s, and he could also help him light up the technology tree for gas lighting. Additionally, he was much younger than Watt and brimming with energy.

He immediately stood up, nodded with a smile to Murdoch, “Congratulations, Mr. Murdoch, you are now the general manager of the Royal Mechanical Company of France. I wish us a pleasant cooperation.”

Murdoch was startled, then overwhelmed with joy. He’d thought he would need to exert some effort to persuade the Crown Prince of France, but his wish was granted smoothly, and he was directly appointed as the general manager!

He touched his chest excitedly and bowed deeply, “Thank you for your trust, Your Highness the Crown Prince. I will definitely not disappoint you!”

“Hmm, I’m also looking forward to your stellar performance.”

Then Murdoch, somewhat anxiously rubbing his hands, said, “Your Highness, about the patents for the technologies I invent…”

On his way here, he had heard that France had passed “patent law,” and the infringement of his patents had always been a sore spot for him.

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“The patents should indeed belong to you,” Joseph immediately nodded, “However, you must grant the company exclusive rights to use them.”

“Of course, that’s no problem, Your Highness,” Murdoch continued, “also, as you know, I will contribute all of my skills to the company, and perhaps… I could hold 10% of the company’s shares, I would be extremely thankful for that.”

Joseph immediately shook his head, “How could that be possible?”

Murdoch’s face turned pale with apprehension. A 10% share from an investment of 1 million livres was indeed too much.

He was about to suggest “How about 5%?” when he heard the Crown Prince say, “Given your value, you should at least get 20% of the shares. However, these would be stock options.”

“20%?!” Murdoch was startled, pausing for a moment before asking, “Stock options?”

“That means you’ll receive 4% of the shares annually, for five years. If you resign during this time, the shares you’ve received up to that point will be voided,” Joseph said. After all, as Murdoch was British, Joseph needed to use some modern tricks to keep him tied to France. After five years, France would surely have its own mature steam engine development team, and at that point, whether Murdoch stays or leaves wouldn’t significantly impact the team.

“Your Highness, I really don’t know how to thank you enough!” Murdoch was ecstatic.

Only five years, and yet he had worked more than a decade for Watt without receiving a single share. Compared to the Crown Prince of France, he was extremely generous!

Murdock silently swore in his heart: He would build the best steam engines to repay the Crown Prince.

As lunchtime was approaching, Joseph invited Dupont and Murdoch to have lunch together.

On their way to the dining room, Murdoch was already eagerly explaining his plans to the Crown Prince, “Your Highness, choosing Nancy for the factory is very wise. There are many mines there that will buy our products.”

“Once the equipment and manpower are ready, we will start producing 25-horsepower high-pressure steam engines. The efficiency of the water pumping will definitely make the mine owners open their wallets right away!”

You see, the average power of the steam engines from Watt’s company was around 15 to 20 horsepower, which showcases the superiority of high-pressure technology.

But Joseph shook his head, “No, the first thing we need to produce are high-precision steam engines to drive boring machines, thread lathes, milling machines, and the like. Our main goal is to improve the efficiency and precision of these machining tools, power is not the most important.”

“But,” Murdoch reminded, “Your Highness, the devices you mentioned cannot make money, and the initial investment…”

Joseph smiled slightly, “You needn’t worry about the financial aspect, I will ensure there is ample backing.”

He was pursuing steam engine development initially to foster France’s industrialization, and various machine tools are the “mother machines” of industry. At that time, Europe already had these machining devices, but they were mostly driven by human or water power, which led to low power and poor accuracy. If they were powered by steam engines, the processing speed and precision would be substantially improved.

For example, automatic boring and milling machines, such equipment could be widely applied in the arsenal he planned—surpassing manual production of weapons and equipment in both precision and production efficiency by leaps and bounds, while significantly reducing costs. Most importantly, it would be relatively easy to achieve the standardization of components.

Moreover, with automatic machining equipment, they could, in turn, improve the production speed and quality of steam engines, creating a positive feedback loop. By that point, producing things like pumping engines and steam looms would naturally follow.

…

Southern Suburbs of Paris.

More than 400 meters north of the Paris Police Academy Training Ground, a black-painted four-pound cannon lay hidden in a thicket.

A French National Guard officer in civilian clothes looked impatiently to the south, occasionally glancing at his pocket watch.

After more than ten minutes, several booms of cannon fire came from the direction of the training ground. The officer immediately perked up and shouted to the soldiers sitting around: “Get up, you lazy devils!”

Six or seven gunners, also in civilian clothing, quickly huddled together, some adjusting the cannon’s direction, others fixing its wheels, while the rest stood by with gunpowder and cannonballs.

The officer used his telescope to look toward a farm northward, then glanced at the shooting parameters he had already calculated in his notebook, manually raised the muzzle, and carefully measured the angle with a protractor.

“Good, load the gun,” he gestured to a soldier nearby.

The soldier hurriedly poured gunpowder into the muzzle. Another stepped up to ram it down firmly. A third soldier inserted the cannonball, and the one with the ramrod pushed the ball to the bottom of the bore.

More cannon fire sounded from the police training ground. The officer began timing with his watch, quickly estimating that the police’s training involved firing a round about every three minutes.

He signaled to his fuse man.

The young man with the linstock hurried over, glanced towards the farm, then back at the officer, his expression struggling as he said, “Sir, it appears there’s only one family of farmers over there, are we really going to fire at them?”

“Shut up!” the officer glared at him, “You just need to follow orders.”

“Yes, sir…”

As exactly three minutes passed since the last sound of cannon fire, the officer promptly commanded the fuse man: “Fire!”

The soldier, conditioned to obey orders unconditionally, quickly pressed the linstock to the touch hole. The cannon roared furiously. Thick smoke instantly enveloped the surroundings.

A four-pound iron ball whistled into the distance, slicing into the farmhouse, throwing wood splinters and straw high into the air. The humble farmhouse immediately collapsed on one side.

Almost simultaneously, a loud explosion came from the direction of the police training ground.

The French National Guard officer confirmed the hit on the farmhouse with his telescope, a cold smile curling at his lips, then turned and ordered his men to hitch the cannon to the horse and quickly retreat to the northwest.

Meanwhile, another group of soldiers who had been waiting there fumbled to disassemble the cannon barrel and load it onto a carriage, which promptly fled toward Paris City, while the gun carriage was hidden in the adjacent dense forest.

In the Paris Police Academy Training Ground, Bertier was discussing the new tactic of “concentrated cannon fire” with Dibowa—although his transfer to the French National Guard’s Engineer Battalion had been confirmed, the official orders had not yet arrived, and during this time, he was nearly always at the training ground. Indeed, as the Crown Prince had said, there were many new tactics there that fascinated him.

After another round of cannon firing training, Dibowa frowned and turned to an assistant: “If I’m not mistaken, this afternoon’s training is with three cannons.”

“Yes, sir, two four-pounders and one eight-pounder,” replied the assistant.

“But just now, there were four cannon blasts.”

Bertier interjected, “Maybe it was an echo.”

“Doesn’t quite sound like it,” said Dibowa, who had a background as an artilleryman and was very sensitive to the sound of cannons.

He immediately waved to the guards at the training ground: “You men, come with me to check it out.”

“Yes, sir!”

When Dibowa arrived at the location where the French National Guard had fired their cannon with the police officers, they found nothing but smelled the faint odor of gunpowder in the air.