The Invention of the Davy Lamp

Sir Humphry Davy, 1st Baronet (Penzance, Cornwall, England, 17th December 1778 – Geneva, Switzerland, 29th May 1829)

Sir Humphry Davy by Thomas Phillips

Coal mining goes back many generations in my family and is a heritage I am extremely proud of. I grew up in Nottinghamshire and the headstocks of a pit were a common feature on the landscape, though of course those days are long since gone. Since today marks the anniversary of the birth of chemist and inventor, Sir Humphry Davy, I thought I would offer a closer look at the Davy lamp, an iconic bit of Georgian engineering and one that is familiar to anyone who knows mining history!

Like all of England, Davy was horrified by the severity and impact of mining explosions caused by the fatal cocktail of open flame and the methane gas prevalent in the mines. Davy hit upon the idea that a shielded lamp would be the ideal answer, as it would contain the flame and massive reduce the risk of explosions. To this end, he developed an iron gauze that would shield the lamp, dramatically cutting the risk of disaster. 

When news spread of the new invention, Davy's lamp swiftly became the subject of no small amount of controversy as other inventors claimed that they had reached the solution of shielding the flame ahead of the Cornish inventor. Other safety lamps were certainly  in use prior to the 1816 trial of the Davy lamp and though in theory the invention was sound, in practice it was far from ideal. Even minor damage to the lamp could result in its effectiveness being drastically reduced yet miners, who had to buy their own safety lamps, were happy to put their trust in it, no doubt hoping that the odds were at least better than with flame alone!

Turtle Versus Eagle: Submersible Warfare

Today we find ourselves not so much all at sea, as all under a river, for on this day in 1776, Sergeant Ezra Lee made the first submersible attack in the American Turtle. His mission was to approach the HMS Eagle, attach explosives to her hull and then make good his daring escape! Needless to say, all did not go quite according to plan.

A model of the Turtle

The Turtle was built by David Bushnell in Old Saybrook, Connecticut, in 1775. Buoyed by government funding and convinced that the Turtle was the answer to vanquishing the British permanently, Bushnell handed over the completed submersible following extensive tests and waited for his invention to play its part in the destruction of the flagship vessel.

At eleven o'clock in the evening of 6th September, Lee took to the Hudson River in the Turtle, guided out by rowboats to start his journey until, finally, he began to pilot his craft towards the Eagle. In fact, the submersible barely moved at all until favourable currents caught it and propelled it towards the ship. Just as all seemed to be going to plan, Lee was faced with what would prove to be an insurmountable obstacle as, when he attempted to drill into the Eagle to attach the explosives, he had the misfortune to choose a spot directly atop the iron plates that protected the intricate rudder.

A cutaway depiction of David Bushnell's Turtle from "The Story of the Submarine", by Farnham Bishop, 1916

Not to be deterred, he continued to try to drill into the ship for some time until exhaustion forced him to stop. A somewhat cursory attempt to go directly under the hull and drill again proved futile and the thoroughly beaten Sergeant decided that the time had come to call off the operation. As he fled at a couple of miles an hour, Lee set off the explosives anyway to distract British lookouts and the Eagle lived to sail another day. Although Lee reported that the charge set off an enormous explosion and columns of water rose from the river, the British reported nothing untoward and appear to have been utterly unaware of the failed assault on their fleet.

The Turtle itself met a sticky end in October when the vessel that was carrying it was sunk at New Jersey. Submarine warfare would, of course, go on to be a major part of combat but for Lee, Bushnell and the Turtle, the underwater battle was over.

Rumford's Soup

Sir Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford FRS (Woburn, Massachusetts, America, 26th March 1753 – Paris, France, 21st August 1814)

Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford

Today marks the anniversary of the death of physicist Benjamin Thompson, a much-decorated gentleman who lived a life that could never be called dull. He went from his birthplace of Massachussetts to England and then to Bavaria and Europe, all the time working on inventions as diverse as the drip coffeepot, the Rumford fireplace and even the occasional warship.

It is for a culinary achievement that Rumford has piqued my interest today thanks to a recipe developed by the Count in response to the poverty that he saw during his life in Bavaria. Shocked at the hunger and suffering he witnessed, Rumford prevailed upon the government to develop a system of workhouses where people might be able to eat a nourishing meal. To this end, he developed a recipe for a dish that became known as Rumford's Soup and consisted of the following ingredients:

1 part pearl barley
1 part dried (yellow) peas
4 parts potato
Salt according to need
Old, sour beer

The mixture was cooked slowly and though perhaps not delicious, provided a low cost, nutritious and simple meal.

The soup was served in the workhouses of Munich where the poor were employed to make military uniforms and though children were expected to work to earn their keep too, they were also educated and given time in which to play with their peers. At mealtime, the soup was served with rye bread and workers went back to their tasks with full bellies; in fact, the soup was adapted to serve as a basic military ration and with some amendments to recipe, remained in use by some militaries for two hundred years.

Sir Richard Arkwright: An Entrepreneurial Life

Throughout history much has been said of the self-made man, that fabled sort who dragged himself up by his bootstraps to make his mark on the world and usually make a fortune at the same time. Sir Richard Arkwright is truly the model of this Georgian dream; from humble beginnings he triumphed through a combination of his own ambition, shrewd business dealings and, some might say, other people's innovation to get to the top of the business world. Today his name is still known throughout England, forever linked to stories of the Industrial Revolution and the rich industrial heritage of the nation

By Joseph Wright of Derby, 1790

Arkwright was one of 13 children born to Sarah and Thomas, a tailor in Preston, Lancashire. With so many siblings there was no opportunity for the boy to undertake formal education but Arkwright was fortunate enough to have a cousin who could read and write, and she passed on these vital skills to him. The man who would make a fortune in the mills began his career as a barber and wigmaker, apprenticed first to Mr Nicholson and then the proud proprietor of his own establishment at Churchgate in Bolton, opened when he was just 20 years of age.

Arkwright's clients were the gentlemen who made Bolton into a town of industrial might and they demanded the best of everything, so to have the Lancashire drizzle wash the expensive dye from their periwigs was hardly a recipe for customer satisfaction. Whilst re-dying his client's wigs Arkwright realised that there was an opportunity for innovation at hand and he laboured to produce a dye that was waterproof, turning his shop into the go-to place for the latest in wig innovation. Sensing an opportunity for speculation he took to the roads of England, collecting discarded human hair and turning it into fashionable, waterproof wigs using his secret dying method. However, the fashion for wigs was not going to last forever, and when it began to fade the would-be entrepreneur already had his next venture in mind.

Growing up in Bolton in a tailor's household, Arkwright had spent his childhood surrounded by textile mills and workers, and he knew of the arduous task of running the machinery that transformed raw cotton into thread, a laborious and strung-out process. With his thirst for invention unquenched and well aware that the passionate millworkers of his hometown would not take kindly to innovations that would help the owners but possibly cost them their jobs, the young wigmaker followed the textile trail to its centre in Nottingham. Here he worked alongside clockmaker John Kay to develop and patent the spinning frame (later the water frame), a machine that could produce yarn at a fraction of the cost and a much faster speed than human workers.

Arkwright's name and reputation began to spread through the textile producers of England and the factory he opened with new partner John Smalley added yet another machine to its line, the groundbreaking carding engine. In need of expansion capital, Arkwright went into partnership with Jedediah Strutt and Samuel Need, who financed his innovations until a dispute over Arkwright's speedy expansion brought the partnership to an abrupt end. At a cost of more than £10,000 he completed the carding engine, perfecting and fully mechanising the process, yet as with so many tales of success, others were quick to follow his lead. The engine was patented in 1775 and his contemporaries rushed to copy Arkwright's innovations, eventually causing him to take legal measures to enforce his patent rights.

Juggling court cases on one hand and business on the other, Arkwright opened a horse-driven mill in Preston and later became the first to use steam to power the waterwheel that fed the machinery. His Cromford Mill was a state of the art building, with Arkwright bringing in whole families to staff it and live in the newly-built cottages on site. Providing his millworkers with homes, holidays and social gathering places, he also pioneered the use of shift workers and was considered a fair and decent employer.

All of this innovation came at a price and as the 1770s progressed, Arkwright found himself embroiled in ever more bitter legal disputes. His patents of 1775 were subject to a decade-long series of challenges from inventors who claimed that Arkwright had based his own inventions on their work. As he faced these ruinously expensive cases Arkwright's factories were the subjects of industrial espionage as well as the ire of workers, terrified that the mills of the future would be staffed not by men, but by machines. However, Arkwright continued to innovate, and it was under his patronage that Birkacre Mill in Chorley was fully refitted, though it was destroyed by anti-machinery protesters in 1779.

By 1785 the entrepreneur's patents had been overturned and many in the industry looked forward to what they hoped would be the downfall of an apparently egotistical, arrogant man. However, despite his fury that his professional integrity was in dispute, Arkwright was delighted to accept a knighthood in 1786 and the following year became High Sheriff of Derbyshire. Arkwright was a born entrepreneur; he made partnerships only when he had no other choice and as soon as the finances were in place, bought out his partners at the best rate possible. With an unshakable belief in his own abilities and talent, he had a canny business acumen that led him to amass a fortune. He employed tens of thousands of workers and licensed intellectual property rights to elements of his designs at keen rates, ensuring that even the smallest innovation was monetised at every opportunity.

When Arkwright died in 1792 his son took over the business and inherited a fortune that some said was made on the backs of others. The self-made entrepreneur is memorialised across Britain to this day, his name synonymous with the very fabric of industrial England.

This post was originally published at http://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/richard-arkwright-entrepreneurial-life.html

Patenting the Puckle Gun

I hope there will be no need to dive for cover as I relate my next tale but just in case, do keep your wits about you. Today we meet James Puckle of London who, on 15th May 1718, filed a patent for the Defence Gun, also known as the Puckle Gun, with the United Kingsom Patent Office. This unusually named weapon was the forerunner of the machine guns we know today but was not quite the success its creator hoped for.

A replica Puckle Gun from Buckler's Hard Maritime Museum

Puckle was a writer, lawyer and enthusiastic inventor who had a dream of a gun that could fire not one, not two but several rounds within reloading. He worked tirelessly at his creation until he had proudly compelted the first iteration of the gun, which had its own stand that could fire a maximum of nine rounds per minute. The Defence Gun was a single barrelled flintlock that he envisioned being used on board ships as a means of repelling boarding enemies and could fire a whopping nine rounds per minute, making it, he decided, three times more efficient than an armed soldier.

Intriguingly, there were two versions of the gun. The first fired standard bullets and would be used against Christian opponents; the second fired square bullets that Puckle blieved to be more damaging. These would be reserved for use against Turkish Muslims and in their final moments, Puckle decided in his unique way, they would lament the fact that they had not been Christian.

In fact the gun was far too complex for gunsmiths to work on and as a result, it was never used in the field. Its very few investors lost their money despite some high-profile backers but Puckle never lost faith in his invention, believing instead that only he had the foresight to see what an amazing innovation this might have been.

The Scientific Life of Macedonio Melloni

Macedonio Melloni (Parma, Italy, 11th April 1798 - Portici, Italy, 11th August 1854)

Our guest today is a physicist, academic and inventor from Italy who fell foul of a somewhat fractious political climate. Macedonio Melloni made his name due to his studies in radiant heat and the ways in which infrared radiation was able to pass through a variety of materials, changing and fluctuating as it did so.

Melloni was born to middle class parents in Parma and enjoyed a fine education, proving himself to be a most intelligent and inquisitive young man. His initial ambition was to pursue a career in art and he studied illustration in Parma before travelling to Paris to continue his studies. However, he found himself becoming more and more interested in scientific studies and eventually became a student of physics at L'École Polytechnique.

Melloni enjoyed great academic success and returned to Parma as a professor at the city's university in 1824. Here he focused at that time on topics such as magnetism and photography yet his career was to end abruptly seven years later. In 1831 Melloni lent his support to the uprising in Parma and became deeply involved in the political landscape. When the uprising was crushed, he fled his homeland for the safety of France.

Working both in France and other European cities, he embarked on the radiant heat experiments that made his name alongside Leopoldo Nobili. Although he was actively and enthusiastically engaged in practical and theoretical work, Melloni did not publish as widely as other academics and in fact never completed his master work, La Thermocrose au la Coloration Calorifique. He was a close friend and correspondent of Michael Faraday, who was Melloni's greatest champion on the occasions when the Parisian academic establishment took issue with the direction of some of Melloni's experiments.

After nearly a decade in France Melloni left for Naples and took charge of the Vesuvius Observatory. In the years that followed he was decorated by the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, the Paris Academy and the Royal Society. He married Augusta Brugnel Philipson in 1843 and the couple had three daughters, though cholera claimed Melloni's life just a decade or so after his wedding.

Wilhelmine Reichard, An Intrepid Lady of Aviation

Wilhelmine Reichard (née Johanne Wilhelmine Siegmundine Schmidt; Brunswick, Germany, 2nd April 1788 - Döhlen, Germany, 22nd February 1848)

Wilhelmine Reichard by Adolph Friedrich Kunike, 1820

If you are a regular visitor to the salon, you will know that I have told stories of intrepid balloonists before; we Georgians loved the thought of flying high above the rabble as we pushed the boundaries of travel and rising up towards the clouds was a most exiting development in transport! From my grandmother Gilflurt's tale of the Montgolfier brothers, to the first parachute descent and the story of a most adventurous lady, Jeanne Garnerin, the glorious long 18th century was full of ground-breaking aviators and today's guest is another fearless flyer.

Nicknamed Minna, the girl who would one day take to the skies was born the daughter of a Brunswick butler. An intelligent and adventurous girl, at the age of 19 she married Professor of Physics Johann Gottfried Reichard and the happy couple welcomed the first of their eight children to the world that same year. From the start the couple shared a fascination for ballooning and when they settled in 1810, they dedicated themselves to building a gas balloon in which Johann would make his maiden flight. By the end of the year Johann and Minna were making balloon ascents together and were constantly researching and working to improve their creations.

On 16 April 1811, Minna made her first solo flight. In her gas-powered balloon she rose high above Berlin, peaking at 16,000 feet before making a safe landing. More uneventful flights followed and the couple became celebrated throughout Europe for their adventurous nature and scientific observations. Though the balloonists experienced occasional crash landings when flying together, Minna was to experience a serious accident during a solo ascent though the lucky aviatrix lived to tell the tale.

As well as carrying out chemical experiments with Johann, Minna was a keen meteorologist and eventually rose higher and higher in the balloon as she conducted her observations. On one trip she rose to over 20,000 feet and was overcome by the effects of altitude, losing consciousness. The balloon split and she plummeted down to earth, surviving only because the basket became stuck in a canopy of trees. The intrepid lady was badly injured and was helped to safety by local farm workers; as a result she would not fly again for several years but Minna spent her recuperation in further research, dedicating herself to chemistry.

Despite this incident, Minna was not deterred and took to the air again, this time with the aim of raising enough money to support her husband's planned purchase of a chemical factory in Döhlen. The Reichards toured Europe and enjoyed no small measure of celebrity; they achieved her aims and retired from flight in 1820, with the hard-earned factory opening the following year. Minna now became a woman of business and with her husband ran the factory, becoming its sole manager following his death in 1844 and remaining in the post until her own death from a stroke four years later.

Nicéphore Niépce and the Vélocipède

Nicéphore Niépce (né Joseph Niépce; Chalon-sur-Saône, France, 7th March 1765 – Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, France, 5th July 1833)

As you know by now, there is little that fires me more than gadding about the Georgian world, quill in hand and quizzing glass at the ready. Now, much as I am wedded to my phaeton, I do have a few chums who swear by an invention that came from the imaginative mind of Nicéphore Niépce, our guest today. Niépce is the gentleman behind the vélocipède  a form of transport for the more intrepid sort, though it is most unsuited to petticoats!

In Germany in 1817 Karl Drais invented the laufmaschine, a form of two wheeled transport similar to the modern bicycle. Also known as the dandy-horse, the vehicle was propelled by the rider pushing their feet on the floor as though walking, though each step covered far more ground than would be possible without the vehicle. As a result of these exertions the laufmaschine rider happily glided along, no doubt feeling quite the picture of modernity!

The vélocipède

Niépce was most taken by the laufmaschine when he saw it in 1818 but this intrepid innovator was certain that he could improve on the work of his German counterpart. Using the work of Drais as his starting point, he built himself a new device that he named the vélocipède (fast foot). Unlike the laufmaschine, the vélocipède had an adjustable saddle and could therefore easily accommodate most riders in relative comfort, providing they didn't stray too far from smooth paths! He even thought about motorising the vélocipède, dreaming of happily cruising the roadways of France on two wheels and travelling over terrain that the rider-propelled version could not hope to negotiate.

The vélocipède was not Niépce's most significant invention but it took my fancy today in honour of a friend who is devoted to his bicycle come rain or shine. Happy birthday Niépce!

The First Parachute Descent

Not so long ago, I told the tale of Jeanne Garnerin, the first woman to make a parachute descent. Her story certainly captured the imagination of salon guests and quite a few got in touch to ask about the first ever descent, which was made by her husband, André-Jacques Garnerin. Since today is the anniversary of that exciting event, it seemed like an excellent time to revisit the moment!

Garnerin initially developed an interest in using balloons for military purposes during his time in the army and, following two years as a prisoner of the English, he returned to France with dreams of flight.  Garnerin devoted his time to pursuing his passion for ballooning and caused a scandal when he appeared before Paris officials to make a case for taking a young woman up for a flight, an utterly unthinkable idea. His wish was eventually granted and Garnerin was propelled into the celebrity sphere, his press not all harmed by the fact that the woman in question, Citoyenne Henri, was young and beautiful. The flight was a success and Garnerin turned his mind to the next escapade, reasoning that he had made a dramatic ascent, so perhaps it was time for an equally dramatic descent!

The balloonist absorbed himself in experiments involving parachutes, eventually ready to make his first public descent. On 22nd October 1797 a crowd gathered at Parc Monceau in Paris to watch the daring feat of aeronautics as Garnerin ascended to a height of more than 3000 feet. Far above the park he cut the ropes that attached balloon to basket and began his descent with the help of a white parachute, 23 feet across and in the shape of an umbrella.

As the basket buffeted and swung the crowd must have wondered if Garnerin would make it safely back to earth but happily, he did just that. Garnerin's reputation and career were set from that moment on and with his wife, Jeanne, he became renowned throughout Europe. Many more parachutists would follow from ever more dizzying heights but for all of that, it was Garnerin who landed first!

The Parachute Descent of Jeanne Garnerin

Not so long ago we took to the skies with the ballooning Montgolfier brothers and today we're off into the clouds again, this time in the company of Jeanne-Geneviève Garnerin, an intrepid lady whose exploits caused a sensation throughout Europe. On 12th October 1799 Jeanne made history when she became the first woman to make a parachute descent from a hot-air balloon, joining her husband in the narrow field of ballooning and parachuting pioneers!

Monsieur and Madame Garnerin by Christoph Haller von Hallerstein, 1803

Born Jeanne-Geneviève Labrosse in Paris in 1775, the young woman was among an enthusiastic crowd who gathered to watch André-Jacques Garnerin fly his hydrogen-powered balloon at Parc Monceau on 22nd October 1797. An innovator in the world of ballooning, Garnerin causing a sensation when he piloted his gondola safely, if a little bumpily, back down to earth with the help of a silk parachute of his own design. Jeanne was fascinated by what she had witnessed and signed up to become a pupil of Garnerin, eventually flying with him on 10th November 1798, four months after he courted controversy by taking a highly-publicised flight with another young lady!

German Commemorative Medal, 1803

Jeanne proved herself a natural balloonist and was the first woman to undertake a solo ascent. Buoyed by the successful flight she set her sights on another ambition, determined to be the first woman to parachute down to earth using her tutor's tried and tested method. With much fanfare Jeanne made her 900 feet descent on 12th October 1799, proving beyond a doubt that the press and public need not fear about the possible damage high altitude and fast descent might cause to the delicate female constitution! Her achievements were celebrated throughout France and she toured the continent with Gargerin repeating the feat, lauded where she went.

Finding in Garnerin a kindred spirit, Jeanne married the balloonist and in 1802 filed a patent application for  "a device called a parachute". With continental Europe conquered by the intrepid Garnerins and André-Jacques appointed Official Aeronaut of France, the couple turned their attention to fresh pastures and travelled to England in 1802. Once again their demonstrations proved enormously popular and Jeanne outdid herself, making a successful descent from 8000 feet over London.

The couple remained in England until war broke out in 1803 at which point they returned home to resume their career in France. When André-Jacques died in 1823, Jeanne retired from the ballooning life and passed the reins on to her niece, Elisa Garnerin. By the time Jeanne died in 1847 Elisa was celebrated across Europe for her own ballooning exploits, inspired by the aunt who had caused such a sensation!

The Story of the Montgolfiere Balloon

Joseph-Michel Montgolfier (Annonay, Ardèche, France, 26th August 1740 – Balaruc-les-Bains, France, 26th June 1810)
Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier (Annonay, Ardèche, France, 6th January 1745 – Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 2nd August 1799)

On the day she heard of the first hot air balloon flight, my old grandmother Gilflurt put on her heaviest shoes and declared that, if God had meant us to fly, he would have given us feathers somewhere other than on our hats. I'm not so sure I agree with that and to be honest, she is given to the odd bout of battiness anyway. Today we're celebrating the birthday of one half of the famed Montgolfier brothers so it's time to go back to France but without a guillotine in sight.

The brothers who would make their names in the air were born into down to earth surroundings, joining a family of papermakers and fourteen other siblings. From childhood the boys were like the faces of a coin, Joseph a creative dreamer and the younger Étienne a born businessman who eventually took over the family paper business. Under his management the firm went from strength to strength and the already considerable fortunes of the Montgolfiers were raised still further. He introduced new engineering innovations, winning praise from the government as the Montgolfier paper business was held up as an example of a model to French industry.

Whilst his brother was a practical man, Joseph often found his mind drifting in contemplation of some new invention or innovation, sometimes finding inspiration in the most unlikely places. Whilst watching washing drying above an open fire in 1777 he was fascinated by the way the linen was blown upwards, observing that wood chips were buoyed by the flames. He immediately began contemplating the uses for such a discovery and began conducting small experiments into the properties of heat.

Five years later he undertook his first serious experiments into the use of hot air for buoyancy, hoping that this new technology might be used to power airborne military assaults. He built a box with a roof and floor of cloth and found that, by lighting a fire beneath it, he could induce it to float. Joseph was incredibly excited by the results of his experiments and wrote of the gas he wrongly believed was contained in smoke, which he named Montgolfier gas. From small-scale beginnings the brothers conducted larger experiments and were able to replicate their successes.

Mindful that others might also be following a simple path, the brothers decided that they must make a public showing of their findings, settling on building a Montgolfiere balloon that was then flown at Annonay. The balloon was aloft for ten minutes and the brothers were invited to Paris to repeat the demonstration. However, the shy Joseph elected not to participate, leaving Étienne to perform the demonstration.

The brothers were the toast of the city and capitalised on their success by moving on to even greater things, constructing an ornate 37,500-cubic-foot balloon of sky blue. Although Louis XVI was all for sending up convicts on that first flight the brothers instead elected to load the basket with a sheep, a duck and a rooster. An excited crowd gathered at Versailles and witnessed as the first living beings took to the air, remaining aloft for almost ten minutes before making a safe landing.

Spurred on by this new success, Joseph and Étienne developed an even larger, far grander balloon decorated with royal symbolism. The ornate creation was first tested by Ètienne in a tethered flight but the first humans to fly in an untethered balloon were Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier (later the first man to die in a balloon accident) and François Laurent, marquis d'Arlandes. As the Montgolfiere balloon lifted into the air from the grounds of the Château de la Muette on 21st November 1783, a stunned crowd watched the men float high above Paris and out over the city walls before Pilâtre ended the flight, concerned by the way the fire was scorching the balloon. Despite this the people of France were thrilled and the merchandisers went to town feeding the public hunger from commemorative items, with the King bestowing honours on the Montgolfier family.

Hailed as national heroes, the two brothers were honoured by the French Académie des Sciences and became leading authorities in the French scientific community; today their names are forever linked with innovation in flight, not a bad legacy for two boys from Annonay.