The latter were running around crying and laughing; nobody tried to stop them.
In one corner, an ox was roasting on an enormous spit. Several men were busy turning it, and cutting large pieces of meat from it.
The orchestra had its place on a platform in another corner. The classical lutes and pipes had obviously been reinforced by a group with brass instruments in different sizes.
"Caspar," he heard someone shout. The high female voice didn't sound familiar, but when he looked in that direction, he could see Max had risen from her seat and waved frantically. He waved back, and then noticed her waving him to come nearer.
When he reached the big table in front of the Stadtschloss—perhaps a little larger than the others, but nevertheless the same kind of long wooden table with benches on both sides—he saw that the whole high society of West Thuringia had gathered here.
The duke and his women he already knew. The new superintendent with his wife had attended the mass in the morning. The Prime Minister, Conrad Grumbein, was sitting next to Senior Mayor Andreas Cotta talking eagerly.
"Caspar," now the duke had noticed him, too. "I'm glad you have made it. Sit down over there." He pointed to a young man at the other side of the table. "Certainly Caspar will move a little for Caspar." Then he laughed at his own joke.
Caspar eyed the young man quizzically.
"I'm Caspar Rebhan," the other said. "Substitut of the Superintendent. And you are?"
"Caspar Marx, parish priest. Catholic parish priest. Perhaps I should wear my soutane." They shook hands.
"Sorry, I should have recognized you, but I had a seat behind one of the columns in St. Nicolai this morning. I've heard much about you." He grinned.
Oh no, not the same story again.
"So you should tell stories today, I've not yet heard anything about you."
They sat down, and Caspar was soon provided with a mug of beer and a plate with meat and vegetables.
Two young men, both theologians, one of them Lutheran, the other Catholic, nevertheless both born Thuringians, had definitely enough topics to chat about while the party was progressing around them.
Suddenly Caspar heard some loud knocking sounds. Startled he looked around. On the platform he could see the landgravine of Hesse-Kassel, the duke's wife. Behind her the orchestra had disappeared and only three elderly people were standing there. She spoke into some contraption standing there which seemed to enlarge her voice's volume enormously.
"Liebe West-Thüringer," Christine began. "One or two of you might have already noticed that some years ago a strange group of people appeared some miles away from here."
The whole audience laughed. The appearance of the Americans had changed everything here.
"Perhaps one or two of you have noticed that these people had a big share in saving Eisenach from a Spanish invasion two years ago."
Loud applause started. Somebody shouted in English "Three cheers for the Americans. Hip-Hip-"
"Hurrah," was the answer thrice.
"And one or two of you might have heard that they and the Swedes have now defeated a Danish fleet in the Baltic and a French army in Northern Germany."
Another one shouted "Three cheers for the Emperor." And the ritual was repeated.
"But none of you have known until now, that my dear husband, today's birthday boy Johann Ernst . . ."
"Ein dreifach Hoch auf den Herzog! Johann Ernst, er lebe hoch-hoch-hoch!" And it seemed as if the scaffold at the new tower of St. Georgen was shaking. Not only thrice . . .
After the excitement had settled a little, she continued.
"None of you have known that he has developed a strange taste for American music in the last years. So for you alone—" her eyes met Johann's "—directly from Grantville. Here are The Old Folks."
Of course that was a name that not only one or two of the West Thuringians knew. Eisenach was within reach of the VOA, and the number of appearances of the folk music group on the radio could barely be counted.
So it was hardly surprising that the Germans even knew the English texts of the folk tunes and were enthusiastically singing along.
****
After a long program, Bucky Carpenter spoke into the microphone. "Danke schön. Thank you for your friendliness. Thank you for how you have welcomed us here. Our show is now coming to an end. But we have something waiting. Our birthday present for your duke and your home county."
Then he started playing well-known chords for a well-known song.
"Almost heaven," Ella Mae sang and suddenly stopped, shocking all the people who had already started singing along.
"Perhaps we should change that a little," she said.
Suddenly Max and Christine joined her at the microphone, sheets of paper in their hands. And suddenly similar sheets of paper were distributed all over the place. And Bucky started playing again.
Wie im Himmel, du mein Thüringen,
Von der Werra bis zur Saale,
Von der Schwarza bis hinauf zum Harz
Jünger als die Berge, mein geliebtes Land.
Thüringen, mein Zuhaus'
Meine Heimat, meine Freunde
Meine Seele, meine Liebe
Bring mich heim nach Thüringen.
Jagdschloss of the Duke of Sachsen-Eisenach, Marksuhl, Thuringia
That evening
The day was coming to an end. Johann had always enjoyed his birthdays, but this day had been perhaps a little too much.
At least he had gotten a fair amount of sleep on the way home in the new car. Smooth, silent, and very well-cushioned it was. Johann decided that the town of Marksuhl needed a real thank-you. So another barbeque next week would be appropriate. Hopefully not with that many surprises.
But back to the present. Christine and Max had announced a birthday surprise. In his sleeping room. Hmmm. So he made his way upstairs. He entered the room and found the two standing there. With obviously new sleepwear.
He cleared his throat. "May I ask—"
"Hey, it's your day," Christine answered and came nearer. "You may do everything today. And for your question: It's called a babydoll."
"But," Max interjected and hugged Johann around his waist. "There is another surprise. Turn around."
When Johann obeyed, he saw a new painting on the wall where his grandfather's portrait had hung before. It was lighted by an obviously newly-installed electrical spotlight. But he could not identify what it was.
It looked like a dark cave with two chambers, something in each of the chambers. But the picture was completely blurry. The painter had used light colors on black canvas and painted the area around the two chambers with dots and small dashes.
"Hmmm. Is that the new American painting style? What does it show?"
"In fact," Max said. "I strongly believe that this scene was never ever painted before. The Americans made only photos of this."
"So," Johann tilted his head to the left and to the right, but had not the slightest idea, what the subject of this scene was. "What is it?"
"Have you ever heard of ultrasound? Dr. Shipley took this photo and Michael Spindler painted it."
"Dr. Shipley? You mean—"
"Yes, this is a photo from within my belly."
"And that means—"
"Yes, we've made it, Papa."
"But—"
Now Christine approached and hugged him from the other side. "There is no 'but'. We've made it."
"But there are two . . ."
"I love clever men," Max said.
****
Author's Notes:
The Stadtschloss in Eisenach doesn't exist anymore. When Anna Sophie Charlotte von Brandenburg-Schwedt, the widow of the last duke of Eisenach Wilhelm Heinrich († 1741) was expelled (once again a Wettin died without heir) and deeply humiliated by the new owner of the duchy Ernst August von Sachsen-Weimar, she ordered to remove "everything up to the last nail" from the palace.
Ernst August got so angry that he ordered the immediate demoliti
on, leaving only the oldest part, the Creuznacherhaus standing.
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The Eichsfeld is (from a 1632-storyteller's view) a very interesting area in Northern Thuringia. It belonged to the Archbishop of Mainz and was completely Catholic, opposed to nearly all principalities around.
I couldn't find any mention apart from Iver's Introduction to Concrete in GG19. Thanks to its enormous limestone quarry, Deuna today has one of the biggest cement factories of Germany and the only one in Thuringia.
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The persons in the Parliament scene are (apart from Meister Steinmetz) historical.
Johannes Götz (or Götzius) was in fact Generalsuperintendent in Eisenach in 1634; his Substitut (deputy) at that time was the young Caspar Rebhan, son of the first General Superintendent Nikolaus Rebhan.
That very famous Lutheran—in Eisenach a street is still named after him—convinced the prudish Calvinist Christine of Hesse-Kassel in 1615 to refrain from demanding that babies should not be naked when baptized, and afterwards even persuaded her to officially convert to Lutheranism.
Götzius' successor in OTL after his death in 1636 was indeed Johann Wagner. And Wagner's successor in 1648 was Caspar Rebhan.
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Georg Burggraf von Kirchberg, Herr zu Farrenroda (or Farnroda = fern clearing) was one of the 101 members of Johann Ernst's entourage I mentioned in the comments to chapter 2.
His Wasserschloss burned down in 1620 together with half of the village. Burgrave Georg had enough money to have it immediately rebuilt. In 1950 a part of it again burned down. In the GDR they didn't invest in keeping it and so in the 1980s it was completely locked because of dilapidation. It was torn down in 1997.
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In the old timeline, Eisenach had no Catholic parish until 1840 and no Catholic parish church until 1888 when St. Elisabeth was built.
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Erfurt was a unique town in Thüringen. Together with its surroundings, it belonged to the Archbishop of Mainz. Since the Treaty of Hammelburg in 1530 the Lutherans and Catholics coexisted with more or less success.
The book 1632 notes that the coffers of the archbishop were plundered by Gustav II Adolph's troops after the battle of Breitenfeld. That was the day, when Caspar Heinrich Marx, newly elected dean of the Catholic theological faculty of the university in Erfurt, started to write a private "Diarium" (daily journal) to secure all information, if his official journal in the university should be seized by the Swedes.
He gathered evidence about everything that happened in Erfurt in the next years, first about the insolences the Swedes did to the Catholics, later about the problems they had with Lutheran officials.
Caspar Heinrich Marx was born in 1600 in Erfurt, son of an official of the Archbishop of Mainz with the same name. His father enrolled him for Erfurt University in 1607, but they didn't accept him, because the boy was not able to recite the requested oath.
The boy was then sent to Mainz, entered Societas Jesu at 16, and studied Philosophy and Theology in Mainz, finally reaching a bachelor of arts.
He returned to Erfurt, got his holy orders in 1625, and became "Kanonikus und Kantor" at St. Mary's, the cathedral of Erfurt. In 1629 he got his PhD in Erfurt, the first such title which was given from the university since the year 1500 (other sources say 1529).
As the custom was, he had to write not only one but three dissertations which were all considered worthy to be printed immediately.
On September 30, 1631, three days before Gustavus Adolphus himself reached the town, he was elected the new dean of the theological faculty, where he stayed until 1633.
The university was funded by Gustav II Adolph by assigning the income of all the estates in the vicinity of the town, which had belonged to the archbishop, to the city council under the precondition that the university should be "restored."
In 1633, after two years of constant quarrel between the Catholics and the Lutherans, Johannes Matthäus Meyfarth was appointed new dean of the theological faculty, which now turned Lutheran, and ordered Marx to return the "cistam theologicam cum pertinentiis" (trunk belonging to the faculty with the insignia).
Marx started a kind of psychological warfare to retain the trunk, which he saw as his own, because his family's coat of arms was painted on it. He opposed several tries of the university to get the trunk back, wrote letters to different persons, was not at home when the university's caretakers came, challenged the caretakers if they were authorized to seize the trunk by force, etc.
From early May up to July 5, 1633 he delayed the return, and wrote several letters of complaint afterwards.
With the peace treaty of Prague in 1635, Erfurt was restituted to the archbishop, who brought Marx back into his old position. But the Lutherans simultaneously elected a dean for themselves. So the first thing Marx did afterwards, was to write a letter to this other dean and demand the return of this trunk.
Nobody knows what other wars he would have fought in his intelligent and polite way, but unfortunately Caspar Heinrich Marx died on December 19, 1635 of plague.
In the new timeline Johannes Matthäus Meyfarth was not appointed the new dean, because according to 1634: The Ram Rebellion he was sent to Bamberg instead. There "Matz" found a new love and married in 1635.
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Another famous citizen of Eisenach is Conrad Grumbein. Born in 1568 in the village of Behringen near Eisenach, he studied law in Prague, and then worked as lawyer in Prague and Vienna. Later he returned to Eisenach and worked as notary.
In 1609 he joined the city council as "Viermann" (four-man).
The city council at that time had sixteen members divided into two "choruses" each one appointing successors for retired members. Each chorus in turn served as city government for one year. Each chorus had two leaders who served as senior and second mayors ("Bürgermeister" or "Ratsmeister") in this time. Two members served as treasurers ("Kämmerer"), one of these was the wine master. The next two were called "Konsul" and served as deputies for the mayors. The last two served as deputies for the treasurers.
Each year four additional members ("Vierleute") were elected by the citizens.
In 1614 Grumbein was appointed treasurer, and in 1628 he became senior mayor for the first time. He was the first non-Eisenacher at this position.
In the OTL he became senior mayor again seven times until 1649. He was also second mayor six times until 1654.
He is called the "Savior of Eisenach" for his deeds during the plague in 1635 when twenty percent of Eisenach's inhabitants (over 1,500 people) including his oldest son, died. And after the big fire in 1636 caused by a smoking Swedish soldier, when nearly the whole town including his home and the city hall with the archive was burned down.
He died in 1655 at the age of 97 years. His eulogy was held by his good friend Superintendent Caspar Rebhan.
****
The back-translation of the new anthem:
Almost heaven, you my Thuringia,
From the Werra to the Saale,
From the Schwarza up in the Harz,
Younger than the mountains, my beloved country.
Thuringia my home,
My home country, my friends,
My soul, my love,
Bring me home to Thuringia.
****
After a long search I found at least one well-known contemporary painter. Michael Spindler drew paintings of Johann-Ernst and Christine von Hessen-Kassel. OTL he died in 1639.
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Pictures of St. Nicolai and the old Stadtschloss from the book Bau-und Kunstdenkmäler Thüringens browsable online here.
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-Art Director's Note: Thank you to Rainer for providing the source art for this episode's illustrations. The license plate Rainer created (the blue-edged one) inspired the title banner. This issue's cover is based on the story's wooden Volkswagen, but I did use artists' license to give it a top. I happily drove a 1969 Beetle for fifteen years, a truly wonderful car.
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&nb
sp; To be continued . . .
Naval Armament and Armor, Part Three: Hitting the Target
Written by Iver P. Cooper
In part 1, I provided an overview of warships and their guns, and in part 2, I discussed how those guns were mounted, laid, sighted and fired, and what happens inside the bore. Here, I talk about what range and accuracy can be expected with seventeenth-century guns, and what the old time line teaches us about what the up-timers can do to improve on them.
Point-Blank Range
Standard practice for seventeenth-century naval warfare was to engage at point-blank range (or less). Point-blank range (PBR) is the furthest that the gun can be assumed to "shoot straight," that is, the range at which the average gunner will use zero elevation. Strictly speaking, it is the range at which the "drop off" equals the height of the muzzle above the water surface, so the projectile will still hit the target. Yes, that means that PBR should vary depending on which deck the gun is mounted on!
There is considerable disagreement as to the actual value. In 1834, Stevens (25) said from a frigate, PBR is 500 yards, and from a "battleship," 700, assuming that the guns are pointed by the "dispart sight at the hammock rails" of a frigate or larger target. In 1828, Beauchant estimated that the 18-, 24-, and 32-pounders, fired from the main deck of a frigate, had a point-blank range of 400 yards with a one-third charge, 300 with a one-quarter, and 250 with one-sixth. However, engagements were more typically at 100–200 yards.
Maximum Range
A range table for a gun lists, for each projectile and charge (or muzzle velocity) it typically uses, a series of ranges, and the angle of departure or elevation needed to achieve each range, given standard conditions. Modern range tables also provided the maximum ordinate (height), time of flight, drift, angle of fall, striking velocity, armor penetration, danger space for a target of standard height, and correction factors to use for non-standard projectile weight, air density, and muzzle velocity, and for wind, gun and target motion.
Simple range tables are available from sixteenth- and seventeenth-century artillerist manuals, but must be taken with great caution. It's quite doubtful that they were based on test firings, rather, just on imperfect recollection. With regard to the maximum ranges given by Luis Collado (1592) and all examined ranges given by Diego Prado y Tovar (1603), ballistics experts at Aberdeen Proving Grounds determined that muzzle velocities of about 6,000 fps would have been required. (Guilmartin 297).