Of heavy-sterned and clumsy river craft, we have an innumerable fleet.

There are also Torbay Trawlers, which are cutters of from twenty to fifty tons; and the herring-boats of Scotland; and cobbles, which are broad, bluff, little boats; and barges, which are broad, bluff, large ones; and skiffs, and scows, and many others.

In foreign lands many curious boats are to be met with. The most graceful of them, perhaps, are those which carry lateen sails—enormous triangular sails, of which kind each boat usually carries only one.

India-rubber boats there are, which can be inflated with a pair of bellows, and, when full, can support half-a-dozen men or more, while, when empty, they can be rolled up and carried on the back of one man, or in a barrow. One boat of this kind we once saw and paddled in. It was made in the form of a cloak, and could be carried quite easily on one's shoulders. When inflated, it formed a sort of oval canoe, which was quite capable of supporting one person. We speak from experience, having tried it some years ago on the Serpentine, and found it to be extremely buoyant, but a little given to spin round at each stroke of the paddle, owing to its circular shape and want of cut-water or keel.

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Of all the boats that swim, the lifeboat is certainly one of the most interesting; perhaps it is not too much to add that it is also one of the most useful. But this boat deserves a chapter to itself.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

LIFEBOATS AND LIGHTSHIPS.

When our noble Lifeboat Institution was in its infancy, a deed was performed by a young woman which at once illustrates the extreme danger to which those who attempt to rescue the shipwrecked must expose themselves, and the great need there was, thirty years ago, for some better provision than existed at that time for the defence of our extensive sea-board against the dire consequences of storm and wreck. It is not, we think, inappropriate to begin our chapter on lifeboats with a brief account of the heroic deed of:—

GRACE DARLING.

There are not many women who, like Joan of Arc, put forth their hands to the work peculiarly belonging to the male sex, and achieve for themselves undying fame. And among these there are very few indeed who, in thus quitting their natural sphere and assuming masculine duties, retain their feminine modesty and gentleness.

Such a one, however, was Grace Darling. She did not, indeed, altogether quit her station and follow a course peculiar to the male sex; but she did once seize the oar and launch fearlessly upon the raging sea, and perform a deed which strong and daring men might have been proud of— which drew forth the wondering admiration of her country, and has rendered her name indissolubly connected with the annals of heroic daring in the saving of human life from vessels wrecked upon our rock-bound shores.

Grace Darling was born in November 1815, at Bamborough, on the Northumberland coast. Her father was keeper of the lighthouse on the Longstone, one of the Farne Islands lying off that coast; and here, on a mere bit of rock surrounded by the ocean, and often by the howling tempests and the foaming breakers of that dangerous spot, our heroine spent the greater part of her life, cut off almost totally from the joys and pursuits of the busy world. She and her mother managed the domestic economy of the lighthouse on the little islet, while her father trimmed the lantern that sent a blaze of friendly light to warn mariners off that dangerous coast.

In personal appearance Grace Darling is described as having been fair and comely, with a gentle, modest expression of countenance; about the middle size; and with nothing in the least degree masculine about her. She had reached her twenty-second year when the wreck took place in connection with which her name has become famous.

The Farne Islands are peculiarly dangerous. The sea rushes with tremendous force between the smaller islands, and, despite the warning light, wrecks occasionally take place among them. In days of old, when men had neither heart nor head to erect lighthouses for the protection of their fellows, many a noble ship must have been dashed to pieces there, and many an awful shriek must have mingled with the hoarse roar of the surf round these rent and weatherworn rocks.

A gentleman who visited the Longstone rock in 1838, describes it thus:—

"It was, like the rest of these desolate isles, all of dark whinstone, cracked in every direction, and worn with the action of winds, waves, and tempests since the world began. Over the greater part of it was not a blade of grass, nor a grain of earth; it was bare and iron-like stone, crusted, round all the coast as far as high-water mark, with limpet and still smaller shells. We ascended wrinkled hills of black stone, and descended into worn and dismal dells of the same; into some of which, where the tide got entrance, it came pouring and roaring in raging whiteness, and churning the loose fragments of whinstone into round pebbles, and piling them up in deep crevices with seaweeds, like great round ropes and heaps of fucus. Over our heads screamed hundreds of hovering birds, the gull mingling its hideous laughter most wildly."

One wild and stormy night in September 1838—such a night as induces those on land to draw closer round the fire, and offer up, perchance, a silent prayer for those who are at sea—a steamer was battling, at disadvantage with the billows, off Saint Abb's Head. She was the Forfarshire, a steamer of three hundred tons, under command of Mr John Humble; and had started from Hull for Dundee with a valuable cargo, a crew of twenty-one men, and forty-one passengers.

It was a fearful night. The storm raged furiously, and would have tried the qualities of even a stout vessel; but this one was in very bad repair, and her boilers were in such a state that the engines soon became entirely useless, and at last they ceased to work. We cannot conceive the danger of a steamer left thus comparatively helpless in a furious storm and dark night off a dangerous coast.

In a short time the vessel became quite unmanageable, and drifted with the direction of the tide, no one knew whither. Soon the terrible cry arose, "Breakers to leeward," and immediately after the Farne lights became visible. A despairing attempt was now made by the captain to run the ship between the islands and the mainland; but in this he failed, and about three o'clock she struck heavily on a rock bow foremost.

The scene of consternation that followed is indescribable. Immediately one of the boats was lowered, and with a freight of terror-stricken people pushed off, but not before one or two persons had fallen into the sea and perished in their vain attempts to get into it. This party in the boat, nine in number, survived the storm of that awful night, and were picked up the following morning by a Montrose sloop. Of those left in the ill-fated ship some remained in the after-part; a few stationed themselves near the bow, thinking it the safest spot. The captain stood helpless, his wife clinging to him, while several other females gave vent to their agony of despair in fearful cries.

Meanwhile the waves dashed the vessel again and again on the rock, and at last a larger billow than the rest lifted her up and let her fall down upon its sharp edge. The effect was tremendous and instantaneous; the vessel was literally broken in two pieces, and the after-part, with the greater number of the passengers in the cabin, was swept away through the Fifa Gut, a tremendous current which is considered dangerous even in good weather. Among those who thus perished were the captain and his wife. The forepart of the steamer, with the few who had happily taken refuge upon it, remained fast on the rock. Here eight or nine of the passengers and crew clung to the windlass, and a woman named Sarah Dawson, with her two little children, lay huddled together in a corner of the fore-cabin, exposed to the fury of winds and waves all the remainder of that dreadful night. For hours each returning wave carried a thrill of terror to their hearts; for the shattered wreck reeled before every shock, and it seemed as if it would certainly be swept away into the churning foam before daybreak.

But daylight came at last, and the survivors on the wreck began to sweep the dim horizon with straining eyeballs as a faint hope at last began to arise in their bosoms. Nor were these trembling hopes doomed to disappointment. At the eleventh hour God in his mercy sent deliverance. Through the glimmering dawn and the driving spray the lighthouse-keeper's daughter from the lonely watch-tower descried the wreck, which was about a mile distant from the Longstone. From the mainland, too, they were observed; and crowds of people lined the shore and gazed upon the distant speck, to which, by the aid of telescopes, the survivors were seen clinging with the tenacity of despair.

But no boat could live in that raging sea, which still lashed madly against the riven rocks, although the violence of the storm had begun to abate. An offer of 5 pounds by the steward of Bamborough Castle failed to tempt a crew of men to launch their boat. One daring heart and willing hand was there, however. Grace Darling, fired with an intense desire to save the perishing ones, urged her father to launch their little boat. At first he held back. There was no one at the lighthouse except himself, his wife, and his daughter. What could such a crew do in a little open boat in so wild a sea? He knew the extreme peril they should encounter better than his daughter, and very naturally hesitated to run so great a risk. For, besides the danger of swamping, and the comparatively weak arm of an inexperienced woman at the oar, the passage from the Longstone to the wreck could only be accomplished with the ebb-tide; so that unless the exhausted survivors should prove to be able to lend their aid, they could not pull back again to the lighthouse.

But the earnest importunities of the heroic girl were not to be resisted. Her father at last consented, and the little boat pushed off with the man and the young woman for its crew. It may be imagined with what a thrill of joy and hope the people on the wreck beheld the boat dancing an the crested waves towards them; and how great must have been the surprise that mingled with their other feelings on observing that one of the rowers was a woman!

They gained the rock in safety; but here their danger was increased ten-fold, and it was only by the exertion of great muscular power, coupled with resolute courage, that they prevented the boat being dashed to pieces against the rock.

One by one the sufferers were got into the boat. Sarah Dawson was found lying in the fore-cabin with a spark of life still trembling in her bosom, and she still clasped her two little ones in her arms, but the spirits of both had fled to Him who gave them. With great difficulty the boat was rowed back to the Longstone, and the rescued crew landed in safety. Here, owing to the violence of the sea, they were detained for nearly three days, along with a boat's crew which had put off to their relief from North Sunderland; and it required some ingenuity to accommodate so large a party within the narrow limits of a lighthouse. Grace gave up her bed to poor Mrs Dawson; most of the others rested as they best could upon the floor.

The romantic circumstances of this rescue, the isolated position of the girl, her youth and modesty, and the self-devoting heroism displayed upon this occasion, thrilled through the length and breadth of the country like an electric shock, and the name of Grace Darling became for the time as well known as that of the greatest in the land, while the lonely lighthouse on the Longstone became a point of attraction to thousands of warm admirers, among whom were many of the rich and the noble. Letters and gifts flowed in upon Grace Darling continually. The public seemed unable to do enough to testify their regard. The Duke of Northumberland invited her over to Alnwick Castle, and presented her with a gold watch. A public subscription, to the amount of 700 pounds, was raised for her. The Humane Society presented her with a handsome silver tea-pot and a vote of thanks for her courage and humanity. Portraits of her were sold in the print-shops all over the land; and the enthusiasm, which at first was the natural impulse of admiration for one who had performed a noble and heroic deed, at last rose to a species of mania, in the heat of which not a few absurdities were perpetrated.

Among others, several of the proprietors of the metropolitan theatres offered her a large sum nightly on condition that she would appear on the stage, merely to sit in a boat during the performance of a piece illustrative of the incident of which she was the heroine! As might have been expected of one whose spirit was truly noble, she promptly declined all such offers. God seems to have put his arm tenderly round Grace Darling, and afforded her special strength to resist the severe temptations to which she was exposed.

All proposals to better her condition were rejected, and she returned to her home on the island rock, where she remained with her father and mother till within a few months of her death. The fell destroyer, alas! claimed her while yet in the bloom of womanhood. She died of consumption on the 20th of October 1842, leaving an example of self-devoting courage in the hour of danger, and self-denying heroism in the hour of temptation, that may well be admired and imitated by those whose duty it is to man the lifeboat and launch to the rescue on the stormy waves, in all time to come.

LIFEBOATS.

A lifeboat—that is to say, the lifeboat of the present time—differs from all other boats in four particulars. It is almost indestructible; it is insubmergible; it is self-righting; it is self-emptying. In other words, it can hardly be destroyed; it cannot be sunk; it rights itself if upset; it empties itself if filled.

The first of these qualities is due to the unusual strength of the lifeboat, not only in reference to the excellence of the materials with which it is made, but also to the manner in which the planks are laid on. These cross one another in a diagonal manner, which cannot be easily described or explained to ordinary readers; but it is sufficient to say that the method has the effect of binding the entire boat together in a way that renders it much stronger than any other species of craft. The second quality—that of insubmergibility—is due to air-chambers fixed round the sides of the boat, under the seats, and at the bow and stern. These air-cases are sufficiently buoyant to float the boat even if she were filled to overflowing with water and crowded to her utmost capacity with human beings. In short, to use an expression which may appear paradoxical, she can carry more than she can hold—has floating power sufficient to support more than can be got into her. The third—her self-righting quality—is also due to air-chambers, in connection with a heavy keel. There are two large and prominent air-cases in the lifeboat—one in the bow, the other in the stern. These rise considerably above the gunwale, insomuch that when the boat is turned upside-down it rests upon them as upon two pivots. Of course it cannot remain stationary on them for a moment, but must necessarily fall over to the one side or the other. This is the first motion in self-righting; then the heavy keel comes into play, and pulls the boat quite round. Being full of water, the lifeboat would be comparatively useless but for its fourth quality—that of self-emptying. This is accomplished by means of six large holes which run through the floor and bottom of the boat. The floor referred to is air-tight, and is so placed that when fully manned and loaded with passengers it is a very little above the level of the sea. On this fact the acting of the principle depends. Between the floor and the bottom of the boat—a space of upwards of a foot in depth—there is some light ballast of cork or of wood, and some parts of the space are left empty. The six holes above-mentioned are tubes of six inches in diameter, which extend from the floor through the bottom of the boat. Now, it is one of nature's laws that water must find its level. For instance, take any boat and bore large holes in its bottom, and suppose it to be supported in its ordinary floating position, so that it cannot sink even though water runs freely into it through the holes. Then fill it suddenly quite full of water. Of course the water inside will be considerably above the level of the water outside, but it will continue to run out at the holes until it is exactly on a level with the water outside. Now, water poured into a lifeboat acts exactly in the same way; but when it has reached the level of the water outside it has also reached the floor, so that there is no more water to run out.

Such are the principal qualities of the splendid lifeboat now used on our coasts, and of which it may be said that it has reached a state of almost absolute perfection.

The accompanying sections of the lifeboat exhibit the position of the air-cases and discharging tubes. In Figure 1 the shaded parts give a side view of the air-cases. The line A A indicates the deck or floor, which lies a little above the level of the water when the boat is loaded; B B is the water-tight space containing ballast; C C C are three of the six discharging holes or tubes; the dotted line D D shows the level of the sea. Figure 2 gives a bird's-eye view of the boat. The shaded parts indicate the air-cases; and the position of the six discharging tubes is more clearly shown than in Figure 1. There are three covered openings in the floor, which permit of a free circulation of air when the boat is not in use, and in one of these is a small pump to clear the ballast-space of leakage. It will be observed that the boat draws little water; in fact, there is much more of her above than below water, and she is dependent for stability on her great breadth of beam and her heavy keel.

These four qualities in the lifeboat are illustrated every year by many thrilling incidents of wreck and rescue. Let us glance at a few of these. First, then, as to the almost indestructible quality. Take the following evidence:—

On a terrible night in the year 1857 a Portuguese brig struck on the Goodwin Sands, not far from the lightship that marks the northern extremity of those fatal shoals. A shot was fired, and a rocket sent up from the lightship as a signal to the men on shore that a vessel had got upon the sands. No second signal was needed. Anxious eyes had been on the watch that night. Instantly the Ramsgate men jumped into their lifeboat, which lay alongside the pier. It was deadly work that had to be done,—the gale was one of the fiercest of the season,—nevertheless the gallant men were so eager to get into the boat that it was overmanned, and the last two who jumped in were obliged to go ashore. A small but powerful steamer is kept to attend upon this boat. In a few minutes it took her in tow and made for the mouth of the harbour.

They staggered out right in the teeth of tide and tempest, and ploughed their way through a heavy cross-sea that swept again and again over them, until they reached the edge of the Goodwins. Here the steamer cast off the boat, and waited for her, while she dashed into the surf and bore the brunt of the battle alone.

With difficulty the brig was found in the darkness. The lifeboat cast anchor when within about forty fathoms, and veered down under her lee. At first they were in hopes of getting the vessel off, and hours were spent in vain endeavours to do this. But the storm increased in fury; the brig began to break up; she rolled from side to side, and the yards swung wildly in the air. A blow from one of these yards would have stove the boat in, so the Portuguese crew—twelve men and a boy—were taken from the wreck, and the boatmen endeavoured to push off. All this time the boat had been floating in a basin worked in the sand by the motion of the wreck; but the tide had been falling, and when they tried to pull up to their anchor the boat struck heavily on the edge of this basin. The men worked to get off the shoals as only those can work whose lives depend on their efforts. They succeeded in getting afloat for a moment, but again struck and remained fast. Meanwhile the brig was lifted by each wave and let fall with a thundering crash; her timbers began to snap like pipe-stems, and as she worked nearer and nearer, it became evident that destruction was not far off. The heavy seas caused by the increasing storm flew over the lifeboat, so that those in her could only hold on to the thwarts for their lives. At last the brig came so near that there was a stir among the men; they were preparing for the last struggle—some of them intending to leap into the rigging of the wreck and take their chance; but the coxswain shouted, "Stick to the boat, boys! stick to the boat!" and the men obeyed.

At that moment the boat lifted a little on the surf, and grounded again. New hope was infused by this.

The men pulled at the hawser, and shoved might and main with the oars. They succeeded in getting out of immediate danger, but still could not pull up to the anchor in teeth of wind and tide. The coxswain then saw plainly that there was but one resource left—to cut the cable and drive right across the Goodwin Sands. But there was not yet sufficient water on the Sands to float them over; so they held on, intending to ride at anchor until the tide, which had turned, should rise. Very soon, however, the anchor began to drag. This compelled them to hoist sail, cut the cable sooner than they had intended, and attempt to beat off the Sands. It was in vain. A moment more, and they struck with tremendous force. A breaker came rolling towards them, filled the boat, caught her up like a plaything on its crest, and, hurling her a few yards onwards, let her fall again with a shock that well-nigh tore every man out of her. Each successive breaker treated her in this way.

Those who dwell by the sea-shore know well the familiar ripples that mark the sands when the tide is out. On the Goodwins these ripples are gigantic steps, to be measured by feet, not by inches. From one to another of these banks this splendid boat was thrown. Each roaring surf caught it by the bow or stern, and, whirling it right round, sent it crashing on the next ledge. The Portuguese sailors appeared to give up all hope, and clung to the thwarts in silent despair; but the crew— eighteen in number—did not lose heart altogether. They knew their boat well, had often gone out to battle in her, and hoped that they might yet be saved if she should only escape striking on the pieces of old wrecks with which the Sands were strewn.

Thus, literally, yard by yard, with a succession of shocks that would have knocked any ordinary boat to pieces, did that lifeboat drive during two hours over two miles of the Goodwin Sands. At last they drove into deep water; the sails were set; and soon after, through God's mercy, they landed the rescued crew in safety in Ramsgate Harbour.

What further evidence need we that the lifeboat is almost, if not altogether, indestructible?

That the lifeboat is insubmergible has been proved to some extent by the foregoing incident. No better instance could be adduced to prove the buoyancy of the life boat than that of the Tynemouth boat, named the Constance, at the wreck of the Stanley, in the year 1864. In this case, while the boat was nearing the wreck, a billow broke over the bow of the Stanley, and falling into the Constance, absolutely overwhelmed her. Referring to this, the coxswain of the lifeboat says: "The sea fell over the bows of the Stanley and buried the lifeboat. Every oar was broken at the gunwale of the boat, and the outer ends swept away. The men made a grasp for the spare oars; three were gone—two only remained." Now, it is to be observed that the coxswain here speaks of the boat as being buried, sunk by the waves, and immediately, as he says, "the men made a grasp for the spare oars." The sinking and leaping to the surface seem to have been the work almost of the same moment. And this is indeed the case; for when the force that sinks a lifeboat is removed, she rises that instant to the surface like a cork.

In order to prove the value of the self-righting quality, and the superiority of those lifeboats which possess it over those which are destitute of it, we will briefly cite three cases—the last of which will also prove the value of the self-emptying quality.

On the 4th of January 1857, the Point of Ayr lifeboat, when under sail in a gale, upset at a distance from land. The accident was seen from the shore; but no help could be rendered, and the whole boat's crew— thirteen in number—were drowned. Now, this was deemed a good lifeboat, but it was not a self-righting one; and two of her crew were seen clinging to the keel for twenty minutes, by which time they became exhausted and were washed off.

Take another case of a non-self-righting boat. In February 1858 the Southwold lifeboat, a large sailing-boat, and esteemed one of the finest in the kingdom, went out at the quarterly period of exercise in rough weather, and was running before a heavy sea with all sail set when she suddenly ran on the top of a wave, broached to, and upset. The crew in this case were fortunately near the land, had on their cork belts, and were dragged ashore, though with difficulty; but three amateurs, who were without belts, perished.

These two cases occurred in the day-time.

The third case happened at night—on a very dark stormy night in October 1858. A wreck had been seen about three miles off Dungeness, and the lifeboat at that place—a small self-righting and self-emptying one belonging to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution—put off, with eight stout men of the coast-guard for a crew. On reaching the wreck, soon after midnight, it was found that the crew had deserted her; the lifeboat therefore returned towards the shore. On nearing it she got into a channel between two shoals, where she was caught up and struck by three heavy seas in succession. The coxswain lost command of the rudder; she was carried away before the sea, broached to, and upset, throwing her crew out of her. Immediately she righted herself, cleared herself of water, and the anchor, having fallen out, brought her up. The crew, meanwhile, having on cork belts, floated, regained the boat, clambered into it by means of the life-lines hung round her sides, cut the cable, and returned to shore in safety.

So much for the nature and capabilities of our lifeboats. We cannot afford space to say more in regard to them than that they are the means, under God, of saving many hundreds of human lives every year on the coasts of the United Kingdom, besides a large amount of shipping and property, which, but for them, would inevitably be lost. The noble Institution which manages them was founded in 1824, and is supported entirely by voluntary contributions.

Along with the lifeboat we may appropriately describe here another species of vessel, which, if it does not directly rescue lives, at all events prevents disaster by giving timely warning of danger. We refer to:—

LIGHTSHIPS.

These floating beacons are anchored in the immediate vicinity of the numerous sand-banks which lie off the mouths of some of the principal ports of the kingdom, especially in England, and on other parts of our shores. There are numerous floating lights around our coasts, marking shoals on which lighthouses could not easily be erected. Their importance to shipping is inconceivably great. The accompanying illustration shows a vessel passing the lightship at the Nore. The impossibility of shipping getting safely into or out of the port of London without the guiding aid of lightships, as well as of buoys and beacons, may be made clear by a simple statement of the names of some of the obstructions which lie in the mouth of the Thames. There are the Knock Shoals, the East and West Barrows, the John, the Sunk, the Girdler, and the Long Sands, all lying like so many ground sharks waiting to arrest and swallow up passing vessels, which, unfortunately, they too often accomplish despite the numerous precautions taken to rob them of their prey. Most people know the appearance of buoys, but we dare say few have seen a buoy or beacon resembling the one in our engraving, which is a sort of cage, fastened to a buoy, with a bell inside that rings by the action of the waves. It must have been something of this sort that was used at the famous "Bell Rock" in days of yore.

Lightships are usually clumsy-looking, red-painted vessels, having one strong mast amidships, with a ball at the top, about six feet in diameter, made of light laths. This ball is a very conspicuous object, and clearly indicates a lightship to the passing vessel during the day. At night a huge lantern traverses on, and is hoisted to nearly the top of, the same mast. It is lighted by a number of argand lamps with powerful reflectors. Some lightships have two masts, and some three, with a ball and a lantern on each. Some of these lanterns contain fixed, others revolving lights—these differences being for the purpose of indicating to seamen the particular light which they happen to be passing.

Thus, the Goodwin Sands, which are upwards of ten miles in length, are marked by three lightships. The one on the north has three masts and three fixed lights. The one on the south has two masts and two fixed lights. The one that lies between the two—off Ramsgate, and named the Gull—has one mast and one revolving light.

The crew of a lightship consists of about nine or ten men, each of whom does duty for two months on board, and one month on shore, taking their turn by rotation; so that the number of men always on board is about seven. While on shore, they attend to the buoys, anchors, chain-cables, and other stores of the Trinity House, which has charge of all the lights, buoys, and beacons in England. They also assist in laying down new buoys and sinkers, and removing old ones, etcetera.

Lightships run considerable risk, for besides being exposed at all times to all the storms that rage on our shores, they are sometimes run into by ships in foggy weather.

The Gull lightship, above referred to, occupies a peculiar and interesting position. Being in the very centre of all the shipping which passes through the Downs, she has frequent narrow escapes, and has several times been damaged by collisions. The marvel is that, considering her position, she does not oftener "come to grief." She also signals for the Ramsgate lifeboat, by means of guns and rockets, when a ship is observed by her crew to have got upon the dreaded Goodwin Sands.

We had the pleasure of spending a week on board of the Gull lightship not long ago, and one night witnessed a very stirring scene of calling out the lifeboat. We shall conclude this subject by quoting the following letter, which we wrote at the time, giving a detailed account of it.

RAMSGATE, MARCH 26, 1870. The eye-witness of a battle from an unusual point of view may, without presumption, believe that he has something interesting to tell. I therefore send you an account of what I saw in the Gull lightship, off the Goodwin Sands, on the night of Thursday last, when the Germania, of Bremen, was wrecked on the South-Sand-Head. Having been an inhabitant of the Gull lightship for a week, and cut off from communication with the shore for several days, I have been unable to write sooner.

Our never-ending warfare with the storm is well known. Here is one specimen of the manner in which it is carried on.

A little before midnight on Thursday last (the 24th), while I was rolling uneasily in my "bunk," contending with sleep and sea-sickness, and moralising on the madness of those who choose "the sea" for a profession, I was roused—and sickness instantly cured—by the watch on deck suddenly shouting down the hatchway to the mate, "South-Sand-Head light is firing, sir, and sending up rockets." The mate sprang from his "bunk," and was on the cabin floor before the sentence was well finished. I followed suit, and pulled on coat, nether garments, and shoes, as if my life depended on my own speed. There was unusual need for clothing, for the night was bitterly cold. A coat of ice had formed even on the salt-water spray which had blown into the boats. On gaining the deck, we found the two men on duty actively at work, the one loading the lee gun, the other adjusting a rocket to its stick. A few hurried questions from the mate elicited all that it was needful to know. The flash of a gun from the South-Sand-Head lightship, about six miles distant, had been seen, followed by a rocket, indicating that a vessel had got upon the fatal Goodwins. While the men spoke, I saw the bright flash of another gun, but heard no report, owing to the gale carrying the sound to leeward. A rocket followed, and at the same moment we observed the light of the vessel in distress just on the southern tail of the Sands. By this time our gun was charged, and the rocket in position. "Look alive, Jack! get the poker," cried the mate, as he primed the gun. Jack dived down the companion hatch, and in another moment returned with a red-hot poker, which the mate had thrust into the cabin fire at the first alarm. Jack applied it in quick succession to the gun and the rocket. A blinding flash and deafening crash were followed by the whiz of the rocket as it sprang with a magnificent curve far away into the surrounding darkness. This was our answer to the South-Sand-Head light, which, having fired three guns and three rockets to attract our attention, now ceased firing. It was also our note of warning to the look-out on the pier of Ramsgate Harbour. "That's a beauty," said our mate, referring to the rocket; "get up another, Jack; sponge her well out. Jacobs, we'll give 'em another shot in a few minutes." Loud and clear were both our signals; but four and a half miles of distance and a fresh gale neutralised their influence. The look-out did not see them. In less than five minutes the gun and rocket were fired again. Still no answering signal came from Ramsgate. "Load the weather gun," said the mate. Jacobs obeyed; and I sought shelter under the lee of the weather bulwarks, for the wind appeared to be composed of pen-knives and needles. Our third gun thundered forth, and shook the lightship from stem to stern; but the rocket struck the rigging, and made a low, wavering flight. Another was therefore sent up; but it had scarcely cut its bright line across the sky, when we observed the answering signal—a rocket from Ramsgate Pier.

"That's all right now, sir; our work is done," said the mate, as he went below, and, divesting himself of his outer garments, quietly turned in; while the watch, having sponged out and re-covered the gun, resumed their active perambulation of the deck. I confess that I felt somewhat disappointed at this sudden termination of the noise and excitement. I was told that the Ramsgate lifeboat could not well be out in less than an hour. It seemed to my excited spirit a terrible thing that human lives should be kept so long in jeopardy; and, of course, I began to think, "Is it not possible to prevent this delay?" But excited spirits are not always the best judges of such matters, although they have an irresistible tendency to judge. There was nothing for it, however, but patience; so I turned in, "all standing," as sailors have it, with orders that I should be called when the lights of the tug should come in sight. It seemed but a few minutes after, when the voice of the watch was again heard shouting hastily, "Lifeboat close alongside, sir. Didn't see it till this moment. She carries no lights." I bounced out, and, minus coat, hat, and shoes, scrambled on deck, just in time to see the Broadstairs lifeboat rush past us before the gale. She was close under our stern, and rendered spectrally visible by the light of our lantern. "What are you firing for?" shouted the coxswain of the boat. "Ship on the sands, bearing south," replied Jack at the full pitch of his stentorian voice. The boat did not pause. It passed with a magnificent rush into darkness. The reply had been heard; and the lifeboat shot straight as an arrow to the rescue. We often hear and read of such scenes, but vision is necessary to enable one to realise the full import of all that goes on. A strange thrill ran through me as I saw the familiar blue and white boat leaping over the foaming billows. Often had I seen it in model, and in quiescence in its boat-house— ponderous and ungainly; but now I saw it, for the first time, endued with life. So, I fancy, warriors might speak of our heavy cavalry as we see them in barracks, and as they saw them at Alma. Again all was silent and unexciting on board of the Gull. I went shivering below, with exalted notions of the courage and endurance of lifeboat men. Soon after, the watch once more shouted, "Tug's in sight, sir;" and once again the mate and I went on deck. On this occasion, the tug Aid had made a mistake. Some one on shore had reported that the guns and rockets had been seen flashing from the Gull and North-Sand-Head lightships; whereas the report should have been, from the Gull and South-Sand-Head vessels. The single word was all-important. It involved an unnecessary run of about twelve miles, and an hour and a half's loss of time. But we mention this merely as a fact, not as a complaint. Accidents will happen. The Ramsgate lifeboat service is admirably regulated, and for once that an error of this kind can be pointed out, we can point to dozens—ay, hundreds—of cases in which the steamer and lifeboat have gone straight as the crow flies to the rescue, and have done good service on occasions when all other lifeboats would have failed, so great is the value of steam in such matters. On this occasion, however, the tug appeared late on the scene, and hailed us. When the true state of the case was ascertained, the course was directed aright, and full steam let on. The Ramsgate lifeboat, Bradford, was in tow far astern. As she passed us the brief questions and answers were repeated for the benefit of the coxswain of the boat. I observed that every man in the boat lay flat on the thwarts except the coxswain. No wonder. It is not an easy matter to sit up in a gale of wind, with freezing spray, and sometimes green seas, sweeping over one. They were, doubtless, wide awake, and listening; but, as far as vision went, that boat was manned with ten oilskin coats and sou'-westers. A few seconds took them out of sight; and thus, as far as the Gull lightship was concerned, the drama ended. There was no possibility of our ascertaining more, at least during that night; for whatever might be the result of these efforts, the floating lights had no chance of hearing of them until the next visit of their tender. I was therefore obliged to turn in once more, at three a.m. Next forenoon we saw the wreck, bottom up, high on the Goodwin Sands.

On Friday morning, the Alert—tender to the lightships of this district, under command of the Trinity Superintendent, Captain Vaile— came off to us, and we learned the name of the vessel, that she was a total wreck, and that the crew, seven men, had taken to their boat, and succeeded in reaching the South-Sand-Head lightship, whence they were almost immediately after taken by the Deal lifeboat, and safely landed at Deal.

It is to be carefully observed here that, although in this case much energy was expended unnecessarily, it does not follow that it is often so expended. Often—too often—all the force of lifeboat service on this coast is insufficient to meet the demands on it. The crews of the various boats in the vicinity of the Goodwin Sands are frequently called out more than once in a night; and they are sometimes out all night, visiting various wrecks in succession. In all this work the value of the steam-tug is very conspicuous. For it can tow its boat again and again to windward, and renew the effort to save life in cases where, unaided, lifeboats would be compelled to give in. Embarking in the Alert, I sailed round the wreck at low water, and observed that the Deal luggers were swarming round her like flies; the crews stripping her bottom of copper, and saving her stores, while, apparently, hundreds of men were busy upon her deck dismantling her shattered hull.

This, after all, is but an insignificant episode of wreck on the Goodwins. Many wrecks there are every year much more worthy of record; but this is sufficient to give a general idea of the manner in which our great war with the storm is conducted—the promptitude with which relief is rendered, and the energy with which our brave seamen are ready to imperil their lives almost every night, all round the coast, and all the year round.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

DOCKS AND SHIPBUILDING.

Having in the previous chapters treated of the subjects of ancient navigation and ships, and given some account of the boats of the present time, we now proceed to write about modern ships. In doing so, let us turn our attention first to:—

THE DOCKYARD.

If we were a maker of riddles, we would ask our reader, "Why is a ship like a human being?" and having added, "D'ye give it up?" would reply, "Because it commences life in a cradle;" but not being a fabricator of riddles, we don't ask our reader that question. We merely draw his attention to the fact that ships, like men, have not only an infancy, but also have cradles—of which more hereafter.

Let us enter one of those naval nurseries—the dockyard—where ships may be seen commencing their career. What a scene it is! What sawing and thumping, and filing, and grinding, and clinching, and hammering, without intermission, from morn till noon, and from noon till dewy eve! What a Babel of sounds and chaos of indescribable material!

That little boy whom you observe standing under the shadow of yonder hull—his hands in his pockets (of course), his mouth open (probably), and his eyes gazing up fixedly at the workmen, who cluster like bees on the ribs and timbers of yonder infant ship has stood there for more than an hour, and he will stand there, or thereabout, for many hours to come; for it happens to be a holiday with him, and he dotes on harbours and dockyards. His whole being is wrapped up in them.

And this is natural enough. Most boys delight to gaze on incomprehensible and stupendous works. Let us—you and I, reader— follow this urchin's example, keeping our mouths shut, however, save when we mean to speak, and our eyes open.

There are ships here of every shape and size—from the little coasting-vessel to the great East Indiaman, which, in its unfinished condition, looks like the skeleton of some dire megatherium of the antediluvian world. Some of these infant ships have an enormous shed over them to protect them from the weather; others are destitute of such protection: for ships, like men, it would seem, are liable to vicissitudes of fortune. While the "great ones" of the dockyard world are comfortably housed, the small ones are not unfrequently exposed to the fitful buffeting of the rude elements even from their birth.

There are ships here, too, in every state of progression. There, just beside you, is a "little one" that was born yesterday. The keel has just been laid on the blocks; and it will take many a long day of clinching and sawing and hammering ere that infant assumes the bristling appearance of an antediluvian skeleton. Yonder is the hull of a ship almost completed. It is a gigantic infant, and has the aspect of a very thriving child. It evidently has a robust constitution and a sturdy frame. Perhaps we may re-visit the dockyard to-morrow, and see this vessel launched.

Besides these two, there are ships with their ribs partially up, and ships with their planking partially on; and in a more distant part of the yard there are one or two old ships hauled up, high and dry, to have their bottoms repaired and their seams re-pitched, after many a rough and bravely-fought battle with the ocean waves.

Now that we have gazed our fill at the general aspect of the dockyard, let us descend a little more to particulars. We shall first tell of the:—

NATURE AND USE OF DOCKS.

There are two kinds of docks—dry and wet. A dry-dock is usually constructed with gates, to admit or shut out the tide. When a ship arrives from a long voyage, and needs repair to the lower part of her hull, she must be got out of the water somehow or other.

This object is frequently attained in regard to small vessels by simply running them gently on the flat sand or mud beach of a bay or harbour, so that, when the tide retires, they shall be left dry. But it would be dangerous as well as inconvenient to do this with large ships, therefore dry-docks have been constructed for this purpose. They are so built that when the tide is full the dry-docks are also full. When thus full of water, the gates of a dry-dock are opened, and the large ship is dragged slowly in, after which the gates are shut. The tide then retires, leaving it in this basin of water. The ship is then propped up on all sides with timbers, in such a way that she stands upright, "upon an even keel," and thus, the pressure on her hull being equally distributed, she is not damaged. Then the water is let out by means of sluices in the gates, or it is pumped out, and the ship left dry. When the tide returns, the gates and sluices are all shut, and its entrance into the dock prevented, until such time as the ship is repaired, when water is let slowly in. As the vessel floats, the props and supports fall away, the gates of her hospital are opened, and off she goes again, in all the vigour of recruited health, to wing her way over the billows of the great deep.

A wet-dock is somewhat similar to a dry-dock, the chief difference being that ships while in it are kept floating in water.

Docks are not only used, however, for repairing and building ships. They are also used for loading and unloading them; and as ships are entering and departing from them almost constantly, the busy, bustling, active scene they present is always agreeable.

The principal docks in the United Kingdom are as follows:—

DOCKS ON THE THAMES—namely, East and West India Docks, London Docks, Saint Katherine's Docks, Commercial Docks, Victoria Docks.

SOUTHAMPTON DOCKS.

LIVERPOOL AND BRISTOL DOCKS.

HULL DOCKS.

GLASGOW DOCKS.

DUNDEE DOCKS.

LEITH DOCKS.

BIRKENHEAD DOCKS.

So much for docks in passing. Let us now turn our attention to the process of:—

BUILDING A SHIP.

As we think it highly improbable that any of our readers intend to become either ship-carpenters or ship-architects, we will not worry them with technical explanations. To give an easily understood and general idea of the manner of building a ship is all we shall attempt. The names of those parts only that are frequently or occasionally referred to in general literature shall be given.

The term ship is employed in two significations. In familiar language it denotes any large or small vessel that navigates the ocean with sails. In nautical language it refers solely to a vessel having three masts, each consisting of a lower-mast, a top-mast, and a top-gallant-mast. At present we use the term ship in the familiar sense.

Elaborate and complicated drawings having been prepared, the shipbuilder begins his work.

The keel is the first part of a ship that is laid. It is the beam which runs along the bottom of a boat or ship from one end to the other. In large ships the keel consists of several pieces joined together. Its uses are, to cause the ship to preserve a direct course in its passage through the water; to check the leeway which every vessel has a tendency to make; and to moderate the rolling motion. The keel is also the ground-work, or foundation, on which the whole superstructure is reared, and is, therefore, immensely strong and solid. The best wood for keels is teak, as it is not liable to split.

Having laid the keel firmly on a bed of wooden blocks, in such a position that the ship when finished may slide into the water stern foremost, the shipbuilder proceeds next to erect the stem and stern posts.

The stem-post rises from the front end of the keel, not quite perpendicularly from it, but sloping a little outwards. It is formed of one or more pieces of wood, according to the size of the ship; but no matter how many pieces may be used, it is always a uniform single beam in appearance. To this the ends of the planks of the ship are afterwards fastened. Its outer edge is called the cut-water, and the part of the ship around it is named the bow.

The stern-post rises from the opposite end of the keel, and also slopes a little outwards. To it are fastened the ends of the planking and the framework of the stern part of the ship. To it also is attached that little but most important part of a vessel, the rudder. The rudder, or helm, is a small piece of timber extending along the back of the stern-post, and hung movably upon it by means of what may be called large iron hooks-and-eyes. By means of the rudder the mariner guides the ship in whatever direction he pleases. The contrast between the insignificant size of the rudder and its immense importance is very striking. Its power over the ship is thus referred to in Scripture,—"Behold also the ships, which, though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth." The rudder is moved from side to side by a huge handle or lever on deck, called the tiller; but as in large ships the rudder is difficult to move by so simple a contrivance, several ropes or chains and pulleys are attached to it, and connected with the drum of a wheel, at which the steersman stands. In the largest ships two, and in rough weather four men are often stationed at the wheel.

The ribs of the ship next rise to view. These are curved wooden beams, which rise on each side of the keel, and are bolted firmly to it. They serve the same purpose to a ship that bones do to the human frame—they support and give strength to it as well as form.

The planks follow the ribs. These are broad, and vary in thickness from two to four inches. They form the outer skin of the ship, and are fastened to the ribs, keel, stem-post, and stern-post by means of innumerable pins of wood or iron, called tree-nails. The spaces between the planks are caulked—that is, stuffed with oakum; which substance is simply the untwisted tow of old and tarry ropes. A figure-head of some ornamental kind having been placed on the top and front of the stem-post, just above the cutwater, and a flat, ornamental stern, with windows in it to light the cabin, the hull of our ship is complete. But the interior arrangements have yet to be described, although, of course, they have been progressing at the same time with the rest.

The beams of a ship are massive wooden timbers, which extend across from side to side in a series of tiers. They serve the purpose of binding the sides together, of preventing them from collapsing, and of supporting the decks, as well as of giving compactness and great strength to the whole structure.

The decks are simply plank floors nailed to the beams, and serve very much the same purposes as the floors of a house. They also help to strengthen the ship longitudinally. All ships have at least one complete deck; most have two, with a half-deck at the stern, called the quarter-deck, and another at the bow, called the forecastle. But the decks of large ships are still more numerous. Those of a first-rate man-of-war are as follows—we begin with the lowest, which is considerably under the surface of the sea:—

The Orlop-deck, the Gun-deck, the Middle-deck, the Upper-deck, the Quarter-deck, and the Poop—the latter deck being the highest deck of all, a very small one, at the stern.

Thus a man-of-war is a floating house with six stories—the poop being the garret, and the orlop-deck the cellars. The upper decks are lighted by sky-lights; those farther down by port-holes (or gun-holes) and windows; the lowest of all by candles or lamps, daylight being for ever banished from those gloomy submarine regions!

The bulwarks rise above the upper-deck, all round the ship, and serve the purposes of protecting the upper-deck from the waves, and supporting the belaying-pins, to which the ropes are fastened. In ships of war the top of the bulwarks forms a sort of trough all round the ship, in which the hammocks (the swinging-beds) of the men are stowed away every morning. This trough is termed the hammock-nettings, and the hammocks are placed there to be well aired. In action the bulwarks serve to protect the crew from musketry.

The wheel, which has been already referred to, stands usually at the stern of the ship, on the quarter-deck; but it is sometimes placed on an elevated platform amid-ships, so that the steersman may see more clearly where he is going.

The binnacle stands directly in front of the wheel. It is a species of box, firmly fixed to the deck, in which is placed the compass. It is completely covered in, having a glass window, through which the man at the wheel can observe the course he is steering.

The capstan stands on the main-deck, sometimes near the centre of the vessel, at other times near the bow or the stern. It is a massive block of timber moving on a pivot, which is turned round by wooden levers, called capstan bars, or hand-spikes, and is used for any purpose that requires great tractive power—the drawing in of the cable, for instance, or warping the ship; which means that a rope is fixed on shore, or by an anchor to the bottom of the sea, and the other end of it is coiled round the capstan, so that when the capstan is forced round by the handspikes, the rope coils on to it, and the ship is slowly dragged forward.

The windlass is simply a horizontal, instead of a perpendicular capstan. Its sole purpose is for heaving up the anchor, and it is placed close to the bow of the ship.

The galley, or cooking-house, is usually near to the windlass, in the front part of the vessel. Here the cook reigns supreme; but this nautical kitchen is wonderfully small. It is just big enough to hold the fireplace and "coppers," with a small shelf, on which the cook (always a man, and often a negro) performs the duties of his office.

The various decks below are partitioned off by means of plank walls, which are called bulk-heads, into a variety of berths and apartments; and the greater part of the centre of the vessel (in merchantmen) is called the hold, and is reserved for cargo.

The hull of the ship being finished, now gets a coat of tar all over it, which preserves the wood from the action of the weather, and helps to render the seams water-tight. Some vessels are sheathed from the keel to a short way above their water-line with thin sheets of copper, to preserve them more effectually from tear and wear, and especially to defend them against those barnacles and marine insects that would otherwise fasten to them.

Being now ready to be launched from her cradle into the sea—her future home—we will proceed in our next chapter to describe the process of launching.



CHAPTER NINE.

THE LAUNCH, ETCETERA.

Ships begin life with a retrograde movement; they imitate the crabs: in other words, they are launched stern foremost. Whether great or small, long or short, whether clothed in patrician copper or smeared with plebeian tar, they all start on their first voyage with their stern-posts acting the part of cut-water, and, also, without masts or sails. These necessary adjuncts, and a host of others, are added after they have been clasped to the bosom of their native sea. One notable exception there is to this rule, the launch of the far-famed Great Eastern, which monster of the deep was forced into her element sidewise, of which a full account will be found in another part of this volume.

The cradles on which ships are launched are wooden frameworks, so constructed as to slide down an inclined plane, called the ways, bearing their burdens along with them into the water. When a ship is ready for launching, the shores, or supports, that have kept her so long in position are knocked away one by one, until the entire weight of the ship rests on the cradle. The ways are then well greased, and it only remains to knock away one or two remaining checks to allow the vessel to seek her future home by means of her own weight.

But before this last act is done, a day must be fixed for the launch; friends of the owners must be invited to go on board during this her first voyage; a fair maiden must be asked to go through the ceremony of giving the ship her name; and paragraphs must go the round of the newspapers. As the hour draws near, crowds of human beings, young and old, male and female, must hurry to the spot to witness the great event, and hundreds of little boys must beg leave from school (if they can); in short, a great stir must be made, and a great day must dawn, before the last shores are knocked away, and the noble structure be permitted to rush down that inclined plane, and for the first time cleave the waves.

And now, having shown how the launching of our ship is accomplished, let us turn to consider the next step towards completion; for there is yet much to be done ere she is able to brave the tempest.

RIGGING A SHIP.

Although fitting-in the lower-masts of a ship cannot well be deemed a part of the rigging, we will nevertheless describe the operation here.

As the lower-masts of a large ship are from five to six feet in circumference, it is manifest that some powerful mechanical contrivance is required to raise them over the bulwarks, and put them in an upright position, into their appointed places. Such contrivances, in the form of enormous cranes, are fixed in some of the larger docks; but the most useful method is to have the masts put in by means of:

The Shear Hulk. This is a strongly built hull of a ship, moored in a part of a river or harbour that will afford depth of water to float vessels of any size alongside. It has one stout mast, with two immense beams attached to it near the deck, and sloping outwards over the bulwarks in such a way that their ends overhang the deck of the vessel into which masts are to be placed. These sloping beams are prevented from falling overboard altogether, and their slope is regulated, by blocks and tackles from the mast of the hulk. By means of this contrivance, which is just a gigantic floating crane, the ponderous lower-masts of large ships are raised and lowered into their places.

When these are fixed, the rigging of the ship commences. The method of putting it up cannot prove interesting to general readers; not even to boys, for when they take to rigging model ships, they do not require the mechanical contrivances that are necessary in rigging large vessels. But all readers of sea stories and nautical history will find it of the utmost advantage to their clear understanding of what they read, to have a general idea of the names and uses of the principal parts of a ship's rigging.

We shall, therefore, devote a small space to the explanation of this subject. And, first, let us examine the Masts.

These vary in size, form, and number in different ships, but in all they serve the same purpose—to support the sails. Lower masts of large vessels are never formed out of one tree. They are found to be stronger when built up of several pieces, which are fastened together by strong iron hoops. Masts sometimes consist of three distinct parts. The lower-mast, top-mast, and top-gallant-mast. In most large ships there are three masts, each having three parts. The centre mast, being the largest, is the main-mast; the front one, which is next in size, is the fore-mast; and the one next the stern, the smallest, is called the mizzen.

Although we have spoken of lower-masts for the sake of clearness, the name is never used. The name of the mast itself designates the lower part of it. To name the masts in order, we have the Fore-mast. Main-mast. Mizzen-mast. Fore-top-mast. Main-top-mast. Mizzen-top-mast. Fore-topgallant-mast. Main-topgallant-mast. Mizzen-topgallant-mast.

The parts of the different masts are connected and secured by means of cross-trees and caps, which are named after the mast and part of the mast to which they belong. Thus we have the fore-top, the fore-top-mast cross-trees, the main-top, and main-top-mast cross-trees, etcetera. Observe, particularly, that the fore-top, main-top, and mizzen-top, are the platforms, or cross-trees, at the tops of the lower-masts, and not—as might well be supposed by landsmen—the extreme tops of these masts. The button-like objects on the summits of the masts are called the trucks; which, besides forming a sort of finish to them, are fitted with small pulleys, through which signal-halyards, or cords for hoisting the flags, are rove.

In first-rate men-of-war the tops are so large that a number of men can be stationed on them. Besides their other purposes, they are very frequently used as a place of punishment for the midshipmen, or "middies" (the boy officers), who are often sent there to air themselves, and profit, if they can, by calm reflection in exalted solitude.

Shrouds and stays are the thick ropes that keep the masts firmly in position. They form part of what is termed the "standing gear" of a ship—in other words, the ropes that are fixtures—to distinguish them from the "running gear"—those movable ropes, by means of which the sails, boats, flags, etcetera, are hoisted. Nearly all the ropes of a ship are named after the mast, or yard, or sail with which they are connected. Thus we have the main shrouds, the main-top-mast shrouds, and the main-topgallant shrouds; the main back-stay, the main-topgallant back-stay, and so on—those of the other masts being similarly named, with the exception of the first word, which, of course, indicates the particular mast referred to. The shrouds rise from the chains, which are a series of blocks called "dead eyes," fixed to the sides of the ship. To these the shrouds are fixed, and also to the masts near the tops; they serve the purpose of preventing the masts from falling sideways. Backstays prevent them from falling forward, and forestays prevent them from falling backward, or "aft." Besides this, shrouds have little cross ropes called ratlines attached to them, by means of which rope-ladders the sailors ascend and descend the rigging to furl, that is, tie up, or unfurl, that is, to untie or shake out, the sails.

Our cut represents a sailor-boy ascending the mizzen-top-mast shrouds. He grasps the shrouds, and stands on the ratlines.

Yards are the heavy wooden cross-poles or beams to which the sails are attached.

Reef-points are the little ropes which may be observed hanging in successive rows on all sails, by means of which parts of the sails are gathered in and tied round the yards, thus reducing their size in stormy weather. Hence such nautical expressions as "taking in a reef," or a "double reef," and "close reefing,"—which last implies that a sail is to be reduced to its smallest possible dimensions. The only further reduction possible would be folding it up altogether, close to the yard, which would be called "furling" it, and which would render it altogether ineffective. In order to furl or reef sails, the men have to ascend the masts, and lay-out upon the yards. It is very dangerous work in stormy weather. Many a poor fellow, while reefing sails in a dark tempestuous night, has been blown from the yard into the sea, and never heard of more. All the yards of a ship, except the three largest, can be hoisted and lowered by means of halyards. The top-gallant masts can also be lowered, but the lower-masts, of course, are fixtures.

The bowsprit of a ship is a mast which projects out horizontally, or at an angle, from the bow. It is sometimes in two or three pieces, sometimes only in one. To it are attached the jib-sail and the flying-jib, besides a variety of ropes and stays which are connected with and support the fore-mast.

The cat heads are two short beams which project from the bows on either side, and support the ship's anchors.

Miscellaneous.—The openings in the decks are called hatches; the stair-cases which descend to the cabins are called companions. The pulleys by which sails, etcetera, are hoisted, are named blocks. Braces are the ropes by which sails are fixed tightly in any position. Hauling a rope taut, means hauling it tight. The weather side of a ship means the side which happens to be presented to the wind; the lee side, that which is away from the wind, and, therefore, sheltered. The starboard side means the right side, the larboard signifies the left; but as the two words resemble each other, the word port is always used for larboard to prevent mistakes in shouting orders. Heaving the lead is the act of throwing a heavy leaden plummet, with a line attached, into the sea to ascertain its depth. It is thrown from the chains as far as possible ahead of the ship, so that it may reach the bottom and be perpendicularly beneath the man who heaves it when the ship comes up to the spot where it entered the water. A peculiar and musical cry is given forth by the heaver of the lead each time he throws it. The forecastle is the habitat of the ordinary sailors, and is usually in nautical parlance termed the foge-s'l.

Most of what we have just described applies more or less to every ship; but this will be seen in future chapters. Meanwhile, we would seriously recommend all those who have found this chapter a dry one to turn back to the heading entitled "Rigging a Ship," and from that point read it all over again with earnest attention.



CHAPTER TEN.

COASTING VESSELS.

The coasting-trade of the British Islands is replete with danger, yet it is carried on with the utmost vigour; and there are always plenty of "hands," as seamen are called when spoken of in connection with ships, to man the vessels. The traffic in which they are engaged is the transporting of the goods peculiar to one part of our island, to another part where they are in demand.

In describing these vessels, we shall begin with the smallest.

SLOOPS.

Like all other vessels, sloops vary in size, but none of them attain to great magnitude. As a class, they are the smallest decked vessels we have. From 40 to 100 tons burden is a very common size. A sloop of 40 tons burden is what we ordinarily call a little ship, and one of 100 tons is by no means a big one. The hull of such a vessel being intended exclusively to carry cargo, very little space is allowed for the crew. The cabins of the smaller-sized sloops are seldom high enough to permit of an ordinary man standing erect. They are usually capable of affording accommodation to two in the cabin, and three or four in the forecastle,—and such accommodation is by no means ample. The class to which vessels belong is determined chiefly by the number of their masts and by the arrangement and the form of their sails.

The distinctive peculiarity of the sloop is, that it has but one mast; and its rig is, nautically speaking, fore-and-aft—that is to say, the sails are spread with their surfaces parallel to the sides of the vessel, not stretched upon yards across the vessel. The term "fore-and-aft" is derived from the forward part and the after part of the ship. Fore-and-aft sails, then, are such as are spread upon yards which point fore and aft, not across the ship. We conceive this elaborate explanation to be necessary for some readers, and, therefore, don't apologise for making it. A ship whose sails are spread across the hull is said to be square-rigged. Sometimes, however, a sloop carries one and even two square sails.

The masts, yards, and sails of a sloop are as follows:—As has been already said, one of the distinctive peculiarities of a sloop is, that it has only one mast. This mast is sometimes formed of one stick, sometimes of two; the second, or top-mast, being fastened to the top of the lower mast by cross-trees and cap, in such a way that it may be hoisted or lowered at pleasure. A sloop has usually four sails,—a mainsail, fore-sail, gaff, and jib. The main-sail is behind the lower mast. It reaches from within a few feet of the deck to the top of the lower mast, and spreads out upon two yards towards the stern or after part of the ship, over which it projects a few feet. The lower yard of the main-sail is called the boom, and the upper the main-sail yard. This is by far the largest sail in the sloop. Above it is spread the gaff, which is comparatively a small sail, and is used when the wind is not very strong. The fore-sail is a triangular sheet, which traverses on the fore-stay; that is, the strong rope which runs from the lower mast-head to the bow, or front part of the sloop. On the bowsprit is stretched the jib, another triangular sail, which reaches nearly to the top of the lower mast. The only sail that rises above the lower mast is the gaff. In stormy weather this sail is always taken down. If the wind increases to a gale, the jib is lowered and lashed to the bowsprit.

Should the gale increase, a reef is taken in the main-sail. One, two, three, and sometimes four reefs are taken in, according to the violence of the storm; when the last reef is taken in, the sloop is under close-reefed main-sail. Increased violence in the storm necessitates the taking in of the main-sail and lying-to under the fore-sail, or a part of it. Lying-to is putting the sloop's head to the wind, and placing the helm in such a position that it tends to turn the vessel in one direction, while the gale acting on the fore-sail tends to force it in another, and thus it remains stationary between the two opposing forces. Many vessels thus lie-to, and ride out the severest storm. Sometimes, however, a dreadful hurricane arises, and compels vessels to take in all sails and "scud under bare poles"—that is, drive before the wind without any sails at all; and it is at such seasons that man is forced to feel his utter helplessness, and his absolute dependence on the Almighty. Of course, there are slight variations in the rig of sloops—some have a square-sail, and some have a flying-jib; but these are not distinctive sails, and they are seldom used in small craft.

Doubtless, those of our readers who have dwelt on the sea-coast must have observed that boats and vessels frequently sail in precisely opposite directions, although acted upon by the same wind. This apparent paradox may be explained thus:—

Suppose a vessel with the bow and stern sharp and precisely alike, so that it might sail backwards or forwards with equal facility. Suppose, also, that it has two masts exactly the same in all respects—one near the bow, the other near the stern. Suppose, further, a square sail stretched between the two masts quite flat; and remember that this would be a fore-and-aft sail—namely, one extending along the length, not across the breadth of the vessel.

Well, now, were a breeze to blow straight against the side of such a vessel, it would either blow it over, flat on its side, or urge it slowly sideways over the water, after the fashion of a crab. Now remove one of these masts—say the stern one—and erect it close to the lee-side of the vessel (that is, away from the windward-side), still keeping the sail extended. The immediate effect would be that the sail would no longer present itself flatly against the wind, but diagonally. The wind, therefore, after dashing against it would slide violently off in the direction of the mast that had been removed, that is, towards the stern. In doing so it would, of course, give the vessel a shove in the opposite direction; on the very same principle that a boy, when he jumps violently off a chair, not only sends his body in one direction, but sends the chair in the opposite direction. So, when the wind jumps off the sail towards the stern, it sends the ship in the opposite direction—namely, forward. Reverse this; bring back the mast you removed to its old place in the centre of the deck, and shift the front mast near to the lee-bulwarks. The wind will now slide off the sail towards the bow, and force our vessel in the opposite direction— namely, backward; so that, with the same side wind, two ships may sail in exactly opposite directions.

By means of the rudder, and placing the sails in various positions, so as to cause them to press against the masts in a particular manner, vessels can be made to sail not only with a side wind, but with a breeze blowing a good deal against them—in nautical phraseology, they can be made to sail "close to the wind." In short, they can sail in every direction, except directly in the "teeth" of the wind. Some ships sail closer to the wind than others; their powers in this respect depending very much on the cut of their sails and the form of their hulls.

The Lighter is a small, rough, clumsy species of coasting-vessel, usually of the sloop rig. It is used for discharging cargoes of large vessels in harbours, and off coasts where the depth of water is not great. Lighters are usually picturesque-looking craft with dingy sails, and they seldom carry top-sails of any kind. Being seldom decked, they are more properly huge boats than little ships. But lighters are not classed according to their rig,—they may be of any rig, though that of the sloop is most commonly adopted.

THE CUTTER.

This species of vessel is similar, in nearly all respects, to the sloop; the only difference being that it is better and more elegantly built. Gentlemen's pleasure yachts are frequently cutters; but yachts may be of any form or rig—that is, they may belong to any class of vessels without changing their name of yacht. Cutter-yachts are much more elegantly moulded and rigged than the sloops that we have just described. They are clipper-built—that is, the hull is smoothly and sharply shaped; the cut-water, in particular, is like a knife, and the bow wedge-like. In short, although similar in general outline, a cutter-yacht bears the same relation to a trading-sloop that a racer does to a cart-horse. Their sails, also, are larger in proportion, and they are fast-sailing vessels; but, on this very account, they are not such good sea-boats as their clumsy brethren, whose bluff or rounded bows rise on the waves, while the sharp vessels cut through them, and often deluge the decks with spray.

In our engraving we have several cutter-rigged yachts sailing with a light side wind, with main-sail, gaff, fore-sail, and jib set.

THE SCHOONER.

This is the most elegant and, for small craft, the most manageable vessel that floats. Its proportions are more agreeable to the eye than those of any other species of craft, and its rig is in favour with owners of yachts,—especially with those whose yachts are large. The schooner's distinctive peculiarities are, that it carries two masts, which usually "rake aft," or lean back a good deal; and its rig is chiefly fore-and-aft, like the sloop. Of the two masts, the after one is the main-mast. The other is termed the fore-mast. The sails of a schooner are—the main-sail and the gaff, on the main-mast; the fore-sail, fore-top-sail, and fore-top-gallant-sail (the two last being square sails), on the foremast. In front of the fore-mast are the staysail, the jib, and the flying-jib; these last are triangular sails. If a schooner were cut in two in the middle, cross-wise, the front portion would be in all respects a sloop with a square top-sail; the stern part would also be a sloop, minus the bowsprit and the triangular sails before the mast. Schooners sometimes carry a large square-sail, which is spread when the wind is "dead aft." They are much used in the coasting-trade; and one of their great advantages is that they can be worked with fewer "hands" than sloops of the same size.

THE BRIG.

Advancing step by step in our investigation of the peculiar rig and build of ships, we come to the brig. This species of craft is usually, but not necessarily, larger than those that have been described; it is generally built on a larger scale than the schooner, and often approaches in magnitude to the full-sized, three-masted ship.

The distinctive features of the brig are, that it has two masts, both of which are square-rigged. It is a particularly serviceable species of craft, and, when of large size, is much used in foreign trade.

The advantage of the square-rig over the fore-and-aft rig is, that the sails, being smaller and more numerous, are more easily managed, and require fewer men or "hands" to work them. Thus, as we increase the size of our vessel, the more necessity is there that it should be square-rigged. The huge main-sail of the sloop and schooner could not be applied to large vessels; so that when men came to construct ships of several hundred tons burden, they were compelled to increase the number of masts and sails, and diminish the size of them; hence, probably, brigs were devised after schooners. The main-mast of a brig is the aft one.

The sails are named after the masts to which they are fastened,—namely, the main-sail; above that the main-top-sail; above that the main-top-gallant-sail; and sometimes a very small sail, named the royal, is spread above all. Behind the main-sail there is a small fore-and-aft sail similar to the main-sail of a schooner, which is called the boom-main-sail. On the fore-mast is a similar sail, which is called the try-sail. Attached to the respective yards of square-rigged ships there are smaller poles or arms, which can be pushed out at pleasure, and the yard lengthened, in order to receive an additional little sailor wing on each side. These wings are called studding-sails or stun-sails, and are used only when the wind is fair and light. They are named after the sails to which they are fastened; thus there are the main-stun-sails, the main-top-stun-sails, and the main-top-gallant-stun-sails, etcetera. The fore-mast of a brig is smaller than the main-mast. It carries a fore-sail, fore-top-sail, fore-top-gallant-sail, and fore-royal. Between it and the bowsprit are the fore-stay-sail, jib, and flying-jib. The three last sails are nearly similar in all vessels. All the yards, etcetera, are hoisted and shifted, and held in their position, by a complicated arrangement of cordage, which in the mass is called the running-rigging, in contradistinction to the standing-rigging, which, as we have said, is fixed, and keeps the masts, etcetera, immovably in position. Yet every rope, in what seems to a landsman's eye a bewildering mass of confusion, has its distinctive name and specific purpose.

Brigs and schooners, being light and handy craft, are generally used by pirates and smugglers in the prosecution of their lawless pursuits, and many a deed of bloodshed and horror has been done on board such craft by those miscreants.

THE BRIGANTINE.

The rig of this vessel is a mixture of that of the sloop and brig. The brigantine is square-rigged on the fore-mast, and sloop-rigged on its after or mizzen mast. Of its two masts, the front one is the larger, and, therefore, is the main-mast. In short, a brigantine is a mixed vessel, being a brig forward and a sloop aft.

Such are our coasting-vessels; but it must be borne in mind that ships of their class are not confined to the coast. When built very large they are intended for the deep ocean trade, and many schooners approach in size to full-rigged "ships."



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

VESSELS OF LARGE SIZE.

We now come to speak of ships of large size, which spread an imposing cloud of canvas to the breeze, and set sail on voyages which sometimes involve the circumnavigation of the globe.

THE BARQUE.

This vessel is next in size larger than the brig. It does not follow, however, that its being larger constitutes it a barque. Some brigs are larger than barques, but generally the barque is the larger vessel. The difference between a barque and a brig is that the former has three masts, the two front ones being square-rigged, and the mizzen being fore-and-aft rigged. The centre mast is the main one. The rigging of a barque's two front masts is almost exactly similar to the rigging of a brig, that of the mizzen is similar to a sloop. If you were to put a fore-and-aft rigged mizzen-mast into the after part of a brig, that would convert it into a barque.

The term clipper simply denotes that peculiar sharpness of build and trimness of rig which insure the greatest amount of speed, and does not specify any particular class. There are clipper sloops, clipper yachts, clipper ships, etcetera. A clipper barque, therefore, is merely a fast-sailing barque.

The peculiar characteristics of the clipper build are, knife-like sharpness of the cut-water and bow, and exceeding correctness of cut in the sails, so that these may be drawn as tight and flat as possible. Too much bulge in a sail is a disadvantage in the way of sailing. Indeed, flatness is so important a desideratum, that experimentalists have more than once applied sails made of thin planks of wood to their clippers; but we do not know that this has turned out to be much of an improvement. The masts of all clippers, except those of the sloop or cutter rig, generally rake aft a good deal—that is, they lean backwards; a position which is supposed to tend to increase speed. Merchant vessels are seldom of the clipper build, because the sharpness of this peculiar formation diminishes the available space for cargo very much.

THE SHIP.

The largest class of vessel that floats upon the sea is the full-rigged ship, the distinctive peculiarity of which is, that its three masts are all square-rigged together, with the addition of one or two fore-and-aft sails.

As the fore and main masts of a "ship" are exactly similar to those of a barque, which have been already described, we shall content ourself with remarking that the mizzen-mast is similar in nearly all respects to the other two, except that it is smaller. The sails upon it are—the spanker (a fore-and-aft sail projecting over the quarter-deck), the mizzen-top-sail and mizzen-top-gallant-sail, both of which are square sails. Above all these a "ship" sometimes puts up small square-sails called the royals; and, above these, sky-sails.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

WOODEN AND IRON WALLS.

The birth of the British Navy may be said to have taken place in the reign of King Alfred. That great and good king, whose wisdom and foresight were only equalled by his valour, had a fleet of upwards of one hundred ships. With these he fought the Danes to the death, not always successfully, not always even holding his own; for the Danes at this early period of their history were a hardy race of sea-warriors, not less skilful than courageous. But to King Alfred, with his beaked, oared war-ships, is undoubtedly due the merit of having laid the foundation of England's maritime ascendency.

England under the Normans does not seem to have greatly desired to excel in maritime enterprise, but it was otherwise during the Plantagenet period. Henry the Second possessed a most formidable fleet, numbering some five hundred vessels of war. During the reign of his successor a novel artifice in naval warfare was resorted to by the English which merits notice. The English admiral caused a number of barrels of unslaked lime to be placed in his ships. Having brought his fleet to windward of the enemy—the French—he ordered water to be poured on the lime. This of course raised a great and dense smoke, which, being blown by the wind into the very faces of the French, prevented the latter from seeing on what quarter they were being attacked. A panic arose, and spread, among the French vessels, and the victory fell easily to the English.

The navy of Edward the Third numbered eleven hundred ships when he undertook the invasion of France. But the great majority of these were not properly men-of-war—in fact, there were only five fully equipped warships; the rest were for the most part merchant vessels converted into fighting ships and transports for the time being. The navy of King Philip of France, though numerically weaker, far surpassed that of the English king in point of equipment. Of the four hundred ships of which it consisted, no fewer than one hundred had, been built purposely for war, according to the best principles of naval architecture then known. Bows, catapults, javelins, and weapons of a like description were the engines of offence used on both sides, and with these much havoc was wrought at close quarters. The English were victorious, notwithstanding the more scientific equipment of their foes. The French ships were boarded, and the flower of King Philip's naval force must that day have perished.

Henry the Seventh did much for the improvement of the English navy. It was during his reign that the Great Harry was built, which was really the first large ship built directly for the Royal Navy. Hitherto the vessels employed by England for national defence or offence had been supplied by certain maritime towns; but the Great Harry was the property of the people. She was built in 1488, and had port-holes for cannon in the lower deck, being the first vessel thus constructed. The Great Harry was subsequently far surpassed by another of King Henry's ships, the Grace de Dieu, which was no less than one thousand tons burden, and carried seven hundred men and one hundred and twenty-two guns, (some writers mention only eighty guns) the largest of which were but eighteen-pounders. The Grace de Dieu was a four-masted vessel, and was built in 1515.

An epoch in England's maritime history, which was in some respects the most brilliant and momentous, now falls to be mentioned; a period when England's name became a synonym on the seas for everything that was most intrepid and successful in maritime enterprise; an era of daring adventure and splendid achievement, which at length established England as the first naval power among the nations of Europe.

Not without long and fierce struggle, however, was this supremacy won. The French, Spanish, and Dutch each and all in turn disputed England's claim to the sovereignty of the seas. It is unnecessary to repeat here the oft-told tale of the defeat of the Spanish Armada, nor yet the almost as familiar story of our frequent naval encounters with the Dutch in the days of Admiral Blake and the great Dutch Admiral Van Tromp. Long and desperate those conflicts were, and nothing but indomitable courage and stubborn perseverance could have secured the victory for the English ships, for in almost every instance our foes were numerically the stronger.

In the thrice famous days of Nelson, it was still our "wooden walls" which carried the flag of England on from triumph to triumph. At the battle of Trafalgar the Victory and the French ship the Redoubtable were brought up close alongside of each other, and in this position poured volley after volley upon each other's bulwarks, until water had to be thrown over the ships' sides to prevent them igniting. The Victory was a grand ship in her time, yet she was not more than two thousand tons burden, and her guns were but one hundred and two in number.

But at last the day arrived when it became manifest that the glory of our "wooden walls" had set. In the prime of his intellectual and physical strength, the Emperor Louis Napoleon was a man of active and subtle brain, and it was to his ingenious invention that the first ironclad ship of war owed its birth. Floating batteries protected with iron plates were first employed during the Crimean War. It was becoming manifest that the great strides which were being made in the manufacture of cannon must necessitate an improved system of defensive armour for ships of war. No wooden vessel that could be constructed could be proof against the new guns that were now coming rapidly into use.

The French, as has been just indicated, were the first in the field with the new style of war-ships. La Gloire was built, and was quickly followed by our own Warrior. The frame of La Gloire was constructed of wood, but covered with an iron plating four and a half inches in thickness. The Warrior was built on an iron frame, and her armour-plating is of the same thickness as that of La Gloire; the lining is of solid teak eighteen inches thick, which is again backed by an inner coating of iron. The length of the Warrior is three hundred and eighty feet, but only about two-thirds of this is iron-plated.

At this time—the early days of ironclads—the heaviest shot that could be thrown by any gun was a sixty-eight pounder. Guns of this calibre the Warrior and her class were proof against. But the guns increased rapidly in size and power, and the thickness of the armour with which the ships were protected had to be increased in proportion. The class of war-vessels which succeeded the Warrior were entirely cased with iron plates, whose thickness has from time to time been increased. Since the first ironclad was built, then, a contest—for only such it can be called—has been going on between the cannon-maker and the ship-builder, the one striving to construct a gun which shall pierce the thickest armour which the ship can carry, the other adding inch upon inch to his armour plates, to the end that they may be shot-proof; and this contest may be said to be going on at this hour.

Will there ever be the same romance about the warships of the present day,—what those of the future will be like we do not care to speculate,—and the old "wooden walls" whose prowess on the high seas founded England's maritime glory? Will a Dibdin ever arise to sing a Devastation or a Glatton? Can a Devastation or a Glatton ever inspire poetic thoughts and images? One would say that the singer must be endowed in no ordinary degree with the sacred fire whom such a theme as a modern ironclad turret-ship should move to lyric utterance. It has been said that all the romance of the road died out with the old coaching days; and certainly a locomotive engine, with its long black train of practical-looking cars, makes hardly so picturesque a feature in the landscape as one of the old stage-coaches with its red-coated driver, horn-blowing guard, and team of mettled greys; but a railway train is an embodiment of poetry compared with a turret-ship. But if it be true that poetry and romance must more and more cease to be associated with our navy, we must just accept the fact, for nothing is more certain than that, whatever the warships of the future may be, we can never again return to the days of the old wooden ships.

Several opposing difficulties have now to be met in the construction of ironclads. Invulnerability as regards the enemy's guns, protection to the men on board, speed, and the quality of being easily managed at sea,—all these points have to be carefully considered; and the difficulty is that one quality wars against another. A ship might be built which was proof against any guns that could be devised, and then might be found utterly unmanageable and unsafe at sea. A balance of qualities has therefore to be struck, and this perfect equipoise has by no means been as yet attained. Every year—we might say every month— witnesses the birth of some new type of armour-plated war-ship, built in every case at an enormous cost. The new sea-monster looks formidable enough in all conscience; but the question that arises the instant she quits the dock is, Is she sea-worthy? And with the fate of the Captain and the Vanguard in our memories, the question may well arise. The story of modern war-ships has, up to this, been one of mingled success and failure. Does not the epigram on our war-ships—our "sub-marine fleet"—owe its point and sting, in a measure, to its truth?

Of the various types of modern war-vessels, the most formidable yet devised are undoubtedly the steam-rams and turret-ships. The steam-ram is armed with a strong steel beak, with which it charges an enemy in much the same way as the war-galleys of ancient times charged a foe, or as a sword-fish attacks its adversary. The turret-ship carries one or more shot-proof circular turrets, in which one or more guns are worked by the crew, the guns being capable of being turned and pointed in any direction. Both turret-ships and steam-rams are, of course, iron plated.

Vessels of this description were first employed by the Americans in the great civil war. The careers of the Merrimac and Monitor may be said to have become a part of American national history. The Merrimac was the first iron-plated steam-ram. She was originally a wooden frigate; was cut down, coated with iron, and furnished with a ram. In her famous encounter with the Congress and the Cumberland, two wooden frigates of the Federals, she steamed alongside the former, delivered a raking fire, and then, turning upon the Cumberland, attacked that vessel with her ram. Of the Cumberland she made quick work; for having torn a gaping rent in her side, she poured a damaging fire into the gap, hanging on by the sharp iron beak with which steam-rams are furnished.

Then withdrawing to a short distance, she again charged her adversary, and delivered a second terrible fire, until the Cumberland finally sank. The Merrimac then turned her attention to the Congress, whose fate she sealed in about half an hour. The first shot caused fearful destruction, killing every man at one of the guns, blowing away the bulk-heads, strewing the deck with a carnage too horrible to dwell upon, and finally setting the ship on fire. The Congress at last struck her colours, but during the night she blew up.

This formidable vessel had subsequently to haul down her colours before the Monitor—in a figurative sense, that is, for she did not actually surrender, but retreated after a contest of some hours. In this notable struggle the Merrimac sustained much damage, without succeeding in inflicting on her enemy anything like the same amount of injury; in fact, the Monitor came out of the action scathless.

The changes that are taking place in the construction of war-ships are so various and so rapid, that we cannot attempt to do more here than take note of a few of the principal; and even what are mentioned as novelties now, before these pages appear may have ceased to be novelties.

Iron is now employed in almost every part of a war-ship, the masts themselves being in many cases of iron—hollow tubes through which the running rigging may be let down when there is danger of its being damaged by the enemy's fire. The majority of modern ironclads are built in compartments, with this advantage that, if damage is sustained in one part of the vessel, and the water rush in through the gap made by shot or any other cause, the ship will still float until the water can be let out again.