most deck: that is,
into the open. Nothing less will do. Division by bulkheads that really
divide, and free access to the deck from every water-tight compartment.
Then the responsible man in the moment of danger and in the exercise of
his judgment could close all the doors of these water-tight bulkheads by
whatever clever contrivance has been invented for the purpose, without a
qualm at the awful thought that he may be shutting up some of his fellow
creatures in a death-trap; that he may be sacrificing the lives of men
who, down there, are sticking to the posts of duty as the engine-room
staffs of the Merchant Service have never failed to do. I know very well
that the engineers of a ship in a moment of emergency are not quaking for
their lives, but, as far as I have known them, attend calmly to their
duty. We all must die; but, hang it all, a man ought to be given a
chance, if not for his life, then at least to die decently. It's bad
enough to have to stick down there when something disastrous is going on
and any moment may be your last; but to be drowned shut up under deck is
too bad. Some men of the _Titanic_ died like that, it is to be feared.
Compartmented, so to speak. Just think what it means! Nothing can
approach the horror of that fate except being buried alive in a cave, or
in a mine, or in your family vault.

So, once more: continuous bulkheads--a clear way of escape to the deck
out of each water-tight compartment. Nothing less. And if specialists,
the precious specialists of the sort that builds "unsinkable ships," tell
you that it cannot be done, don't you believe them. It can be done, and
they are quite clever enough to do it too. The objections they will
raise, however disguised in the solemn mystery of technical phrases, will
not be technical, but commercial. I assure you that there is not much
mystery about a ship of that sort. She is a tank. She is a tank ribbed,
joisted, stayed, but she is no greater mystery than a tank. The
_Titanic_ was a tank eight hundred feet long, fitted as an hotel, with
corridors, bed-rooms, halls, and so on (not a very mysterious arrangement
truly), and for the hazards of her existence I should think about as
strong as a Huntley and Palmer biscuit-tin. I make this comparison
because Huntley and Palmer biscuit-tins, being almost a national
institution, are probably known to all my readers. Well, about that
strong, and perhaps not quite so strong. Just look at