s.

Among the inventions which her Captain has given to his navy is a
sound-detector, by means of which a sound can be magnified to a very
great degree, and its direction accurately ascertained.

The _Kearsarge_ had been fitted with one of these detectors before
leaving the United States, for the Captain knew that many dense fogs
would be met with off the English coast.

She has been cruising about in wait for her prey for over a week. The
crew have been given incessant drill and sub-calibre target practice.
The plan of attack has been discussed so often that it is known by all
the officers.

The ship is "cleared for action." Every stanchion and boat-davit has
been lashed to the deck. Every movable object on the deck below has been
sent to the protective-deck to avoid, as far as possible, the danger
from flying splinters.

The smoke on the horizon has approached, until now it is seen from the
top to come from two smoke-pipes framed by something that looks
suspiciously like two military fighting-masts.

The crew are gathered on the forecastle. The enemy is now in sight, and
the Captain's glass is upon her. A careful scrutiny shows her to be a
war-vessel similar in appearance to his own. At a sign from him the
drummer beats to "quarters." This sound calls every man to some station.
The Captain goes to the conning-tower, a small heavily armored turret
beneath the bridge. An aid enters with him to steer the ship by his
direction from the wheel within. A small opening near the top gives the
occupants a view around the horizon, and numerous speaking-tubes and
telephones put them in communication with all the vital parts of the
ship. Crews of twelve men each enter the turrets in charge of an
officer. Steam is turned on the turret-engines. The guns on the deck
below are divided between two divisions of men, each division in charge
of a lieutenant, who has an ensign and midshipman as assistants.

The men are stripped to the waist, and their guns are ready for battle;
division tubs are filled with water, and the decks are covered with
sand. On the berth-deck hatches and scuttles are opened, tackles are
hooked, and the cooks are hoisting powder and shell for the battery.

The torpedo clews are charging their deadly weapons with compressed air.
Below the protective-deck are half-naked men in the magazines and shell
rooms, handling the missiles that are soon to speed towards the
approaching enemy.

Down in the depths of t