id the double duty of
the bitts and capstan; and for a multiplicity of other parts.

A landsman could hardly believe what a marvellous adjustment of
co-operating parts is required for a ship unless he actually watches
its construction. He will then understand why it is by far the most
wonderful structure man has ever built throughout all the ages of his
evolution. It represents his first success in mastering an element not
his own; and, whatever the future may see in the way of aviation, the
priority of seamanship will always remain secure by thousands and
thousands of known and unknown years.

But we are still no farther than a few parts of the hull. There is the
stepping of the masts, with their heels set firm and square above the
keel, and their rake 'right plim' throughout. Then there is the whole
of the rigging--a perfect maze to look at, though an equally perfect
device to use; the sails, which require the most highly expert
workmanship to make; {90} the rudder, and many other essentials.
Finally, there is all that is needed in every well-found vessel which
is 'fit to go foreign.' No vessel would go far unless its under-water
parts were either sheathed, tarred, or tallowed; for sea-worms burrow
alarmingly, and 'whiskers' grow like the obnoxious weeds they are.
These particulars, of course, leave many important gaps in the process.

Then the hull has to be transferred from the inclined plane of block
piles, on which it was built, to a cradle, on which it moves down the
sliding-ways into the water.

When everything is ready, the christening of the ship takes place. A
bottle of wine is broken against her bows and her name is pronounced by
some distinguished person in a formula which varies more or less, but
which is generally some version of the good old English benediction:
'God bless the Dreadnought and all who sail in her.' No matter what
the name may be, the ship herself is always 'she.' Many ingenious and
mistaken explanations have been given of this supposedly female 'she.'
The schoolboy 'howler' on the subject is well known: 'All ships are
"she" except mail boats and men-of-war.' Had this schoolboy known a
very little more he might {91} have added jackass brigs to his list of
male exceptions. The real explanation may possibly be that the English
still spoken at sea is, in some ways, centuries older than the English
spoken on land, and that the nautical 'she' comes down to us from the
ancient days