'--and the two
smoke-funnels of the engines. In the heart of it rises `the fighting
tower,' an armoured core, as it were, from which the captain and
officers may survey the aspect of affairs while fighting, steer, and,
by means of electricity, etcetera, work the monster guns of the ship.
If all the flimsy work about the vessel were blown into the sea, her
vitality would not be affected, though her aspect would indeed be
mightily changed for the worse, but the _Thunderer_ in her entirety,
with her low-armoured hull, her central fighting-tower, her
invulnerable turrets with their two 35-ton and two 38-ton guns, and
all her armament and men, would still be there, as able and ready for
action as ever.

"Very simply yet very tastefully arranged did the captain's fighting
cabin seem to me as I lay down on its narrow but comfortable bed, the
first night of my visit, and looked around me. Besides a commodious
little chest of drawers, there were on one wall telescopes, swords,
and naval caps; on another a compact library. Above my head,
stretching diagonally across the bed, was an object which caused me no
little surprise and much speculation. In appearance it resembled a
giant flute with finger holes that no man of mortal mould could have
covered. Not till next morning did I discover that this tube was part
of a system of air-distributing pipes, supplied by fanners worked by
steam, whereby fresh air is driven to every part of the vessel.

"`So,' said I to myself, turning to the prettily-painted wall at my
side, and giving it a slight tap, `the proverbial two-inch plank
between me and death is here increased to somewhere about thirty
inches.'

"In this soliloquy I referred to the _Thunderer's_ armour-plates, of
from ten to twelve inches thick, which are affixed to a timber backing
of eighteen inches in two layers. With such a backing of solid
comfort between me and `death,' I felt soothed, and dropped asleep.

"It was Saturday night. On Sunday morning I was awakened by a rushing
of water so furious that I fancied the sea must have proved more than
a match for the 12-inch armour and 18-inch backing; but a moment or
two of attentive reflection relieved me. Your friend Firebrand's
voice was audible. I listened. He muttered something, and yawned
vociferously, then muttered again--`Splend--propns--a--yi--a--ou!'

"`Splendid proportions!' he resum