mortal man could move that
shot a hair's-breadth in the right direction, but the hydraulic ram is
brought to bear, and shoves the delicious _morceau_ not _down_ but
_up_ his throat with an ease that would be absurd if it were not
tremendous. The tell-tale now intimates to the insiders, `Gun
loaded.' The captain of the turret gives the order, `Run out.'
Hydraulic at work again. In a few seconds the gun muzzle is raised,
and projects through its port-hole. When the object and distance are
named, the captain of the turret takes aim, and then follows, in more
or less rapid succession, `Elevate,' `Depress,' `Extreme elevation,'
or the reverse, `Ready!'--`Fire!' when the _Thunderer_ is shaken to
her centre, and twelve pounds ten shillings sterling go groaning
uselessly into the deep, or crashing terrifically through the
armour-plates of an unfortunate enemy.

"My dear fellow, this gives you but a faint outline of it, but time
and paper would fail me if I were to tell in detail of the mode by
which all this can be done by the captain of the _Thunderer_ himself,
by means of speaking-tubes and electricity and a `director,' so that
he can, while standing in the fighting tower, aim, point, and fire, as
if with his own hand, guns which he cannot see, and which are forty
feet or so distant from him. Would that I could relate to you a tithe
of what I have seen!--the day, for instance, when the blue-jackets, to
the number of one hundred and fifty, had a field-day on shore, and
went through infantry drill--skirmishing and all--as well, to my
unpractised eye, as if they had been regular `boiled lobsters,' to say
nothing of their manoeuvres with the Gatling gun. This latter weapon,
perhaps you don't know, is simply a bundle of gigantic muskets which
load and fire themselves by the mere turning of a handle--a martial
barrel-organ, in short, which sends a continuous shower of balls in
the face of an advancing or on the back of a retreating foe. The
greater involves the less. No one can deny that, and it is my opinion
that in the British navy the sailor now includes the soldier. He is,
as it were, a bluejacket and a boiled lobster rolled into one
tremendous sausage--a sausage so tough that would be uncommonly
difficult for any one, in Yankee phrase, to `chaw him up.'

"Then there is the Whitehead torpedo.

"`A thing of beauty,' says the poet, `is a joy for e