Last year it was my pleasant privilege to lay before the readers of the Spectator a few details upon the polity of a battleship, and from the amount of interest shown in that subject, it would seem acceptable to supplement it by a few more details upon the mechanical side. First, then, as to the ship herself. Complaints are often heard of the loss of beauty and ship-like appearance consequent upon the gain of combative¹ strength in these floating monsters. And it cannot be denied that up till a few years ago in our own Navy, and at the present date among the cuirassés of France, the appearance of the vessels² made such a complaint well founded—such ships as the Hoche and Charlemagne, for instance, from which it may truly be said that all likeness³ to a ship has been removed. But in our own Navy there has been witnessed of late years a decided⁴ return to the handsome contour of vessels built, not for war, but for the peaceful pursuits of the merchant service. And this has so far been attended by the happiest results. These mighty⁶ ships of the Majestic⁷ class, on board of one of which I am now writing, have won the unstinted praise of all connected with them. This means a great deal, for there are no more severe critics of the efforts of naval⁸ architects than naval officers, as would be[200] naturally expected. In these ships the eye is arrested at once by their beautiful lines, and the absence of any appearance of top-heaviness so painfully evident in ships like the Thunderer, the Dreadnought, and the Admirals. Their spacious⁹ freeboard, or height from the water-line to the edge of the upper deck, catches a seaman’s eye at once, for a good freeboard means not only a fairly dry ship, but also plenty of fresh air below, as well as a sense of security in heavy weather. It is not, however, until their testing time comes, in a heavy

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