IN CONNING TOWER. What One Man Controls on Board of a Man-of-War.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 314, 7 November 1888, Page 5

IN CONNING TOWER. What One Man Controls on Board of a Man-of-War.

Hjsri; in this spot is concentrated the whole power of the tremendous machine which we call an ironclad ship. Such power was never till the world began concentrated under the direction of man, and all that power, the judgment to direct it, the knowledge to utilise it, it is placed in the hands of one man, and one only. What is the power ? Talk of Jove with his thunderbolts, of Nasmyfch with the hammer, the fables of mythology and the facts of the latter-day science — where has there been anything to compare with it ? Here in the conning tcwer stands the captain of the ship, and beneath his feet lie hidden power, which the mind can scarcely grasp, but which one and all arc made subservienb to his will, and his will alone. Picture him as he stands at his post before the battle begins ; all is quiet enough, there is scarcely a sound save lapping of the water against the smooth, white sides of the ironclad, and no outward Sign of force save the ripple of the parted waters falling off on either side of the ram as it sheers through the water. But mark that white thread escaping from the steam pipe astern, fleecy vapour rising into the air and nothing more. But what does it mean V It means that far down below some thirty glowing furnaces are roaring under the blast of steam ; that in the great cylindrical boilers the water is bubbling, surging, struggling, as the fierce burning gases pass through the flues, and that *the prisoned steam, tearing and thrusting at the tough sides of the boilers, is already raising the valves and blowing off at a pressure of 100 pounds. It means that the captain in his conning tower has but to press the button by his side, and in a moment the four great engines will be driving the twin screws through the water with the force of 12,000 horse power, and that the great ship, with the dead weight of 12,000 tons, will be rushing onward at a speed of over twenty miles an hour, In her turretand in her broadside batteries there is a deep hush of expectation, but there, too, waiting to respond to the ' flash of the will that can,' lie forces of destruc tion which appal imagination.

.Far down below- Our feet, in the chambers of the great guns, lie tho dark masses of the powder charges. A touch, a spark, and in a sheet of flame, and with' tho crash of thunder, the steel shot will rush from their muzzles, speeding on their way 2,000 feet in a second and dealing their blow with the impact of 60,000 foot-tons — 5,000 pounds weight of metal discharged by one touch of the captain's hand. Nor is this all : another touch and another signal will liberate the little clips which detain tho four Whitehead torpedoes in their tubes. A puff of powder, tf, click as tho machinery is started, and the two screws are sot off whirling, and, with a straight, silent plunge, the long steel torpodoes will dive into the water, and at the appointed depth will speed on their way thirty miles an hour on their awful errand of destruction. Move that switch and through the dark wall of the night a long, straight beam will shoot forth with the radiance of 40,000 candles, turning tho night into day. A word spolcon through that tube will lot loose the hailstorm of steel and lead from the quick-firing and machine guns on the upper deck and in the tops. A discharge ot shot and shell, not bo be conn bud by tens or scores, but by hundreds and thousands, a storm beforo which no living thing can stand, and under which all but tho strongest defences will wither aud melt away like a snowbank under an April shower. And last and most terrible of all, there id one other force roatly to the captain's hand — a ioree the s»um ot all others, and which, if rightly utilised, is as irresistible as the spelling of tho ocean tide or the hand of dcabh. By your sido and under your hand aie the spokes of the steam-steering wheel ; far foi ward, under thy swirling wave which rises round tho ship's cut-water, lies the ram. the mo«t terrible, the moat iatal of all the engines of maritime warfare. It is the task of tho hand which turns that little wheel to direct the fearful impact ot tho ram. Think what the power coniided to one man's hand must be — 12,000 tons of dead weight driven forward by 1 lie irantie energy of 12,000 hor&o power, plunging and surging along through the yielding waves at a speed ot ten feet in every second, and with a momentum so huge that the mathematical expression which purports to represent if to the mind conveys no idea to an intelligence incapable of appreciating a conception so vasl To receive a blow from the ram is death — tho irretrievable catastrophe of a chip's career. To deliver such a blow is certain victory. It is with the captain and the captain alone as he stands here in the conning towor that the responsibility of inflicting or encountering this awful fate lies. Now you will understand what I mean when I say that never since the world began have such jtorces been placed in the hands of a single man, whose eye alone must see the opportunity, whose judgment alone must enable him to utilise it, and whoso hand alone must give effect to all that his courage, his wisdom and hia duty prompt.