may in time begin to characterise the attitude even of so experienced a navigator as the late captain of the Titanic.

Protection against the dangers of the sea may be sought in two directions: First, the enforcement of rules for more careful navigation; second, the embodiment of non-sinkable construction in the ship.

The protection afforded by the one is limited by the fallibility of human nature.

The protection afforded by the other is exact, absolutely sure, and will last as long as the ship itself.

If we would make ocean travel safe we must make the ship, as far as possible, unsinkable. In other words, the naval architect must adopt that principle of construction, common in other lines of mechanical work, which has been aptly designated as "fool-proof." In the building of folly-proof ships, then (the term is here used in a modified sense and with not the least reflection upon that fine body of professional men whose duties lie on the bridge of our ocean liners), is to be found the one sure protection against the perils of the sea.

We are well aware that the merchant ship, like the warship, is a compromise, and that the ingenuity of the naval architect is sorely taxed to meet the many demands for speed, coal capacity, freight capacity, and luxurious accommodations for passengers. All this is admitted. But the object of these chapters is to show that in designing the ship, the architect has given too little attention to the elements of safety—that, in the compromise, luxurious accommodations, let us say, have been favoured at the expense of certain protective structural arrangements, which might readily be introduced without any great addition to the cost of the ship, or any serious sacrifice of comfort or speed.

Under the sobering effect of this calamity, caution and moderation are the watchwords of the hour. Steamships are leaving port crowded with lifeboats of every size and shape. Steamship routes have been moved far to the south of the accustomed lines of travel. The time occupied in passage is longer, distances are greater, and the coal bill runs into larger figures.

But competition is keen, dividends must be earned, and amid all the fret and fever of our modern life, memories, even of stupendous happenings, have but a brief life. Steamship routes, under the strong pressure of competition, will tend to edge northward on to the older and shorter sailing lines. Immunity from disaster will beget the old sangfroid; and with the near approach of the age of motor-driven ships, we may look for an increase in speed such as the old Atlantic has never witnessed, even in the years of fiercest contest for the blue ribbon of the seas.

Let it be so—provided, always provided that, made wise by the lessons of the hour, we write it in our laws and grave it deep in the hearts of our shipbuilders, that the one sure safeguard against the eternal hazards of the sea is the fireproof and unsinkable ship!

CHAPTER III
EVERY SHIP ITS OWN LIFEBOAT

Say what we will, it cannot be denied that the lifeboat is a makeshift. The long white line of boats, conspicuous on each side of the upper deck of a large passenger ship, is, in a certain sense, a confession of failure—an admission on the part of the shipbuilder that, in spite of all that he has done in making travel by sea fast and comfortable, he has not yet succeeded in making it safe.

Progress in shipbuilding and especially in the construction of fast and luxuriously appointed ships has been simply phenomenal, particularly during the past two decades. There is no art in the whole field of engineering that has made such rapid and astonishing strides; and it is not stretching the point too far to assert that man's mastery of the ocean is the greatest engineering triumph of all time.

The fury of the elements, as shown in a heavy storm at sea, has always been regarded as one of the most majestic and terrifying exhibitions of the forces of nature. When the sailing packet was struck by the full fury of a gale, the skipper lay to, thankful if he could survive the racket, without carrying away boats, bulwarks, and deck gear. Frequently, with canvas blown out of the bolt ropes, he was obliged to run under bare poles, at the imminent risk of being swamped under the weight of some following sea. For many a decade, even in the era of the steamship, it was necessary, when heading into a heavy sea, to slow down the engines, maintaining only sufficient speed to give steerage way. To-day, so great are the weight and engine power that the giant steamship, if the captain is willing to risk some minor mishaps to her upper works, may be driven resistlessly along the appointed lines of travel regardless of wind and sea. So far as the loss of the ship from heavy weather is concerned, man has obtained complete mastery of the ocean.