there stands a sentry. He paces up and down for a distance of about ten
feet. On one of the sides of the cabin is an electric indicator similar
to those seen in the large hotels back of the clerk's desk. The sentry
on the ship passes that indicator every time he paces from one end of
his limited beat to the other. He cannot escape hearing its bell when it
rings, and his eye at once sees whence the signal comes that is
telegraphed to the Captain in time of emergency. That indicator is
placed there so that, when necessary, there shall be instant
communication with the Captain. Some of the dials tell stories of the
utmost importance to the safety of the ship. They tell these stories
automatically.
Let us see how one of the most important of these dials may perhaps save
the ship from destruction. Down in the coal-bunkers there is a little
instrument attached to the side of each compartment that looks like a
little thermometer. It is not more than four or five inches tall. It is
simply a thermometer with an electric attachment. A fire has started in
a coal-bunker, as happens sometimes on large steamships, through what is
known as "spontaneous combustion." It may smoulder for several days and
give no indication of its existence. At last it breaks into a flame.
Some one has felt a hot deck through his shoes as he has walked along,
or perchance has accidentally placed his hand on the iron-work of the
compartment and found it blistering hot. Instantly the fire-alarm is
rung, and if the fire is not too far advanced the ship may be saved. On
war-ships, however, no such risk must be run. In the economy of space on
such ships it frequently happens that these coal-bunkers are placed very
near, and sometimes next to, the powder-magazines. A fire in the
coal-bunkers would mean an awful explosion, the loss of the ship and
hundreds of lives.
Here is where that little thermometer plays its heroic part. It is
called a thermostat, and it is so arranged that as the heat increases,
the mercury in the bulb slowly rises to what is known as the
danger-point. When the heat reaches that point the mercury sets an
electric current going. At once the bell on the indicator where the
sentry outside the Captain's door stands rings violently. The sentry
hurries to it and sees a fire-alarm from a certain compartment, and he
hastily awakes the Captain. The latter presses a button, perhaps without
getting out of bed or up from his chair, and instantly there rings the
general fire-alarm throughout the ship, and every man on board is called
to quarters. For a few seconds it is time of immense confusion and
noise. Great gongs are ringing in various parts of the ship. Men are
hurrying half dressed, if it be in the night, here and there, and there
is much shouting in the giving and passing of orders. In a twinkling,
however, order prevails, and through the aid of that little automatic
thermometer the ship and the lives of those on board are saved. This
thermostat is an insignificant-looking affair--a mere trifle in the
ship's construction--but see what an important thing it really is. These
instruments are used in many buildings on land, but nowhere are they of
such importance as when placed in coal-bunkers or on the outside walls
of magazines in war-ships.
Another dial on the indicator where the sentry paces also plays an
important part in war-ships. It is called the water-alarm. All modern
war-ships have what are known as double bottoms. They are built to
prevent the ship from sinking or from becoming flooded in the chief
compartments of the vessel below the water-line. Sometimes a ship may
scrape along the top of an unknown rock or reef, or may strike some
obstruction floating unseen beneath the waves. No one on board may feel
the shock, especially if it is a light one. The water may rush into one
of these double bottoms, and although the ship may be safe from sinking,
the danger in time may be most grave. As the water fills the compartment
which has been broken, a little piece of wood rises with it, and
finally, when it reaches a certain height, it too establishes an
electric current, and the alarm rings outside the cabin door of the
Captain. Again the alarm sounds through the ship, and if possible, the
break is mended temporarily, and the pumps set going to clear the
compartment of the water.
[Illustration: A TORPEDO BURSTING AN OUTER COMPARTMENT.]
In time of battle, however, this water-alarm may tell a more important
story. Perhaps a torpedo from the enemy has struck the ship, and a
gaping wound has been torn not only in the outside bottom of the ship,
but through the inner hull as well. Instantly the news reaches the
Captain through the water-alarm. The Captain simply presses a button,
and at once not only does the general alarm ring, but the "siren"
whistle on the ship is set to shrieking most horribly. Those siren
whistles are seldom heard either in port or at sea. They begin their
noise with a low moan, and run up to an awful shriek, with a thin,
ear-piercing note that is almost unendurable. The siren may be blown by
electricity as easily as an electric door-bell may be rung. When the
siren is heard it is a signal throughout the ship to close all the
water-tight doors in the various compartments, and thus confine the
inrushing waters to a limited space. If only one or two compartments are
torn open by the torpedo, the ship may be saved from sinking and a great
tragedy of war may be averted. When the siren howls, however, there is
such a scurrying on shipboard as is never seen at other times. Nearly
every compartment has men in it at work. The alarms and the whistles are
their only warning, except, perhaps, the shouts of their companions. A
mighty rush is made to get out of some of these compartments. No time
must be lost, and there can be no waiting for a man to escape. If shut
in, he may be drowned. It is a question of his life or that of the ship
and the lives of the rest of the crew, and there is only one way to
answer that question.
These water-alarms are used in many large buildings in connection with
the fire-alarm, but one can see how much more important they are on
ships, especially on war-ships, than on land. They are a most simple
contrivance, and, like the thermostat, mere trifles; but they may turn
the tide in a naval battle, and directly or remotely settle the fate of
a nation.
In the early days of steam navigation the Captain of a vessel could
speak to the engineer through a tube and regulate the speed of the ship.
When the vessels grew larger, the signalling was done by means of bells.
That method is in common use to-day in many vessels that ply in harbors,
such as river steamboats and tug-boats. As the ocean-liners increased in
size the bell system of signalling became antiquated. The Captain or the
navigator was 300 or 400 feet away from the engineer, and from 20 to 40
feet above the engine-room. In time of emergency it became necessary to
send word to the engineer exactly what to do in half a dozen different
cases. He must stop, back, go slow now with one engine and now with
another, or with both. A long chain was run from a contrivance on the
bridge to the engine-room. When the Captain pressed forward or backward
a handle on a vertical dial, a handle in the engine-room would move on a
similar dial, and a bell would ring to call attention to it, and the
engineer knew at once what to do. This system is in use at the present
time on all large passenger-ships and most war-ships in the world.
Electricity has invaded this field also, and on the newer war-ships of
the navy we have the signalling done by this agent. By the
electric-engine telegraph, which Lieutenant Fiske of our navy has
invented, not only does the engineer know at once when to go at full
speed, half-speed, when to stop and back, and all that, but the Captain
can tell at an instant, by looking at a little dial attached to his
signalling apparatus, whether his orders have been understood. The
little dial is connected with that part of the signalling apparatus in
the engine-room on the same electric circuit, and thus the Captain knows
exactly what is going on in the engine-room. But the new invention goes
farther than that. It tells the engineer just how many revolutions of
the screws a minute the Captain desires the engines to make. Full speed,
for example, in the old way of signalling may mean anywhere from 80 to
90 or 100 revolutions of the screws. Half-speed may mean anywhere from
60 to 80 revolutions. The engineer in those cases has to use his own
judgment as to what speed to employ, unless a message is sent especially
to him from the Captain. In the electric device which we are just
beginning to use there are certain notches on the dials, and the Captain
can signal exactly the number of revolutions he desires each engine to
make. He not only gets a signal back, but he has a telltale instrument
before his eyes which shows that the engines are making 59, or 73, or
whatever number of turns the Captain wishes them to make.
Now this regulation of the revolutions of the ship's engines has a most
important part to play in warfare. One of the most essential things in
naval manoeuvring is that ships shall keep a certain distance from one
another. It avoids collisions, and preserves regularity in fire and in
changing positions at critical times. It is as essential as that
soldiers shall present a solid line to the enemy in battle on land. A
helter-skelter fleet would be beaten from the start in a fight. It is
most difficult for ships to keep at regular intervals. The engines of
one turn just a little faster than the engines of another, and little by
little a ship creeps up or drops away from its fellows. Sometimes the
distances are preserved by guess-work. Lately a little instrument has
been invented by which the Captain can see at a glance how far he is
from the ship ahead of him. It is a modification of the sextant. The
height of a certain object on the ship in front is known. That is the
base of a triangle. The size of the angles at the end of that base are
seen at a glance by the observer, and by the manipulation of a screw or
two the Captain of a ship can see on a sliding-scale whether he is going
too slow or too fast. In either case he signals a change or two in the
number of revolutions he wishes the engines to make, and he preserves
his required distance. Accuracy in this matter may win a battle.
So great is the din and confusion on war-ships in time of battle that
what are called "visual signals" are demanded. This has brought several
contrivances into operation that are new. For example, we have a
transmitter of orders. It tells the gunners when and what guns to load,
and with what kind of shot; when to stand ready to fire; when to fire,
and when to cease firing. In the old days, and even in the present days,
such orders are conveyed in speaking-tubes or by telephone on most
ships. In the great noise an order may be mistaken, but with a visual
signal in the shape of an indicator, operated by the mere pressing of a
button, orders from the Captain may be conveyed clearly and instantly.
Another apparently trifling thing in the development of navigation is an
electrical signalling device for indicating the exact angle the Captain
wishes the helm set in making a turn. He presses a button, and the man
at the wheel sets the rudder accordingly. A dial informs the Captain
that the rudder is set as required. This is most important, because it
tends to avoid collisions as the war-ships suddenly change their
positions in column. We all remember how serious a collision, even going
at slow speed, may be when we recall how three years ago the
_Camperdown_ sunk the _Victoria_ of the English Mediterranean squadron
on a peaceful day off the coast of Africa, in going through some simple
evolutions, and when hundreds of brave sailors, including the Admiral of
the fleet himself, were drowned, as the _Victoria_ went down before the
small boats of the other vessels of the fleet could reach them.
[Illustration: THE ADMIRAL WORKING SIGNALS AT NIGHT.]
One of the great problems in naval tactics is to secure an effective
method of signalling orders from ship to ship. In the night it is
comparatively easy. A string of red and white alternating electric
lights is strung from a yard downwards. An operator sits in front of a
little box in which there are a lot of black keys on which are stamped a
certain number of red and white dots. As he presses these keys, which
are arranged in a circle and look like so many fancy dominoes, the red
and white lights flash out in certain combinations. The operators see
them, and signal back the same light. Each key pressed down means a
certain letter, and it takes little time to send an order. In the
daytime signals must be sent by flags, or by means of a contrivance with
long arms such as we see on signal-towers on a railroad. As these arms
are jerked into certain positions they tell a story of their own.
During a battle by day or night all such systems are of little value
because of the smoke. Whistles can be of little use, because the noise
of battle would drown them. Electrical experts are trying to devise a
system of telegraphing through the water, of course without the use of
wires, but the outlook in that direction is not promising at present.
Then there are important new devices which we can only mention. One of
them is the sounding apparatus, by which the depth of water can be taken
when going at full speed. The pressure of water on a column of air
varies at certain depths of the ocean. This pressure is marked by the
discoloration of a fluid in a tube through the agency of the salt water.
The electric firing of guns is also interesting. A current of
electricity is passed through a filament, such as we see in the
incandescent lamp of a house electric light, and at once the heat sets
the gun off as effectively as if a spark had ignited the powder. Then
there is the aerophone, or fog-indicator, which points out the exact
direction of some noise-making object by cutting the sound-wave in two,
so as to send it first in one ear and then the other of the man who
operates the invention, until finally he gets it in equal volume in both
ears, and the dial on the machine points straight to the object which
cannot be seen.
All these inventions, which of themselves seem mere trifles, are
necessary in these days, because of the wonderful advance in warfare and
the construction of ships. In the old days the Captain could roar his
orders out and make himself heard almost everywhere. Nowadays a fraction
of a second may determine the outcome of a battle. He must be able to
find the distance of his enemy, must fire his guns without aiming them
in the old way, must regulate the speed of his ship to the single turn
of a screw, must put his own helm at a certain angle to a degree.
Without electricity he would be helpless in the noise and confusion.
Even with electricity he is hampered, and so we may expect that the
invention of these little devices will go on, until one man in a ship
may control that engine of war as completely as if he were in every
vital place in the ship at one and the same time.
HOW TO USE THE VOICE.
BY FELIX BEAUMONT.
"Now, my friends," said Mrs. Martin, as she gathered a knot of young
people about her on the breezy veranda of her pleasant country house,
one moonlight evening in September, "we have had picnics, and drives,
and walks, and rows upon the lake in the daytime, and dances almost
every night since you have been visiting me, and I believe that you may
be getting sufficiently tired of these sports, as the weather grows
cooler, to wish to change about and settle down to something at once
more instructive and more artistic. You are, all of you, students of
music--Ethel reads it very well at sight, Kenneth plays the 'cello,
Patty plays the violin, Beatrice sings charmingly and plays
accompaniments, besides being a general helper and strong inducer of
merriment, while the rest of you have good voices, very pretty taste,
and some knowledge of music. So I am going to organize a musical club,
which shall meet here regularly once a week after you leave me, having
finished your visits. And I am going now to attempt to explain to you so
thoroughly the best methods of getting up a 'musical' that other boys
and girls who wish to amuse themselves in the same way may learn from
your example. A great deal of fun may be had from the preliminary
practice and rehearsals. I should advise you to form, in the first
place, three quartets: one of mixed voices--that is, you know, soprano,
alto, tenor, and bass--besides one of male voices, first tenor, second
tenor, first bass (or barytone), and second bass. Then a quartet of
female voices--two sopranos and two altos, and this last can sometimes
do trios as well as quartets. For all of these different sets of voices
the most beautiful and pleasing music has been made. Mendelssohn's
collection for mixed voices, called 'Open-Air Music,' is intended to be
done without accompaniment, which, as you see, fits it to be sung
independently in any place--in the woods, or on the lake, or while
driving. It is as full of inspiration and of the true sweet
Mendelssohnian melody as anything that ever dropped from the pen of that
sociable and amiable composer; the harmonies are delicious, and the
words are full of the poetry of land and sea and love. For male voices
there is a large literature; but perhaps the heaviest mass of writing is
found in compositions for women's voices, either in the form of
duets--as, for instance, those of Abt, Mendelssohn, Rubinstein, or
Dvorák--in trios, and in quartets.
"In this connection let me tell you," said Mrs. Martin, who now saw
that her young audience was thoroughly attentive and interested, "that
Schubert has written a most lovely 'Serenade' for alto solo and women's
chorus. For all three kinds of quartet, as I have said, there is a large
choice of music. The old Scotch, English, and Irish songs and ballads
have been arranged to be sung by male, female, or mixed voices, so that
'Robin Adair,' 'The Bluebells of Scotland,' 'Annie Laurie,' 'Tom
Bowling,' 'Hearts of Oak,' 'The Bay of Biscay,' 'Kathleen Mavourneen,'
'The Last Rose of Summer,' and 'The Harp that once through Tara's Halls'
take on new beauties from their harmonizations. Then there are humorous
things, such as Homer Bartlett's 'The Frogs' Singing-School,' or
Caldicott's 'Spider and the Fly,' and all Ingraham's nine 'Nonsense
Songs,' set to Lear's words, from 'The Owl and the Pussy-cat' to 'The
Duck and the Kangaroo.' Italian folk-songs, too, have been transformed
into harmonized versions, and there are hosts of waltzes so pretty and
inspiriting that you will hardly be able to keep from whirling about
while you sing them. 'Cradle Songs' and 'Slumber Songs' may be selected
when for variety you need a bit of reposeful quiet in your programme;
and you know enough of Franz Abt's pure, sweet, pleasing melody to be
able to choose judiciously on the occasions when he would be useful to
you.
"Of course," added Mrs. Martin, "these musical attempts presuppose some
knowledge of sight-reading on the part of you young people; and as
nothing is accomplished without application and effort, you must be
willing to take a little trouble in the practice and perfection of
whatever you undertake to perform. Each of you must carry his part home
and study it separately, until you are perfectly familiar with it, then
you must rehearse together until the whole thing goes smoothly. Do any
of you understand," said Mrs. Martin, giving a comprehensive glance
along the semicircle of sun-browned smiling faces in front of her, "what
you must do to make _ensemble_ singing sound sweetly to the listener? In
the first place, never sing too loud. There is a great temptation for
each member of a chorus or quartet to use all the power of his voice as
soon as he feels other voices pushing against him; but whether in solo
or other work, one of the cardinal rules is to avoid singing as loudly
as the vocal chords will permit. One must think continually of the sound
he is producing, must listen carefully to himself, by which method one
can modify and improve the quality of tone to a remarkable degree. Some
people undoubtedly make a much more successful effort than others in
managing their voices before they are cultivated. The best general
advice to be given for the help of a novice is, sing freely and
naturally, with relaxed muscles. You should try to open the throat by a
movement which at once forces the tonsils apart and depresses the roots
of the tongue, somewhat as in the commencement of a yawn. Let the column
of air which carries the tone come straight through the middle of the
open throat, and focus or strike in the roof of the mouth just behind
and above the upper teeth. Try to enunciate distinctly without
disturbing the continuity of tone emission."
"Do you think any of us can do solos, Aunt Martha?" asked little Patty,
timidly.
"Oh yes, indeed," replied Mrs. Martin, drawing Patty close to her. "We
must have some, of course; they are so good for making boys and girls
conquer shyness and nervousness and consciousness. At first you should
select simple songs of limited range, with attractive flowing melodies.
You will find plenty of just this kind among the works of Gounod, Abt,
Ries, Cowen, Sullivan, Curschman, Kücken, Fesca, Tosti, and Bohm.
Brahms's 'Lullaby' is a charming and easy bit of singing; so is Ries's
'Cradle Song.' Those by Adalbert Goldschmidt and Gerrit Smith are pretty
also. Indeed, slumber songs lend themselves admirably to early efforts
in solo work. Other song writers to whom you may look for furnishing the
best material are Jensen, Eckert, Lachner, Taubert, Bemberg, Gumbert,
Goring-Thomas, Bizet, Lassen, Delibes, Widor, Arditi, Mattei, Godard,
Saint-Saëns, Massenet, and so on, up to the classic heights of
Rubinstein, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Schubert, Schumann, Grieg, and Brahms.
Of extreme modern writers who make pleasing music you can rely on
Chaminade, Nevin, Neidlinger, Bartlett, Johns, and Pizzi. Of course
among these names you will not find many opera-composers, for I have
only cared to mention the makers of songs. I will tell you something
else, a little foreign to our immediate subject of _ensemble_ or solo
singing, which, however, will, I am sure, afford you much enjoyment and
merriment. There are compositions called in German 'Kinder Symphonien,'
or 'Children's Symphonies.' Dear old Father Haydn made one of the best
of these, and they have been followed by others, by Romberg, Chwatal,
Grenzebach, Meyer, and Schulz. They are played by about ten or twelve
persons. There will be a piano score for either two or four hands, one
for violin, and for a number of toy instruments. One of the instruments
is somewhat like a pair of bellows in construction. When it is pressed
together the most illusive sound of 'cuckoo, cuckoo,' comes from it, so
natural as almost to deceive the bird himself if he were listening.