I was at that time in command of H.M.S. _Bandersnatch_, a vessel of nine
hundred thousand horse-power, and a mean average displacement of four
hundred thousand tons. Ah, the dear old _Bandersnatch!_ Never can I forget
the thrill of exquisite emotion which pervaded my inmost being as I stepped
on board in mid-ocean. Everything was in apple-pie order. Bulkheads,
girders, and beams shone like glass in the noonday sun. The agile
torpedo-catchers had been practising their sports, and I could not resist a
feeling of intense pride when I learnt that only fifty of these heroic
fellows had that morning perished owing to the accidental explosion of one
of their charming playthings at the very crisis of the game. The racers of
the after-guns had been out for their morning's exercise. Indeed the
saddles had only just been removed, and the noble animals were now enjoying
a good square meal of corn in their bombproof stable. Keep your animals in
good fettle, and they'll never shirk their work: that was always my motto,
and right well has it answered. The roaring furnaces, the cylindrical
boilers, the prisoned steam, the twin screws, the steel shot that crashes
like thunder, the fearful impact of the ram, the blanching terror of the
supreme moment, the shattered limbs and scattered heads,--all these were
ready, waiting but for the pressure of my finger on the middle button of
the boatswain's mess-waistcoat to speed forth upon their deadly work
between the illustrated covers of a shilling pamphlet.