If we were a maker of riddles, we would ask our reader, "Why is a ship
like a human being?" and having added, "D'ye give it up?" would reply,
"Because it commences life in a cradle;" but not being a fabricator of
riddles, we _don't_ ask our reader that question. We merely draw his
attention to the fact that ships, like men, have not only an infancy,
but also have cradles--of which more hereafter.
Let us enter one of those naval nurseries--the dockyard--where ships may
be seen commencing their career. What a scene it is! What sawing and
thumping, and filing, and grinding, and clinching, and hammering,
without intermission, from morn till noon, and from noon till dewy eve!
What a Babel of sounds and chaos of indescribable material!
That little boy whom you observe standing under the shadow of yonder
hull--his hands in his pockets (of course), his mouth open (probably),
and his eyes gazing up fixedly at the workmen, who cluster like bees on
the ribs and timbers of yonder infant ship has stood there for more than
an hour, and he will stand there, or thereabout, for many hours to come;
for it happens to be a holiday with him, and he dotes on harbours and
dockyards. His whole being is wrapped up in them.
And this is natural enough. Most boys delight to gaze on
incomprehensible and stupendous works. Let us--you and I, reader--
follow this urchin's example, keeping our mouths shut, however, save
when we mean to speak, and our eyes open.
There are ships here of every shape and size--from the little
coasting-vessel to the great East Indiaman, which, in its unfinished
condition, looks like the skeleton of some dire megatherium of the
antediluvian world. Some of these infant ships have an enormous shed
over them to protect them from the weather; others are destitute of such
protection: for ships, like men, it would seem, are liable to
vicissitudes of fortune. While the "great ones" of the dockyard world
are comfortably housed, the small ones are not unfrequently exposed to
the fitful buffeting of the rude elements even from their birth.
There are ships here, too, in every state of progression. There, just
beside you, is a "little one" that was born yesterday. The keel has
just been laid on the blocks; and it will take many a long day of
clinching and sawing and hammering ere that infant assumes the bristling
appearance of an antediluvian skeleton. Yonder is the hull of a ship
almost completed. It is a gigantic infant, and has the aspect of a very
thriving child. It evidently has a robust constitution and a sturdy
frame. Perhaps we may re-visit the dockyard to-morrow, and see this
vessel launched.
Besides these two, there are ships with their ribs partially up, and
ships with their planking partially on; and in a more distant part of
the yard there are one or two old ships hauled up, high and dry, to have
their bottoms repaired and their seams re-pitched, after many a rough
and bravely-fought battle with the ocean waves.
Now that we have gazed our fill at the general aspect of the dockyard,
let us descend a little more to particulars. We shall first tell of
the:--