The period which follows after about the year 1862 is notable as witnessing not only the gradual universal adoption of the screw in steamships, but the more general appreciation of iron as the material from which to construct a vessel’s hull. After the prejudices which already we have seen arising at different stages of the steamship’s history, it was scarcely to be wondered at that iron should come in for its full share of virulent criticism and opposition. The obvious remark made on all sides was that to expect iron to float was to suppose that man could act exactly contrary to the laws of Nature, and this notwithstanding that already, besides barges, a few ships thus built had somehow not only managed to keep afloat, but to traverse channels and oceans in perfect safety, carrying such heavy weights as their own machinery, to say nothing of their cargoes and human freights. But slowly the public prejudice began to wane. Already the Cunard Company had given way to iron in 1856, and in 1860 the Admiralty were at last convinced that the new method was just and sound. Within the limited scope at our command we have not space here to enter into the elaborate discussion of matters which have to be taken for granted before the building of the steamship begins. But the plain answer to the natural inquiry, as to how and why a vessel made out of iron does not immediately sink to the bottom as soon as ever she is launched, is this: whereas iron in itself is far heavier than water, yet the iron ship has not the same specific gravity as the iron from which it is made. Therefore, the ship of this material will be supported by the water in which it is placed.

In actual displacement, an iron ship is proportionately lighter than a ship built of wood, and by “displacement” is meant the amount of water which a vessel displaces through being allowed to float. Of course, the quantity of water which a ship displaces (or pushes to one side) depends entirely on the weight of the vessel, and is exactly equal to the weight of the ship. Thus, suppose we were to fill a dock with water up to the level of the quay and then lower down into it by means of gigantic cranes a Mauretania or Lusitania, the water would, of course, flow over on to the quays. Now the amount of water thus driven out would be the exact equivalent of the liner’s displacement. When we say, for instance, that the displacement of the Mauretania is 40,000 tons, when loaded, we mean that her total weight when loaded is this number of tons, and her hull when afloat puts on one side (or “displaces”) just that amount of water.

Now, as compared with wooden ships, the use of iron meant a saving in displacement of about one-third, taking the wooden and the iron ships to be of the same dimensions. From this followed the fact that the iron ship could carry a greater amount of cargo with consequent greater profit to her owners. And, as I have already indicated in another chapter, before it was possible to build ships of great length iron had to be introduced to enable them to endure such longitudinal strains. Again, a wooden ship must have her skin and ribs made of a thickness far greater than an iron ship, for the clear reason that one inch of iron is much stronger than one inch of wood; in other words, to obtain a given strength the iron will take up less room in the ship. Thus in an iron steamer there will be more space available for cargo than in a wooden ship of the same design. We could go on enumerating the advantages of iron, and quote instances of iron ships, whose cargo had got on fire, arriving safely in port and coming into dock where the assistance of the local fire-brigade had enabled the vessel’s own pumps to get the conflagration under. It is only as recently as December of 1909 that the Celtic, the well-known White Star liner, during a voyage between New York and Liverpool, had the misfortune to get on fire while at sea. By means of tarpaulins and injections of steam it was possible to control the burning until the Mersey was reached, when it was intended to flood her holds. Had she been a wooden ship instead of steel, or even iron, the Celtic would undoubtedly have ended her days in the Atlantic.

The first Atlantic company to build all its steamers of iron was the Inman Line, which had been founded in 1850, and until 1892 was one of the foremost competitors for the coveted “blue ribbon” of the Atlantic. Their first ships had been the City of Glasgow and the City of Manchester, and these, inasmuch as they were built of iron, and were propelled by a screw at a time when prejudice had not yet died down, were entirely different from the prevailing type of steamer; and this, it should be remembered, at a period six years before the Cunard had built their iron Persia. This City of Glasgow was built by a Glasgow firm of shipbuilders, and Mr. Inman had sufficient confidence in her to purchase her and form a company. Barque-rigged, with a single funnel, she was of only 1,610 tons and 350 horse-power. Under the command of Captain B. E. Matthews, who had been on the famous Great Western, she had already crossed from Glasgow to New York and back in 1850, and on December 11th of that year began her regular sailings between England and America. The City of Glasgow—all the ships of this line were named after cities—was fitted up in a manner which at that time called forth the greatest admiration. “One room,” wrote a correspondent in the Glasgow Courier, about that date, “is being fitted up as an apothecary’s shop, from which the surgeon will dispense his medicines.” She was provided with five water-tight bulkheads, and had a propeller whose diameter was 13 feet, with an 18 feet pitch. It was in connection with the Inman ships that the custom was inaugurated of carrying steerage passengers on the best Atlantic liners, although hitherto they had been taken across solely on board sailing ships.

The City of Glasgow and the City of Manchester began to quicken the pace, and at once ensued a contest between the paddle-steamers and those propelled by screws. In 1857 this enterprising company instituted the custom of calling at Queenstown on the way to America, and began running their steamers to New York in place of Philadelphia. Their success was so great that these ships were followed by the City of Philadelphia, and, in 1866, by the City of Paris, of which a beautiful little model is here illustrated. This was the first of their steamships of that name, and is not to be confused with another ship built in 1888. It will be seen that the liner before us was ship-rigged and had a single screw. She measured 346 feet long, 40 feet wide, and 26 feet deep, her tonnage being 2,651. She was driven by horizontal trunk engines, with steam at 30 lb. pressure, consuming 105 tons of coal per day, and giving her a speed of 13½ knots. Her name was afterwards changed to the Tonquin, and the superstitious will find interest in the fact that she subsequently foundered at sea in the year 1885. In the City of Paris the reader will be able to remark some of the last traces of the old sailing ship, which were destined presently to be altered considerably. The long, narrow wooden deckhouse going down almost the length of the ship, and leaving but little room for the passengers to promenade; the high, stout bulwarks, which rise almost to the top of the deckhouse, were among the last links which connected the steamship with the sailing ship. We must not forget that about the time when the City of Paris was built, the great clipper sailing ships were enjoying their prime, and no one will deny that their influence is very clearly marked in the model before us. As an interesting lesson in comparisons, showing how the tendency since the ’sixties has been to raise the decks of the steamships higher and higher, the reader is invited to compare this illustration with that of the Majestic, facing page 162, and also that of the Kaiser Wilhelm II., facing page 180. In the sailing ship the deckhouse had to be small, for the reason that the deck space was required for the crew to work the sails; in the steamer this space was encroached upon, so that the deckhouse was elongated, and extended from the break of the anchor deck to the hood at the stern.

The City of Paris’s great rival came with the launching of the Cunard Company’s steamship Russia, which is here illustrated, and began running across the Atlantic in 1867. But though the latter’s quickest passage from New York to Queenstown was eight days twenty-four minutes, the City of Paris, in 1867, crossed in eight days four hours, which at the time had broken the record, though the City of Brussels reduced it still further to under eight days. The Russia was another Clyde-built boat, and measured 358 feet long, 43 feet broad, and nearly 28 feet deep, having a gross tonnage of 2,960, and an indicated horse-power of 2,800. Her average hourly speed was 13 knots on a coal consumption of 90 tons per day. She was, of course, built of iron and had a single screw—two characteristics which practically all the crack Atlantic liners possessed from about 1862 until the end of 1883, if we except the Cunard Servia, which was launched in 1881, although the Allan liner Buenos Ayrean had been the first steel ship on the Atlantic.

During this period the liner was steadily adapting herself, her design, her engines, and her build, to meet the increase of experience gained at sea, and the increase of knowledge which shipbuilders and engineers were accumulating was in readiness for the continuity of advance. In 1881, after a period of much usefulness and great popularity among passengers, the Russia was sold to the Red Star Line, who lengthened her, changed her direct-acting engines to compound engines, and named her the Waesland. But the Russia was not the first screw-ship possessed by the Cunard Company. Already I have mentioned that though this line had introduced the screw-steamer into their fleet, it had not met with the reception it had expected, and for a time a return had been made to the paddle-wheel. It was the China, which had begun running in 1862 to New York, that helped to convince those who were prejudiced against the newer form of propulsion. She was 326 feet long, and was driven by a type of surface-condensing engine geared down to the propeller shaft by means of tooth-gearing after the manner already described, her engines being of the oscillating kind.

But we approach now another of those important crises in the history of the steamship when her future, for some years to come, became so definitely moulded. On other pages I have already alluded to the boilers in use on the big steamers, and to the important adoption of the compound engines using the expansive force of steam to do additional work after it has entered one cylinder. The increase of steam-pressure necessitated the adoption of a different type of boiler, with a cylindrical shell and flues. Thus the type which is known as the “Scotch” boiler was introduced about the year 1870, and is still in use even on the Mauretania. It was not until this type was adopted that the compound system began to make progress. At the same time it is only fair to state that the latter method had been introduced by the Pacific Steam Navigation Company as far back as 1856, and by the National Line in the early ’sixties. But it is when we come to the pioneer steamship of the White Star Line that we see the real influence which was at work to make the final cleavage between the old-fashioned steamship and the new type of liner. That flag which is now so familiar to all who travel across the Atlantic used to fly at the masthead of a fleet of sailing clippers. In 1867 the managing owner of the White Star Line retired; Mr. T. H. Ismay took over the control and began by introducing iron for the clippers instead of wood. Two years later and a fleet of steamships, especially constructed for the American passenger trade, was ordered to be built. The order was given to that famous Belfast firm, Messrs. Harland and Wolff, who have built the White Star steamships ever since. In August of 1870 was launched the first Oceanic, which made the old-fashioned rub their eyes in surprise and shake their heads in distrust. For the Oceanic simply threw convention to the winds and set going an entirely new order of things in the steamship world. From her have followed most of the modern steamship improvements up to the coming of the turbine. Some idea of her appearance may be gathered from the illustration facing this page, but in the fewest words we will now endeavour to indicate some of her especial characteristics.

When she came into the Mersey that memorable day in February of 1871 her immense length in comparison with her beam was instantly noticeable. I have already explained the value of length in ocean travel, but here was a ship with a beam exactly one-tenth of her 420 feet length. Sir Edward Harland knew what he was about when designing so novel a craft, and in spite of the general comments that the Oceanic would prove a bad sea-boat, and unfit to face the terrors of an Atlantic winter’s gale, she showed that science in ship-building is of more avail than the blind following of an existing convention. Nor did she encumber herself with the usual heavy, high bulwarks that we noticed in the City of Paris, but, instead, she substituted iron railings, and for a perfectly sound reason. The old method gave to a ship a false security, for it could not altogether prevent a sea from coming on board, and when the latter had come over the ship the bulwarks tended to keep it there, whereas the Oceanic’s railings allowed the sea to flow off immediately and freely, as she shook herself and rose to the next wave. The long, narrow wooden deck-house that we also noticed on the City of Paris was also discarded, but another deck of iron was added. With her, too, disappeared most of the objections to the propeller—at any rate, in the higher-priced accommodation, since the saloon passengers for the first time were placed not at the stern of the ship (where the vibration and jarring of the propeller were most felt), but amidships and forward of the machinery. The saloon extended the entire width of the ship, whilst the numerous state-rooms were forward and abaft of the saloon. Furthermore, to an extent that had never been known on an Atlantic liner, the use of glass side-lights was employed, and these were made much larger than was customary, so that the interior of the ship was rendered much lighter, as it was also made more airy.

The Oceanic also introduced an improved type of water-tight doors. The old-fashioned candle-lamps which lit the rooms were replaced by oil-lamps, and instead of the old-fashioned form for seating, the passengers had the comfort of revolving arm-chairs, which have since become such features of ocean travel. On deck, her forward and stern ends were fitted with turtle decks, so that a wave sweeping over this dome-like shape could swish across it without doing the damage it could have effected on the first City of Paris, for instance. The importance of this in a following sea of any size is obvious, and we must remember that whereas to-day the stern of a modern liner towers high above the waves, and can usually defy them, yet in those days the Oceanic and her contemporaries were still of modest altitude. From the illustration before us some conception of the bow turtle deck, painted white, may be gathered, but a much better idea may be seen of a similar arrangement at the stern of the Britannic (facing page 154). The addition of that extra deck of iron in the Oceanic shows the commencement of the many-decked modern liner, to which attention was drawn in the German liner and her successors, so that in the Mauretania, as we look down on her decks, she seems to be built up over every possible inch of space that is permissible.

But the Oceanic was something more than a comfortable boat and an ingenious example of the naval architect’s originality; she was also a “flyer.” With her four-cylinder compound engines she was able to reel off her 14¼ knots on an average. There were two high-pressure cylinders and two of low-pressure, the high-pressure cylinder being above the low-pressure and driving the same crank. Her indicated horse-power was 3,000, and her tonnage came out at 3,808 gross. She even attained to 14¾ knots, and showed herself to be the fastest liner afloat, faster even than the Inman liner City of Brussels. It is a proof of the excellence of her design and the perfection of her build that on her sixty-second voyage in October, 1889, after she had been transferred to the Pacific service running between San Francisco and Yokohama, she made the quickest passage on record across the Pacific.

The owners of the Oceanic followed up their success by the Britannic and the Germanic in 1874. A photograph of the former is here reproduced as she appeared when leaving Southampton during the Boer War for South Africa, acting as a transport, with British troops aboard. From this picture it will be noticed that she is purely a steamship, but when launched she was rigged as a four-masted barque with yards and sails, but, following the fashion of the Oceanic, the bowsprit had been discarded. At one time the Britannic was given a curious arrangement by which she could lower her propeller so that it was almost level with the keel, and being placed thus low it was hoped that all tendency to race when the vessel pitched would be eradicated. To this end a hollow recess was made in the hull at the stern so that the shaft could be made to work up or down as desired. But the results were disappointing, so that after giving the method several months’ trial it was discarded. Both the Britannic and the Germanic were larger craft than the Oceanic, and had a tonnage of just over 5,000 tons, and a length of 468 feet, with 45 feet beam. They also were fitted with compound engines, which gave 5,000 indicated horse-power, and a pressure of 75 lbs. to the square inch. The Britannic broke the record again by her speed of 16 knots, but the year after her launch the Inman Line, with the City of Berlin, also developed 16 knots, and wrested the record from the White Star boats by crossing the Atlantic in seven days fourteen hours. She was a much larger ship than those other two, had a gross tonnage of 5,491, and was 520 feet over all. This ship is interesting as having been the first Atlantic liner to be fitted with electric light, which was installed in 1879. The White Star Line, however, had endeavoured in 1872 to instal in their Adriatic a system of lighting the ship by gas generated from oil. But the rolling of the ship and other causes led to so much leakage that it was discarded.

In the year 1879 the Atlantic competition was further accelerated by the advent of the Arizona, which belonged to the Guion Line. This company had been formed in 1866, and was originally known as Williams and Guion. In 1879 the Arizona further reduced the Atlantic passage by eight hours, but in the same year, whilst bound eastwards, she had the misfortune to run at full speed into a great iceberg, and her bows were altogether crumpled up; she would have foundered, but her water-tight bulkhead happily kept her afloat so that the ship was able to reach St. John’s, Newfoundland, her nearest port. It was such incidents as this which caused the adoption of efficient water-tight compartments on most steamships of any size, and the influence of the British Admiralty on our national shipping was in the late ’seventies and the early ’eighties decidedly powerful. By their instructions every steamship on their list available for transport duties was to be divided up in such a manner that if any one of her compartments should be opened to the sea in calm water this loss of buoyancy would not imperil the ship’s safety. As a result the shipbuilders took the hint, and greater attention was paid to so important a point.

The Oregon, another of the Guion Line’s famous steamships, was purchased by the Cunard Company, and showed her marvellous turn of speed by making the run from Queenstown to New York in six days, nine hours, fifty-one minutes. She distinguished herself by keeping up what was then the unheard-of average passage of six days fourteen hours. But, like the Arizona, this Oregon was born unlucky. Off the North American coast she was run into and sunk by a sailing ship, though the passengers and mails were happily saved. The Oregon had a tonnage of 7,375, and was driven by direct-acting inverted engines which developed the remarkable sum of 13,500 horse-power, and produced the equally wonderful speed of 18 knots per hour, thus earning for her the name of the “Greyhound of the Atlantic.”

We wish to call the reader’s attention now to the Servia, of which an interesting picture is reproduced opposite page 154. In her was embodied the result of another scientific discovery which has revolutionised the construction of the deep-sea ship, whether propelled by steam or sails. As iron had superseded wood, so now steel was to take the place of iron as the material of which to build the hull. So thoroughly, indeed, has this practice spread that during the year 1909, with the exception of a few small wooden vessels whose aggregate tonnage does not much exceed a thousand, the entire amount of new British shipping in that year was constructed of steel, and iron was not used at all for the hull. Such a fact is highly significant of the value of the newer material. Although as far back as 1873 the French had used this in constructing parts of their warships, it was not until four years later that the British mercantile marine began to be interested in it. But at length the Cunard Company were convinced of its superior virtues over iron, and ordered the Servia to be built of this material. When she made her appearance in 1881, she was the largest and most powerful ship, excepting the Great Eastern, that had ever been launched; her measurements were 515 feet, breadth 52 feet, depth 37 feet, with 7,392 gross tonnage. She lowered the Atlantic voyage once more to seven days, one hour, thirty-eight minutes, her speed being 17 knots, though it was not until 1884 that she really showed her full abilities. We may sum up the advantages which were now recognised in mild steel as consisting of, firstly, a saving of 25 per cent. in weight, just as we saw that iron exercised a similar superiority over wood. “Mild” steel is very ductile and can easily be fashioned into the required shape suitable for a steamship without risk of cracking. Iron is comparatively brittle, and steel is more uniform in quality. The latter will also endure a greater strain on its elasticity, and this had already been appreciated by the Royal Navy years before commercial shipbuilders realised its full value. Although the first cost of a steel-built ship was greater than one constructed of iron, yet that extra cost was found to be over-balanced by other considerations. Just as iron was stronger than wood, so steel was proved to be stronger than iron: consequently, the weight of the ship was diminished, which meant that the ship could carry a greater amount of fuel or cargo, or allowed of her being fitted with more powerful, though more weighty, engines. Steel is now very much cheaper than wrought iron, and is used not merely for the plates of the hull, but in almost every portion of the ship’s construction. Even in sailing ships the yards, masts, and rigging are to a large extent now made of this material.

The same builders who had been responsible for the Oregon were commissioned to build two of the most historic Cunarders, whose names are almost as familiar as the Atlantic over which they voyaged for so many years with a regularity and reliability that would be hard to beat. In 1884 the first of this famous couple, the Umbria, was delivered, followed early the next year by the Etruria. An illustration of the former, as she appeared when originally rigged as a barque, will be found facing this page. Both ships were identical in their main features, and are interesting in many ways. Their masts were of steel, as well as their hulls. At the stern we can see the idea of the turtle deck, as inherited from the Oceanic, slightly modified so that the upper part has become available for a short promenade deck for second-class passengers, and the graceful overhang at the stern also is indicative of the rapid advance since the clumsy after-end of the steamship gave her a far less yacht-like appearance. There is also a promenade deck extending for nearly 300 feet amidships for the use of the first-class passengers, on which a large teak deckhouse encloses the entrances to the saloon, ladies’ saloon, captain’s room, and chart room. Above this house comes the officers’ lookout bridge and house for the steersman, and over this, again, is the flying bridge. Forward there will be seen the large top-gallant forecastle, which extended for over 100 feet aft from the stern. The engines were, of course, compound, with one high-pressure cylinder and two of low-pressure. These vessels were built to the highest class and to be available for Government service as armed cruisers in the event of war. Their average speed was found to be 18½ knots, although the Umbria reached over 20 knots during her six-hours’ trial on the Clyde. These two ships between them broke up all standing Atlantic records, for in August, 1885, the Etruria crossed from Queenstown to New York in six days, six hours, thirty-six minutes, although in 1892 the Umbria did better still by crossing the Atlantic at an average rate of over 19½ knots. Until the coming of the Campania and the Lucania, the Cunard possessed in these the two fastest ships of their fleet. But it is certain the company never owned two more satisfactory steamships, for they have confessed that “no ships ever gave their owners less uneasiness than these two, and none have done such an extraordinary quantity of good work. They are monuments, that cannot lie, to the skill of the design and the faithfulness of the labour that went to their accomplishment.”

As they got older, they actually became faster instead of slower, and the Etruria made her fastest westward passage in five days, twenty hours, fifty-five minutes, with a highest day’s run of 509 knots. She even maintained an average of 20 knots bound eastward. At the end of 1909 she was sold by the Cunard Company, and a like fate befell her sister, the Umbria, which was sold to the Forth Shipbreaking Company in April, 1910, for the sum, it is said, of £20,000. But the Umbria, right to the end, continued to break records, even when she had been long since outrun in matters of speed. For instance, in the year 1893, two days before Christmas, whilst bound west across the Atlantic, it was discovered that a serious fracture had occurred in the propeller shaft. The engines were accordingly stopped, and after a time the German steamship Bohemia came in sight and took her in tow, but a heavy gale sprang up and the tow-rope parted. The Umbria lost sight of her friend and drifted about the Atlantic for three days and nights, but during this time Chief-Engineer Tomlinson pluckily succeeded in repairing the shaft, and the Umbria, with her engines going half-speed, made New York on the last day of the old year, to the great relief of those ashore who had given her up for lost. Another record of a totally different nature was made by her only a few weeks before she was sold out of the Cunard Line. She reached Liverpool just before midnight on Thursday, February 10th, 1910, and in spite of having only just completed her round trip of the double Atlantic journey, she was got ready at once to sail eastward again on the Saturday, February 12th. We can gain some idea of the magnitude of the task when we realise that in that remarkably brief time she had not only to be overhauled, but to have her stores taken on board, to be supplied with 3,000 tons of coal and 450,000 gallons of water, to say nothing of the many tons of cargo of all kinds. Some of the officers had barely time to make a hurried call to see their wives before rushing back on board to superintend this exceptionally fast “turn-round.” The measurements of these two ships were 501 feet long, 57 feet broad, 38 feet deep, with a gross tonnage of 7,718 tons; their builders were Messrs. John Elder and Company, of Glasgow.

Before we pass on in the next chapter to witness the coming of the twin-screw ship, and the disappearance of sails as the auxiliaries of the steamship, we must glance at the progress which was going on during the ’seventies and ’eighties in the steamships employed running, not across the Atlantic, but to the East. Already we have seen something of the origin of the Peninsular and Oriental Line, and the difficulties which it had to contend with in its early career. Now, in 1877, another steamship service to the East was started by the Orient Line, which began by chartering from the Pacific Steam Navigation Company a suitable vessel which should run from London to Sydney via the Cape of Good Hope. This was the Lusitania—a very different ship, of course, from the modern Cunarder of the same name—but in her own time this Lusitania was also famous. For many years, until, indeed, as recently as 1905, the Orient and Pacific Lines worked together to maintain a service between England and Australia. At first the sailings were only monthly, but from 1880 they were fortnightly. Since 1905 the Pacific Company has withdrawn from this trade.

The pioneer of the Orient Line’s own ships—apart from chartered vessels—was the steamer Orient, of which an illustration is given opposite to page 158. She was built of iron, in 1879, by the same firm who turned out the Etruria and Umbria. Her measurements are 460 feet long, 46½ feet wide, 36 feet 8 inches deep, with a tonnage of 5,386, and 5,400 horse-power. She was given four decks, of which two were entirely of iron, and sufficient bunker space was provided to carry enough coals to enable her to steam all the way to Australia round the Cape without having to coal en route. She was also provided with a double bottom, which could be filled with water as ballast, if desired. She was driven by inverted vertical engines having the compound principle—one high-pressure cylinder and two of low-pressure—and had a four-bladed propeller. Amidships, it will be noted, is a white erection, which rises up from the ship’s side and becomes the bridge-deck, extending right across the ship and some distance both fore and aft. The origin of this development in the steamship is as follows: Originally, in some of the early ocean-going steamships, the openings on deck from the engine and boiler compartments were merely protected by means of glazed skylights and coamings, forming a hatch. Perhaps it was not a very seaworthy kind of arrangement, but it is essential for plenty of air to get down below, unhindered, for the proper burning of the furnaces, to say nothing of a supply for the engineering section of the crew. However, during the month of January, 1866, the steamship London, after encountering a heavy gale in the Bay of Biscay, endeavoured to make for Plymouth, but during the night a bad sea broke over her, destroyed her engine-room skylight, extinguished the furnaces, and eventually the ship foundered. From this incident was learnt the advisability of protecting this opening with something more substantial. Its first form was, therefore, to raise the sides of the hatchways from the ship by means of an iron casing so as to be about eight feet above the deck and about level with the captain’s bridge. From this it was a perfectly easy transition from the bridge to the bridge-deck, extending it sufficiently to protect the opening adequately. The same idea in a more elementary form will be seen in the tug Blackcock illustrated in Chapter IX.

The Austral shows another early steamship of the Orient Line. Constructed by the same builders as the Orient and Umbria, she was launched in 1881, and it is a sign of those later times that the yards have now disappeared, though she was schooner-rigged and could set 28,000 square feet of canvas on her four masts. Her gross registered tonnage worked out at 5,524. Built of mild steel with a double bottom, the latter being subdivided into nineteen water-tight compartments with thirteen water-tight bulkheads in her hull, the Austral was specially constructed to act as a cruiser, and to carry guns in case of war. The year after she was launched the Austral was lying in Sydney Harbour with her port-holes left open, when, owing to a heavy list, caused through unequal coaling, the water poured in, and she sank in fifty feet of water, but was refloated again several months after.

The four-masted steamship shown opposite page 162 is the Victoria, one of the P. and O. boats of this period. Launched in 1887, the Victoria belongs to the company’s “Jubilee” class, and is now one of the oldest boats in this line’s employ. Both at the bow and stern there will be seen a modification of the turtle deck. A sister ship was launched under the name of the Britannia. Their tonnage is, in the case of the Victoria, 6,522, but the Britannia comes out at three tons more, the length being slightly over 465 feet, with a beam of 52 feet, and a depth of over 26 feet.

We have thus seen the liner in a condition of change, and it is only from the close of the eighth decade of the nineteenth century that she begins to take on a form more in accordance with a steamship able to pursue her way totally independent of auxiliary sails. The experience which we recorded as having happened to the Umbria clearly marked the way for the coming of the twin-screw ship. It was patent to anyone that by this means an efficient safeguard would be obtained in the event of a fractured shaft befalling the ship. If it was likely that one should come to grief, it was highly improbable that the other would not be available for getting the ship into port, and so enabling the owning steamship line not merely to preserve their reputation for carrying passengers, mails and cargo with safety, but to avoid the very costly possibilities of having to pay salvage claims to the rescuing ship that should happen to fall in with the injured liner and to tow her home. As soon as the twin-screw became established there was virtually little use for the sails, and so it was not much longer before they disappeared altogether from the crack liner.