The boatswain’s mate took them first to the bridge, where the compass and steering wheel were located; thence to the fire control, a steel-bound enclosure, open at the top, just forward of the bridge. It was from there, he told them, that the electric signals were given for torpedo firing.
“Is this a torpedo boat also?” questioned Sam innocently.
“Certainly not. This is a battleship. It is provided, however, with two torpedo tubes, a starboard and a port tube.”
From this point the lads went down, deeper and deeper into the ship, By this time there were no stairways to walk down. In place of them were narrow ladders running through narrow apertures in the various decks.
As he went along the boatswain’s mate briefly explained everything, going into detail regarding the handling of the big guns, the ammunition hoists and the electric signaling plant far down amidships. They did not complete their journey until they were far below the level of the water in the very bottom of the ship.
From there they made their way upward to the wireless telegraph room, where the operator was sitting with receiver on his head, listening for the faint ticking of the messages that might be hurled through the air.
Now and then the operator would nervously clutch his key.
Sam jumped when the resonators crashed forth their message to another far-away operator; then the sending instruments settled down to a steady squealing.
“Reminds me of Bill Thompson’s pigs,” nodded Sam. “That’s the kind of a noise they make when they get an appetite.”
At last the lads completed their tour.