There were other ships, too. One was evidently a new vessel. It was fiery red in its first coat of paint, and had peculiar lines, different from those of any ship Henry had yet seen. The superstructure appeared to be but one story high and to extend nearly the length of the vessel. It was perfectly level, with no railings about it. Henry was so astonished at the unusual appearance of the craft that he stepped up to a group of workmen and asked what the ship was.
“That’s the Whitney,” said one of the men. “She was just launched a few days ago. She’s a submarine tender.”
“What a queer top she has,” remarked Henry.
“Yes,” agreed the workmen. “She was designed for an aëroplane carrier, but they changed her into a submarine tender.”
“Oh, I see,” responded Henry. “I suppose that explains the long, flat top of her superstructure. That’s where the aëroplanes were to alight at sea.”
Henry thanked his informant and hurried on. He saw the great collier Neptune, and an oil carrier, the Arethusa, and the scout cruiser Chester. The latter two lay side by side, and it made Henry actually laugh to see the difference in their build. The swift scout cruiser was lean and high, the oil carrier lower and fat, with sides that actually bulged. The two ships were as different in appearance as a lean greyhound and a fat collie.
But of all the craft in the Navy Yard none so fascinated Henry as the old battleship Constitution. For there, close beside these modern ships of war, lay old Ironsides, the frigate of forty battles, in which she never knew defeat, the oldest and most famous vessel in the United States Navy. There she lay, almost as old as the nation itself, for she was built in 1797, and she was yet sound.
Thrilled by the sight, Henry stood on the pier beside her and examined her every rope and spar. Her hull was one of those blocky, bulky, upstanding structures typical of the long ago. High above the water line, at intervals of a few feet, open ports reached from stem to stern, and from each open port projected the grim and threatening muzzle of a cannon. Her three masts were the most enormous spars Henry had ever seen. Scores of feet they towered aloft, for mast stood upon mast, the topmast being surmounted with still a third mast, until there was a most bewildering array of shrouds and rigging. And such rigging! Often enough had Henry seen the rigging of modern sailing ships. He knew well enough what these rope ladders that lead to the crosstrees look like in modern boats. But here, instead of the customary three stays on a side, were stays after stays, with their crosspieces, so that many men at a time could swarm up and down the rigging, and out on those enormous spars to furl the sails, for the ship was a square rigger. And at the crosstrees were great platforms where a dozen men could stand. Henry saw right away the reason for these platforms. Sailors could stand here after furling the sails. Sharpshooters could be stationed here, where they could see over the smoke cloud, to pick off officers and men on opposing vessels, for in those days vessels fought side by side, and even sought to grapple each other so that crews could fight hand to hand. The old ship’s bowsprit, too, was of unbelievable dimensions, extending yards and yards beyond the bow and reaching an incredible elevation.
Henry saw that visitors were permitted on board, and he walked up the gangplank. The deck of the Constitution was not unlike the deck of any other sailing ship. But the gun deck, below, was fascinating. It was a great bare section of the ship, whence projected the gun muzzles, and in it was nothing but an ancient stove amidships, for heating cannon balls red hot, and the rows of cannon on either side. Henry was amazed at the number of these guns. A placard told him that the ship originally carried forty-four. These were bulky, chunky affairs, mounted on heavy wooden carriages, with small wheels beneath, and great hawsers and tackles holding them in place. There were no breechloaders in the days when the Constitution fought. Then each gun had to be run through its port and swabbed out and loaded through the muzzle, and then it was run out again with the tackle, blocked in place, and fired.
Henry could have spent hours examining the old craft, but he did not know how long the Iroquois would lie in the Navy Yard, and he wanted to see all he could while he was in Boston. So he reluctantly took a last look at this famous old frigate, and made his way rapidly back to the Iroquois. On the way he took note of the huge shops, some of them covering as much ground as a city block, the great traveling cranes, the shifting engines, and all the other vast equipment in the Navy Yard. It was like a city in itself, and it made Henry proud to think that he was an American.