he shots are fruitlessly ploughing up
the sea in the vicinity of the enemy. One well-aimed 16-inch shell
strikes home on the nearest ship; her armor is pierced, and she has
become unmanageable and drops out of the advancing columns. Nearer and
nearer comes the fighting. At last the dreaded puffs of smoke dart from
the battle-ships' turrets, and the shells are coming screeching ashore,
tearing up the earth in the fortifications. With a glass one of the
aides is scanning the sea at the entrance to the harbor. An exclamation
escapes him as his glass focuses on some object of interest; with a
flinger trembling with emotion he points out to the General two small
red flags, barely distinguishable on the water's surface, midway between
Point Lobos and the nearest ship. A glance shows it to be the flags on
the Sims-Edison controllable torpedo. Out it goes at a terrific speed;
nearer and nearer it approaches its intended victim. Harmless enough
look these small pieces of bunting, but underneath the water not many
feet lurk nearly five hundred pounds of deadly gun-cotton. It has passed
astern of the leading ship. Will it run out its scope and fail? A small
column of water is seen to ascend from the flags, and the next moment
the second battle-ship is nearly engulfed in a mighty explosion. The
first charge tears the torpedo net; the second makes one less ship to
attack the batteries, for she is fast sinking. The gun-cotton has
exploded against her steel hull. A cruiser drops out to render
assistance.

An explosion that seems like an earthquake to those in the
fortifications tells that the first gun-cotton shell has exploded near
the enemy. One of the leading battle-ships heels over and slowly sinks
beneath the waves; her seams have been opened by the force of the
explosion. The enemy now is in irregular formation, more nearly like
double echelon; they are pouring in a scathing fire on all the
batteries. As they approach the torpedo range they starboard and stand
out to sea, bringing to bear their after turrets. Some of their shots
have committed awful havoc ashore; gun after gun has been dismounted,
one of the pneumatic guns has been struck by a shell and is a total
wreck. The remaining controllable torpedoes have failed.

The pneumatic gun on Point Bonito is aimed at the nearest ship, but a
mile and a half away; the gauge on the accumulator shows the air
pressure is sufficient. The lever is tripped, and the quarter-ton of
gun-c