tchen. We're proud
to show it for that reason. Of course, there's plenty of coal-dust
flying down in the stoking-pit, where the firemen are, but you'll not go
near enough to hurt. Follow me!"

He led the way through a narrow door amid-ships, on the port side, and
they found themselves in a steel-lined gallery, well lighted and fitted
on all sides with steel ladders, pipes, and valves. The hissing of
escaping steam and the roar of powerful machinery in motion made any
attempt at speaking impossible.

"This is the engine-room," shouted Mr. Wetherbee.

Looking down, they saw mighty arms of polished, well-greased steel rise,
swing slowly and descend rapidly on the other side. The huge rods of
metal ascended and fell again with great rapidity, with a rhythmical,
irresistible sweep that was fascinating to watch, making at each thrust
and uplift a rushing, roaring noise like the simultaneous blows of a
hundred sledge-hammers.

"A man was caught in there once," shouted the engineer, so as to make
himself heard above the din. "It was just before the ship sailed. The
poor fellow noticed that the crank needed oil, and thought he had time
to do it before we started. Just as he was finishing, the signal 'Go
ahead' came from the bridge. We didn't know he was in the pit, and we
pulled the steam-chest lever. The massive arm rose. He shrieked. Before
we could stop the machinery, it dropped again, and he was ground to
pieces before our eyes."

Grace shuddered while the engineer calmly went on to explain the
particular use of each part of the wonderful mechanism over which he had
supreme control, speaking of each with as much affection as if it were
his own offspring.

"Those cranks turn the shaft which gives the propellers their thousand
revolutions a minute. The vibration you notice is caused by the enormous
steam pressure. Two hundred pounds of steam pressing against every
square inch of boiler surface represents power equal to the strength of
10,000 horses." Patting the head of the great beam as it rose to him, he
added: "This is the best friend we've got--never tired, always true. But
for this we should not be cutting through the water at the speed of
twenty knots an hour."

Turning to an iron staircase on the left, he said:

"We'll go now to the boiler-room and see how we make the steam that
gives life to the cylinders."

Beckoning them to follow, he disappeared down a steep stairway, spiral
in form, which reached from t