The torpedo boats and the destroyers of His Majesty’s Navy are manned by brave and fearless officers and men, who take a keen interest in their work and who mean to show of what their ships are capable if ever they get the chance, while the torpedo lieutenant on a battleship, in spite of the good-humoured sneers of his brother in arms, the gunnery lieutenant, is not a whit less determined to inflict some injury with the weapon which is his especial care. The commander of a destroyer when he lies down at night in his “duffle suit” and endeavours to take his well-earned repose dreams of a naval action in which he plays a prominent part. It is a night attack, and the destroyers have orders to seek the enemy and torpedo him. As silently, and withal as speedily as possible, the mosquito fleet starts on its deadly mission. The pace is tremendous and our commander, his nerves braced, his heart beating, and his mouth set, peers forth from the conning tower into the darkness. His funnels are flaming slightly but he dare not slacken speed, and all he can do is to pray Heaven that they do not betray him. Suddenly the foremost ship begins to signal. The quarry is discovered! Onward rush the destroyers, and out to meet them come the destroyers of the enemy. The twelve-pounders and the six-pounders are brought into play, and the fight between the opposing forces waxes fierce. So far our commander and his craft have escaped injury and the boat tears along, dodging its foes like a three-quarter in Rugby football. He has set his heart on torpedoing a mighty ironclad steaming ahead with her consorts at some sixteen knots speed, and he means to get past the hostile destroyers or die in the attempt. Shells are bursting all around and his armoured conning tower has been hit, but so far luck has favoured him. Will the gods be kind and allow him to accomplish his desire? He is now within torpedo range, and the moment has arrived for the firing of the first torpedo. Out of its tube rushes the Whitehead, plunges beneath the waves and is seen no more. A few anxious seconds and then the commander knows that it has missed its prey. Another must be fired, but the ironclad is unpleasantly near, and her quick-firing guns are already discharging on him a heavy and continuous fire. The second torpedo is fired, and the destroyer waits not another second but makes away at topmost speed. But “her mission is through.” The sound of a mighty explosion is heard and the commander knows that he has accounted for one of the battleships of the enemy. The lieutenant of to-day thanks his stars for the opportunities that the torpedo has afforded him of assuming the command of a torpedo-boat or a destroyer at an early age, or of acting as torpedo lieutenant on a big ship. There is no fear of his rusting or of his finding his life uneventful while such posts as these are open to him, and there is also the chance of his acquiring great fame when the day of battle comes.