Consider, for a moment, the wonder of a ship. She is a marvellous structure of steel and iron, full of the most intricate machinery, a structure weighing perhaps thousands of tons. Of the manifold parts of which she is composed, the wood fittings alone may be buoyant. Only they may possess the power of floating on the waves; all the other parts, from the smallest screw and rivet to the mighty propeller shafts and hull plates would, if they could, sink like stones to the bottom of the sea. This enormous mass of metal, which in its natural state must sink, is so cunningly fashioned by man that it overcomes its natural inclination to sink and is made to float. The huge weight is supported by water, men toil in the bottom of the ship 20 and 30 feet below the surface of the sea and are oblivious of any danger. The water on the outer side of the steel skin of the ship towers 20 and 30 feet above their heads, yet they sleep and eat and work in perfect safety. So long as the sea is prevented from washing over the sides of the ship or entering through a breach in the hull the vessel floats, would continue to float even were she made of lead. In other words, she is buoyant. Only when her buoyancy is destroyed does she sink. Then, before she can float again, her buoyancy must be restored. This is the simple problem that is always confronting the sea salvage expert. How can he restore the buoyancy of the ship that meets with misfortune? Simple as is the problem, it is seldom that the answer is easy. To the salvor every wreck is a riddle. Tides and currents make the riddle more complex. The position in which the wreck is lying profoundly affects the case. And, above all, operates the unknown factor of the weather. Whatever the salvage expert hopes to do, he always adds to himself “Weather permitting!” He may be the cleverest man alive, his plans of salvage may be the most brilliant ever conceived, he may have the most expensive plant at his disposal and all the money he seeks at his command, yet he is helpless unless the weather be fair. Plans may be put into operation, work may go smoothly, everything may be within an ace of success--when the tail of a gale may blow the plans to pieces, shatter the work and rob the salvor of the success that seemed within his grasp. It has happened before many times, and it will happen many times again. The men who get a living by trying to raise wrecks are farseeing, sparing of words, patient where patience is demanded, quick as a rapier thrust where quickness is essential, capable of toiling until they drop if it be necessary. Every contingency that it is possible to think of they consider, but the weather is something beyond their control. They pray for fine weather, and fight against foul to the best of their ability; but when the wind takes hold man and his endeavours are as nothing.