“Were five steam vessels classed as first-rates, which had been built twenty-five years before and were then obsolete and practically useless as men-of-war; twenty-seven second-rates, of which three lay on the stocks, rotten and worthless, seven were in ordinary unfit for repair, and only nine were actually in condition for sea duty; twenty-nine third-rate steam vessels, of which fifteen only were available for naval purposes; six fourth-rate steam vessels, none of which was of account as a warship; twenty-two sailing vessels, but five of which could even navigate the sea; twenty-four ironclads, fourteen of which were ready for effective service; and two torpedo vessels, one of which was described as rather heavy for a torpedo vessel, not working so handily as is desirable for that purpose, and the other, known as the _Alarm_, was in the experimental stage.... In the entire navy there was not a single high-power, long-range rifled gun.” Of the bravery of the American sailors of whatever rank there has never been any question, but the methods of selecting them seem to have been as peculiar as the British methods of corruption in the old days, when it was possible for an infant in arms to be on the pay roll of a British ship when he had never so much as seen the sea, to say nothing of never having been on board the vessel of which he was nominally a midshipman. The following racy account,[50] which illustrates the American system of the past better than any lengthy description could do, of the examination of Midshipman Joseph Tatnall, a relative of the famous American officer of “Blood is thicker than water” fame, will be read with interest in this connection:-- Commodore: Mr. Tatnall, what would be your course, supposing you were off a lee shore, the wind blowing a gale, both anchors and your rudder gone, all your canvas carried away, and your ship scudding rapidly towards the breakers? Tatnall: I cannot conceive, sir, that such a combination of disasters could possibly befall a ship in one voyage. Commodore: Tut, tut, young gentleman; we must have your opinion supposing such a case to have actually occurred. Tatnall: Well, sir--sails all carried away, do you say, sir? Commodore: Aye, all--every rag. Tatnall: Anchor gone, too, sir? Commodore: Aye; not an uncommon case. Tatnall: No rudder, either? Commodore: Aye, rudder unshipped. (Tatnall drops his head despondently in deep thought.) Come, sir, come; bear a hand about it! What would you do? Tatnall (at last and desperate): Well, I’d let the infernal tub go to the devil, where she ought to go. Commodore (joyously): Right, sir; perfectly right! That will do, sir. The clerk will note that Mr. Tatnall has passed.