Excerpt: 'The Navy-Yard at Brooklyn buzzed with its daily turmoil of labor. It was a bright June morning, and the high chimneys of the numerous shops and foundries belched forth flame and smoke. Thousands of begrimed workmen toiled incessantly, hammering, bending and riveting masses of metal, fashioning them into shape to be carried by the steam cranes to be blended into the hulls of waiting battle-ships Through this scene of activity two boys walked briskly. Their clothing was new and in the latest style. It clung to their well set up figures, betraying the hand of the military tailor. Each carried a bright leather suitcase to the top of which a cased sword was strapped. Emerging from the tangle of buildings, the youths glanced about, and an exclamation of pleasure escaped them as a view of their nations sea power met their eyes: ten huge battle-ships resplendent in their glassy white and contrasting buff paint lay tied up, filling every foot of the dock frontage. Which is ours, Phil? asked one of the youths, stopping and setting his case down with a sigh of relief. Philip Perry, as he slowly shifted his bag to his other hand, glanced down the long line of stately defenders. There she is, Syd, he finally replied, pointing his free hand in the direction of one moored at the foot of the street. The one with three smoke-stacks and eight turrets. What a beauty she is!'