Swede, Axel Orling by name, came over to London lately to demonstrate the powers of a marvellous invention of his which, he believed, would revolutionise naval warfare. It is as independent of wires as Marconi’s system of telegraphy. To the mere man in the street the feats which Axel Orling claims for his torpedoes savours strongly of legerdemain, but scientific men declare that the theory of the working of this novel machine is perfectly sound. However, theory and practice in the steering of torpedoes, as in other matters, do not always square. It is not east to describe on paper the true inwardness of this invention, but, put briefly, its distinctive feature is the transmitting of motor-power to a torpedo by means of X-rays. The course of an ordinary torpedo can, as everyone knows, be directed by telegraph wires from either the shore or a ship. But the Orling torpedo can be completely controlled without any material connection whatever between it and its controller. The picture of a British admiral standing on the bridge and regulating by a mere wave of the hand the course of a torpedo, in much the same manner as a Japanese juggler regulates the motion of his paper butterflies, is distinctly an impressive one. According to Orling, the only limit to the distance which his torpedo can
“A COUPLE OF DYNAMITE SHELLS WOULD WRECK THE METROPOLIS.”
travel without getting out of hand is the limit of vision. As long as the torpedo continues in sight it can be steered. If a telescope could only be invented capable of bringing New York in sight of Ireland, it would be perfectly easy for a man standing on board a man-of-war in Cork harbour to control the movements of a flotilla of X-ray torpedoes at Sandy Hook. The possibilities opened up by this invention may be left to the imagination of the reader; but it is obvious that the weird machinations of this uncanny torpedo would completely disconcert the most experienced admiral.
The submarine boat has always been a favourite subject with the war crank, and in this line Frenchmen are prominent. A submarine boat which could glide unseen under the hulls of men-of-war, placing nests of melinite or any other high explosive at their most vulnerable points, would play havoc in twenty-four hours with any fleet in the world in time of war. What hampers, however, the practical utility of the submarine boat is the impossibility of steering it. Below the surface, of course, nothing can be seen; while if the steersman is raised above the water the effectiveness of the boat vanishes, it is no longer submarine.
To remedy this defect a Frenchman has
