The engineer officers in the engine-rooms are constantly going to and fro along the greasy steel floors, watching every bearing and listening intently to every sound of the machinery in much the same way as a motorist listens to hear if his engine is misfiring. They, too, are longing for news of how the fight is going on as they keenly watch for any alteration of the engine-room telegraphs, or of the hundred and one dials showing the working of the various engines under their charge.
The stokers, stripped to a gantline, and digging out for daylight, are in much the same position as those passing up ammunition, save that they seldom, if ever, get a lull in their work in which to indulge their thoughts. Those trimming the coal in the boxlike bunkers have perhaps the most unenviable task. Breathing in a thick haze of coal dust, black from head to foot, they work on at full pressure in these veritable black holes, without the chance of hearing any news of what is going on "up topsides."
Every man in the ship is working at his appointed station during an action—even the cooks are busy assisting with the supply of ammunition—everyone is behind armour, or below the waterline, with the exception of those few whose duties do not permit of it. This fact accounts for the comparatively few casualties in the ships that come out the victors in a sea fight, in spite of the tremendous havoc done by a shell bursting in the vicinity of cast steel, which throws up multitudes of splinter in all directions.
The guns' crews are all working at their respective weapons, sometimes wading in water if a heavy swell falls short close to them. Yet they see the result of their work, and every bit of damage done to the enemy is invariably put down to the handiwork of their individual gun. They may be said to be having the time of their lives in a successful action. During a lull, the enemy's fire is heavily criticised; suggestions as to the corrections that should be applied to his gunsights in order to get a hit are calmly made as they watch the splashes of his projectiles, and are as soon contradicted by some other authority who suggests something different. When their own ship is hit a remark is made to the effect—"That was a good 'un!" from the coldly calculating point of view of the expert. Unaccountable as it may seem, during artillery fire at sea there is usually this irrepressible desire to figure out the corrections needed for the enemy's gunsights in order that he may register a direct hit. Several of our naval officers testified to this strange phenomenon at Gallipoli, when undergoing a bombardment from Turkish forts and batteries, and added that they were held fascinated in doing so.
On the other hand, when a shell goes beyond the ship, at the first shrill whiz-z-z overhead, one calculates deliberately that the enemy will shortly lower his range, and, discretion being the better part of valour, the welcome shelter of a turret, casemate, or conning tower is speedily sought. It is curious that if the shells are falling short there is no such concern for the safety of one's skin. The writer has seen a group of officers having a spirited argument as to the corrections that should be made to the sights of a Turkish gun whose shell fell a few hundred yards short of the ship. It was not till one screamed past their heads, pitching in the water on the far side, that they thought of taking cover. The analogy does not apparently hold good to the same extent in the sister Service, for on terra firma the range is registered with fair accuracy, and it is usual to scuttle off to a dug-out as soon as Beachy Bill or Long Tom opens fire.
A shell from a heavy gun whistling close overhead seems to recall something of the physical emotion experienced as a child, when one ventured too high in a swing. There is a sort of eerie feeling in the interior which seems to struggle upward to one's throat, thereby causing a throttling sensation; and this seems to take place continuously, though it diminishes slightly as time goes on.
Another feature that is perhaps worth mentioning is what the sailor calls "getting a cheap wash." This occurs incessantly in a naval action, for a large shell fired at a long range falling into the water close to a ship will throw up a solid wall of water, often two or three hundred feet in height, so that it is no uncommon thing to get frequently soused. In the Falkland Islands battle the men right up in the control tops on the masts of the battle-cruisers complained of being unable to work their instruments satisfactorily owing to frequent drenchings by spray.
The strain that is undergone during a naval action can easily be imagined, though most men will agree that they are unconscious of it at the time; it is not until everything is over and finished with that its effects materialise. In the Navy every officer and man bears the burden of responsibility, and frequently it is one upon which may depend the safety of the lives of his shipmates. He may have to execute a manœuvre of vital importance—close a watertight compartment, put out a fire caused by a high explosive shell—or do any of the hundred and one duties that are necessary in a man-of-war. Newton's law of gravitation tells us that to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. This fundamental principle undoubtedly holds good in the working of the human mind. The old example that a piece of cord, gradually stretched tighter and tighter until its limit of elasticity is attained, sags when the force is removed, is a very good parallel indeed of what takes place during and after action so far as the average fighting man is concerned. His mind, and all his faculties, have been extended to their full capacity in concentrating on the work in hand, in seeing that there is no sign of a hitch anywhere, in forestalling any possible accident, and in thinking out his own line of action in any given circumstance that may arise. The man who has been toiling physically has also been strung up to the highest possible pitch; the very best that is in him has been called forth, and he has in all probability never done better work, or striven so hard in his life before.
The bugle call "Cease fire" does not necessarily imply that all is over; it may only mean a temporary cessation or lull in the action; but when the "Secure" is sounded, there is no mistaking that the fight is finished. This is followed by the "Disperse," when all guns are secured, ammunition returned, and all the magazines and shell rooms locked up. Then a large number of the men are free; orders are given to the engine-room department regarding the speed required, enabling some of the stokers told off as relief parties and employed in trimming coal to be released.