"I don't want to be too cock-sure, you fellows," he announced. "Looks as if they're out this time, but----"
"I vote we go on deck," suggested a midshipman.
"And see the whole of the German fleet," added a junior watchkeeper facetiously.
"Anyhow, there's 'General Quarters'," retorted the middy daringly as a bugle rang out, the call being quickly repeated in various parts of the ship, "Look alive, you fellows."
"Stick to me, Sefton," said the senior sub, snatching his telescope from a rack and making a bolt for the door. "If there's anything to be seen of the scrap you'll have a good chance with me. I'm fire-control, don't you know."
Jack Sefton nodded his head in acquiescence. He was sorry that he was not on board the Calder, since there was a greater possibility of the destroyer flotillas dashing in to complete the work of the battle-cruisers than of the armoured cruisers getting within range.
Gaining the quarter-deck, the Calder's sub heard the unmistakable baritone hum of an aerial propeller. Overhead, at a low altitude of less than a thousand feet, a sea-plane was flying in a northeasterly direction. By the markings on her planes and fuselage--concentric red, white, and blue circles--Sefton recognized her as a British one. It afterwards transpired that Sir David Beatty had ordered the Engadine to send up a sea-plane for reconnaissance work, and that wireless reports were received from the daring airmen that they had sighted four hostile light cruisers. The latter opened a hot fire with every quick-firer they could get to bear upon the indomitable sea-plane, the range being less than 3000 yards, but in spite of the hail of shrapnel the airmen gained their desired information and returned to their parent ship.
On board the Warrior, as was the case with the rest of her consorts, hands were hard at work clearing ship for action. Already the masts and shrouds had been "frapped", or protected, by means of wire cables wrapped round the spars and interlaced between the standing-rigging. "A" and "B" water-tight doors were closed, armoured hatchways battened down, and hoses led along the decks in order to quell the fire that would inevitably break out should a hostile shell burst inside the armoured belt. Stanchions, cowls, and all gear likely to interfere with the training of the guns were unshipped and stowed, tons of His Majesty's property were jettisoned, the danger of their remaining on board being more than sufficient reason for their sacrifice.
Inside the turrets, tubs of water were provided to slake the burning thirst of the guns' crews, for experience had proved that the acute mental and physical strain, coupled with the acrid fumes that drift into the confined steel spaces, produces an intense dryness of the mouth and throat. Behind the armoured protection, stretcher-bearers and fire-parties were preparing for their stern work.
Down below, far beneath the water-line, the fleet surgeon and his staff were getting ready for their grim yet humane tasks. Operations have to be performed under great disadvantages, the complexity of wounds caused by modern shells adding to the difficulties under which the medical staff labours. Contrast an operation in a well-ordered hospital on shore--where perfect quietude reigns and everything is conducive to success--with the conditions on board a war-ship in action. The indifferent light, for the electric lamps are quivering under the vibration of the guns; the deafening concussion overhead as the ship gives and receives punishment; the jerky motion of the vessel as she twists and turns to the rapid movements of the helm and quivers under the titanic blows of hostile shells; and the probability of the ship's bottom being shattered like an egg-shell by a powerful torpedo--all these form but a part of the disadvantages under which the naval medical staff labour during the progress of an action.