A Naval Venture: The War Story of an Armoured Cruiser

by T. T. Jeans

"Divisions", at half-past nine, had to be held out of sight, in the battery, for the temptation always proved too great for the Turks when they saw men falling in on the quarter-deck or fo'c'sle.

On one memorable occasion when, "divisions" having been reported correct to Captain Macfarlane, the men were all marched aft on to the quarter-deck for prayers, the ship's company made one almighty "duck" as a shell came over them and burst not ten yards away in the water. If eye-witnesses speak the truth, the only people who did not "duck" on that occasion were Captain Macfarlane—who made the excuse that "he had been rather deaf for the last few days"—and the little Padre, who apologized most profusely that he had been so busy trying to prevent the wind blowing his surplice round his neck, that he hadn't noticed it.

At any rate, after that, "divisions" and prayers were held in the battery out of sight.

The people who had the most unpleasant time were the signalmen on the fore-bridge, the telegraphist in the "wireless" room on the shelter-deck, and the people on watch on the quarter-deck.

"What am I to do?" the Sub growled to Uncle Podger one day. "Here we have half a dozen boats round the gangways, a couple of hundred men working about the upper deck, and along comes a jumping Jimmy of a shell and flops fifty yards short of the ship—then another, a hundred or a couple of hundred over. It may be all a mistake—they may be coaxing them along to the distilling ship—and the next may fall a thousand yards over. How am I to know? What am I to do? If I don't stop work and sound the 'retire', then the next one will probably come 'splosh' into our chaps and lay half a dozen of them out. Then what will the Commander say?—losing his best hands perhaps; and the Skipper will want to know why I didn't clear 'em all off the upper deck. It's worrying; that's what it is!"

"My dear chap," said Uncle Podger, "I'll tell you exactly what I feel. When I go on deck I am certain that those Turkish gunner chaps over there on the hills sing out 'Hello! here comes the most valuable clerk in the whole British Navy; any of you chaps got a spare round to have a 'pot' at him?' I walk up and down the quarter-deck with my ears cocked towards the shore to hear that beastly whining swish—a shell or two will fall in the water—those big chaps, with their infernal thunder-clap, burst on the shore—and I gradually find myself edging away to the hatchway, and going down to the office or the gun-room, where I can't hear the things so plainly. It gets on my nerves, I can tell you that."

Whatever happens, the routine of the ship's work must be carried on: the decks are scrubbed; the hands fall in; they work about the upper deck, splicing wires, scraping paintwork, repairing boats, overhauling gear—all the thousand-and-one jobs which have to be done; boats have to be called away, and go about their business; the meat, potatoes, and bread have to be served out; the office work has to go on just the same; the sick have to be attended and treated; the signalmen and upper-deck watch keepers have to keep their watches; the men have to have their meals and scrub the mess-decks; the cooks have to cook the ship's company's food; and all these routine duties go on, either without any protection whatever, in the open, or behind a half-inch of steel which won't "look at" a shell of any sort or description. A battleship or cruiser is designed to fight an action which may last for an hour or for five hours, but, at the end of that time, life on board reverts to its ordinary routine—as far as it may. She is not intended or designed to be constantly under shell-fire for weeks at a time.

The Pink Rat, whose nerves had never recovered from his experience at "W" beach, frankly could not stand the spells of shelling; the China Doll grew restless and more baby-like than ever; the Pimple was nearly as bad; the Lamp-post hated the shells perhaps more than anyone, for he had a most vivid imagination, but he controlled his feelings wonderfully, and never showed the least outward sign of "nerves", except that he became more than usually boisterous after sunset—when all was peace. Rawlins and Bubbles treated the whole thing as a joke. "Don't think about 'em," Bubbles gurgled to the Pink Rat, "and then you won't worry." The Hun did not seem to trouble so long as he had something to do in his steam pinnace; he had to remember to live up to his D.S.C., too. The Orphan, who felt he also had a reputation to keep up, worried very little either.

The midshipmen in the boats and their crews had to carry on their usual work at all times. It sounds simple enough when talked about in a comfortable chair at home; but just put yourself in the place of a midshipman in a steamboat, with perhaps a lighter in tow, who is coming off from shore and sees a shell burst in the water fifty yards ahead of him, knows that another will come along in a few seconds, and has to take his boat through the swirl made by the first shell! Or, again, he sees a ship hit, or shells falling all round her, and has to take his boat alongside her, and, worse still, wait alongside her. This is what these midshipmen and their crews had constantly to do; and when they went inshore, shells were constantly dropping close to them, not only the small 4.1-inch, but the big high-explosives.

The strain and the long hours caused many of these midshipmen to break down, but there was no instance that can be brought to mind when any of them showed the slightest sign of treating shells too "respectfully" when on duty.