By 2 o’clock three-quarters of the water was out of the dock, and those of us who were not on duty went over the brow (i.e. the gangway) and down into the basin to explore and have a look at the bottom of the ship.
A dry dock is constructed with two galleries at the top built into the stone-work, and is reached by a flight of steps usually standing back about twenty feet from the edge.
Below these galleries comes a series of ledges, each one about three feet high and two feet deep, leading down to the bottom, which is about ten yards in width. On the centre of the dock are a number of wooden blocks, each about two feet high and four feet broad, and distant about three feet one from the other; on these the keel of the ship rests. A gutter just below the ledges drains off any water that may leak in. One end of the dock is rounded off in a semi-circle, the other narrows into a neck where an iron caisson, or hollow water gate, locks the entrance and keeps the water out. When this gate is to be moved, the water is pumped out of its interior, and it then rises to the surface and is hauled out of the way by ropes. Near this gate are two big, square holes, by means of which the dock is reflooded when the ship is ready to go out again. Parties of seamen on rafts were already at work scraping away the weed from the ship’s sides, and others were painting the cleared spaces with red lead to prevent rust.
The next day was Sunday, but as we had no padre on board there was no church parade, and since it was war-time, and we’d got to join our Fleet, which had sailed the night before, as quickly as possible, the work of scraping and painting was continued without intermission.
During the afternoon we inspected a new light cruiser which was in process of construction in an adjoining dock.
At 2 o’clock the following day, the work being finished, the water was let in. It came rushing through the square opening in a solid green mass, to fall with a dull roar into the rapidly filling dock. Two hours later the ship’s keel gradually lifted, and as she rose higher and higher the timber props floated free, grinding and jostling each other in a manner somewhat reminiscent of a Canadian lumber river. Then the caisson was pumped dry and towed out of the way, and by 4.30 we commenced to warp out and went alongside a neighbouring wharf, to which by 6.30 we were safely secured by ropes. I remember that H.M.S. “——,” England’s latest Dreadnought, which had just been launched, was lying in the basin, being fitted with engines, guns, etc. With her two enormous oval funnels standing out against a group of workshops and towering high above them, her huge turret guns which still lay along the wharf amid a litter of smaller guns, searchlights, and armoured plates, she made an impressive picture of Britain’s sea power.
A new navigator and two Royal Naval Reserve lieutenants joined that night, and their arrival completed our full complement of officers.
It was 6 in the evening when finally our warps were cast off, and, running alongside, we coaled for half-an-hour, in that time taking in seventy tons, and then proceeded to sea with coal still stacked high on our decks. Through Plymouth Harbour the ship slid like a grey ghost—all dead-lights down, and in total darkness save for the occasional flashes from the shaded arc-lamp which replied to the challenges of the torpedo-boat patrol and boom vessels.