He caught his breath for a moment, and his grand jaw tightened the least
little bit as he said slowly, 'We shall have to make a fresh start,
Captain Grattan.'
'What shall I do?' the Skipper asked him. 'You'd better explain to the
Commandant.'
That struck me as being too much to ask of Gerald, but he only tightened
his jaws a little more, and began jabbering away in Spanish to the
Commandant, whose tired, hungry-looking eyes opened out with pleasure
and cunning, so that I knew that my brother had told him everything, and
knew perfectly well that there would be no surrender. It wouldn't help
old Gerald much now, even if he did get possession of the fort, because
that cruiser, whose coming we'd been longing for so much and now so
dreaded, would, after we'd handed her over to the Santa Cruz Navy,
batter down its walls with the utmost ease.
If I'd been Gerald I'm hanged if I would have told him the truth, and
would have taken my chance with the fort. Oh! wasn't it cruel luck?
'The Commandant thanks you for the information,' Gerald said, turning to
the Skipper, 'and under the new circumstances will not surrender El
Castellar.'
We saw the Commandant speak to the officer who had met us, and he must
have passed the news round, for, in a minute or two, a couple of hundred
ragged half-starved soldiers surged out from under those thatched huts,
swarmed round us, and began shouting out, '_Viva los Inglesas!' 'Viva
la Marina Inglesa!_' The brutes--they'd have cut our throats, ten
minutes ago, with the greatest pleasure. I saw the 'Gnome's' hand go to
his revolver, for they jolly well looked as if they wanted to cut his
throat and the other officers'--he was bristling with anger.
'Come along, boy, we've done enough harm here,' the Skipper said.
'Hadn't we better see my brother safely out of it first, sir?' I
suggested, for I didn't like the Commandant's eyes or those
treacherous-looking soldiers.
'Brain wave, lad! Good brain wave!--we will.'
We did see him out, tramping along through the main gateway, over a
drawbridge, and took him down to where his own little brown men
clustered, at the edge of the forest, waiting to see the black and green
flag hoisted above the fort they hated so much.
[Illustration: It was the most miserable walk I have ever had]
It was the most miserable walk I have ever had, and I could have killed
the men shouting '_Viva los Inglesas!_' as they lined the wall and
crowded through the gateway behind us. I feel certain that, if we
hadn't been there, and the _Hector_ lying close inshore, they'd have
shot Gerald and his officers in the back.
I told Gerald about my having cut the fingers off that little
ex-policeman, and implored him not to let him go again, and before we
got to the forest we stopped to wish him good-bye. As I was going, he
said: 'I know Captain Pelayo, Billums, the Captain of _La Buena
Presidente_--he and old Zorilla are about the only types of the old
fighting Spaniard left in the country--and he won't surrender his ship
without fighting. He's got good men aboard too.'
We left old Gerald there, but I turned to watch him and the 'Gnome'
disappear into the gloomy forest among their little men, before I
followed the Skipper--a big lump sticking in my throat.
'I'd have asked your brother to come on board, lad,' he said, 'hang the
arresting part of it and that warrant, and have taken him out of the
country in safety, but I know he wouldn't; he isn't the kind of chap to
leave his fellows in a hole.'
He was about right there.
The same officer who had met us took us back, and this time we were
obliged to pass that hole our 9.2 had made. The pathway was almost
hidden by the blocks of stone and scattered bricks which had been hurled
down by the explosion, and we had to pick our way very gingerly across
them, so that it was impossible not to notice the huge gap above us.
The officer waved his hands and shrugged his shoulders, 'We forget--you
forget--all _mucho bueno_.'
'Do you expect that ship to come here, sir?' I asked him, as we pulled
back to the ship.
'Don't know, lad, she _should_ make for San Fernando first, and I'm
going to stay here to see that she doesn't get there, but I've told "Old
Spats" to take the _Hercules_ to Los Angelos, in case she should attempt
anything there.'
I told him what Gerald had said to me about Captain Pelayo, and asked
him what he would do if she did not stop when told to do so.
'Shall we have to fight her, sir?'
'I suppose we shall,' he answered, with a wink. He looked as though he
almost hoped she wouldn't stop. So should I have done but for old
Gerald.
'She'll be a pretty hard nut to tackle, sir; she's got eight twelve-inch
guns on a broadside.'
'Well, we've got four 9.2's and four 7.5's. Don't bother about that,
she won't know how to use them.'
Still I couldn't help thinking that, unless we had the _Hercules_ to
help us, it would be a pretty hard job.
Most of us on board thought so too, that is, if it did come to a scrap,
but the general opinion was that her crew could not possibly be trained,
would not be able to fight her guns properly, and, if she couldn't run
away, would have to surrender.
Raynor, the Engineer Sub, who knew all about her, pointed out that she
was supposed to have three knots more speed than the _Hector_, so might
be able to escape.
'Running away won't do her any good,' I said, 'or Gerald's people
either.'
However, the possibility of having to fight made every one of us in the
gun-room, except myself, extremely cheerful and excited, and when late
in the afternoon we began to 'clear ship for action' and 'prepare for
battle,' you would have thought by the way we all jumped round and got
the ship in fighting trim that we were expecting to pay off old scores
on some deadly enemy. It almost made me smile to hear the mids. talking
now. At the back of their minds there was a feeling that perhaps the
fight might be a bit more even if the _Hercules_ came along to help, and
they made quite pleasant remarks about her and her hated gun-room.
I know that I myself hoped that if it did come to a 'scrap,' old Ginger
Hood would be there to share the fun.
Cousin Bob must tell you what did actually happen.
*CHAPTER XIV*
_*La Buena Presidente*_* fights*
_Written by Midshipman Bob Temple_
After we had had that ripping lark with those two 4.7's on shore, the
insurgent President sent off a great basket of fruit--oranges,
grape-fruit, melons, and bananas--every day whilst we remained off San
Fernando, so we were jolly sorry to get up anchor and steam down to El
Castellar.
Of course we were very sorry for Cousin Gerald's sake that we had to
collar _La Buena Presidente_, but thought it would be splendid fun if
she showed fight, and we all hoped that she'd come our way and not give
those beastly _Hercules'_ mids. a chance. Then we heard what Cousin
Gerald had told Billums about her Captain being such a fine chap, and
Raynor, the Engineer Sub, told us so much about her, her armour and her
big guns, that though we didn't get exactly frightened, we rather felt
that we'd like the _Hercules'_ mids. to chip in with us after all.
A lot of our chaps thought that she'd simply haul down her flag directly
we signalled to her to do so, but Mr. Bostock the Gunner shook his head.
He'd seen a revolution out in these parts, years and years ago, and said
we were wrong: 'She'll not 'aul her flag down whilst she's got men to
fight the guns and shovel coal in the bunkers.'
He told us the story of the fight between the _Shah_ and the _Huascar_,
which was just about the same kind of show. There had been a revolution
and the _Huascar_ had joined the insurgents down the coast. She ran
short of coal, and not being able to buy any, took it by force out of an
English steamer, so the _Shah_--she was our flagship out there then--was
sent after her and they had a stand-up fight. The _Shah_ was a wooden
ship with thin armour-plates along the side, and the _Huascar_ was an
iron one with turrets and very thick armour, so the English ship found
herself up against too big a mouthful and got the worst of it.
'I was Captain's coxswain aboard 'er,' Mr. Bostock told us, but we sang
out that he couldn't have been more than twelve years old at the time.
'Believe me or believe me not, young gen'l'men, I was Captain's
coxswain, and a nice kind gen'l'man he was too. In the middle of the
haction 'e sees a big round shot from the turret-ship come bobbin' along
towards us--straight as a die. "Full speed astern," 'e says to
me--"Full speed astern, Bostock,"--just like that--not turnin' a
'air--and full speed astern we went, and that shot just 'it the water
under our bows. Another time, about 'arf a 'our arterwards, we was
gettin' pretty tired of shootin' against 'er thick sides and seein' our
shot bouncing off 'er armour like peas, 'e sees another round shot
comin' along. "That'll just about 'it the Admiral's cabin," 'e says,
"and aggravate 'im," 'e says, "if we don't 'urry along a bit. Full
speed ahead, Bostock."
'Well, 'e was a wonder, was the Captain, but the leadin' seaman, who
passed the order down to the engine-room, wasn't very smart about it,
and though we did go full speed a-'ead, we didn't do it quick enough,
and that shot just took off the life-buoy a-'angin' under our stern.
Took it off without even a-damagin' the gilt scroll we' ad there, but
that 'ere leadin' seaman 'ad 'is pay stopped till 'e'd paid for it--an'
serve 'im right.
'Of course that was in the days of muzzle-loaders, when the shot didn't
go along as smartly as they do now; but that Captain was a smart 'un--'e
'ad judgment, 'e 'ad.'
'They must have been pretty sick of life at your dodging their shots
like that,' we said, laughing.
'Believe me or believe me not, but as true as I'm a-sittin' in my cabin
'ere at this moment, they started a-'easin' off two at a time, 'oping to
catch us with one of them.'
'What did the Skipper do then?' we asked.
'What d'you think?' he snorted. 'There was those two great black shell
comin' racin' along towards us, side by side, and 'e turns to me, as
quiet as a babe unborn, and 'e says: "'Ard a starb'ard"--that's all, and
our old tub turns round on 'er 'eel, just faces them two shell and 'e
shoved 'er nose in _between_ them an' they just splashed the men in the
batteries a bit. We can't do nothin' like that nowadays, young
gen'l'men--nothin' like that.'
'We shouldn't think we could,' we shouted, as he seized his cap and ran
up on deck, for the Commander wanted him.
We cleared for action that afternoon and just before dark got under way
and stood out into the open sea, past El Castellan.
This clearing for action made it certain that the Captain was doubtful
whether she'd surrender without fighting, and of course made us all more
excited than ever.
'If she does fight, I hope the _Hercules_ will come and help; she'll be
a bit of a handful to tackle single-handed,' Barton sang out, and
Billums laughed sarcastically and said, 'I thought you'd rather die than
let them help you,' which made us rather angry.
The 'Angel' and I went in to have a yarn with the fat little A.D.C. and
hear what he thought about it. He was very excited, and said that
Captain Pelayo would die sooner than surrender--he seemed to know him
very well. That night the Captain had him taken down below in the
'tiller flat,'[#] so that he would be out of danger if anything _did_
happen, and his being taken down there made us all feel a bit creepy.
[#] A space right aft, below the water-line, where the steering engine
and emergency hand-steering mechanism are situated.
Well, nothing happened all night; we simply 'mooned' about, backwards
and forwards, near the entrance, and _La Buena Presidente_ must have
been hovering round, too, waiting till it was light enough to see her
way into La Laguna, for, as it grew light enough, she was sighted not
five miles away, steaming leisurely in towards the entrance. Although
she was painted white she looked enormous.
The Captain was called, and ran up on the fore bridge in a twinkling,
and sent 'Blotchy' Smith down with a wireless message to the _Hercules_.
He showed it to me as he passed along the upper deck, '_La Buena
Presidente_ is eight miles off El Castellar steaming towards it. Shall
prevent her entering. Come south and prevent her escaping to sea.'
'She'll be here in three hours and a half,' 'Blotchy' shouted, as he ran
aft, and I felt jolly glad, but rather wished it was minutes instead of
hours.
Then 'General Quarters' was sounded, and we all rushed to our stations.
Mr. Bigge and I got through the back of our 9.2 turret--the for'ard
starboard one just under the projecting end of the fore bridge--and when
we'd reported everything 'cleared away' and had filled our 'ready' rack
with more shells, we climbed out of the sighting-hood and squatted on
top of the turret, whilst they trained it for'ard and aft as far as it
would go and raised and lowered the long gun, to test the hydraulic
machinery. It was a perfectly lovely morning, the sea like glass, and
the _Hector's_ bows seemed just to push the water aside, not even
breaking the surface. It was so jolly clear that we could see thousands
of jelly-fish--all the colours of the rainbow--floating past under our
sponson. It really was grand, and we sat there and watched the big ship
coming slowly towards us with the sun rising just behind her.
'That's bad for shooting, if it comes to a fight,' Mr. Bigge said; 'it
will dazzle the "Gunlayer's" eyes.'
'I don't expect it will; do you, sir?' I asked nervously, because she
was so huge, and I knew that she had so much more powerful guns than we
had, that, now it came to the pinch, I was in a funk.
'Don't know,' he answered; 'we'll know in ten minutes.'
The signalmen began running about the bridge above us, we heard the
Chief Yeoman's voice saying 'Hoist,' and up went three flags and the
white international code pendant.
'What's that mean, sir?' I asked, as the halyards were jerked to shake
out the flags.
'"Stop engines," I think,' Mr. Bigge said, squinting through his
telescope to see if she took any notice.
Something did go fluttering to her masthead--she only had one mast, a
tripod one, amidships--but it was the black and green flag, and a huge
one at that.
'She's not going to stop,' Mr. Bigge muttered. 'The Sub was right after
all. We'll have to fight her.'
I did feel so uncomfortable and horrid 'inside,' and looked to see that
the sighting-hood was open so that I could crawl down into the turret
again--quickly.
Every one was simply gazing at the big ship, wondering what she would
do, and you couldn't hear a sound, except the hissing noise of some
steam, escaping from a leaky joint near the syren fog-horn up on the
foremost funnel. Just aft of our turret was the first 7.5 turret, and
the 'Forlorn Hope'--just a little pale--was leaning against the side of
it looking at the ship--I was jolly glad that I wasn't so fat, I felt
much too big already--and the 'Shadow' slipped out of the next 7.5
turret to yarn with him and then ran back again and shut the door.
Dr. Clegg came cheerily along from under the fo'c'stle, and stopped near
our turret to look at her too.
He sang out asking if we had our 'first aid' bag, and I put my head down
the sighting-hood to find out.
'Yes, sir!' I shouted down--it did me good to shout.
'Just seeing that all our things are rigged,' he said, smiling at Mr.
Bigge, looking along at the sunrise for a moment with a funny expression
in his face before he dived down below.
'He may not see it again,' Mr. Bigge said, and I understood and felt
shivery all over.
Inside my turret I could hear the Gunlayer, who had his eye to the
telescopic sight, talking to the Sight Setter. 'Now don't you go
a-playing none of your tricks, Bill. Tie a bit of spun yarn round your
right thumb and you'll know it from your left, and won't be playing the
ass with the deflection as you did at the battle practice--a-spoiling
the whole ship's shooting.'
Raynor, the Engineer Sub, came along too, and went down into our turret
to see if the hydraulic machinery was all right. He climbed out of the
sighting-hood in a few minutes, borrowed Mr. Bigge's telescope to have a
look at the white ship, told us that everything was working well, and
climbed down on deck.
Then, up in the for'ard fire-control position--high up the mast--I heard
the 'Angel's' voice reading off the ranges on the long range finder,
'eight thousand nine fifty--eight thousand nine hundred--eight thousand
eight fifty'--and I popped my head down inside to see if _our_ range
indicator was working properly. It was, and the figures were slipping
round all right. I looked up again, but he had his eyes glued to the
range finder and didn't see me.
Marchant, the Inkslinger, leaned out of the 'control' position, caught
sight of me, and waved his bandaged hand--he was beaming all over.
Mr. Montague, too, looked down and sang out to the fore bridge for some
of the signal halyards to be hauled aside as they were fouling the range
finder, and I could just see the feet of Pearson, the Assistant
Paymaster, who was sitting, straddle-legs, on the top of it, doing
'spotting officer'--to spot whether shots fell short or over. I was
jolly glad that I wasn't up there, and that, if it did come to a fight,
I had six inches of armour to get behind.
The ship was so close now that we could see her huge guns, but she
didn't seem to have cleared for action.
'Fire a port twelve-pounder!' we heard the Captain say; 'they may not
have seen the signal.'
Men began running about, the Commander bellowed at them, and the little
gun fired almost immediately--to leeward--away from _La Buena
Presidente_--and we watched to see if that would have any effect.
It had. A long string of flags went jerking up the tripod mast and the
international code pendant was hoisted to her yard-arm. We heard the
Chief Yeoman scurrying into the chart-house to find the signal-book, and
in a minute the Captain called out to the Commander, 'They refuse to
stop. Keep my signal flying and fire the foremost 9.2 across her bows.'
Billums was in charge of that turret.
All this time the 'Angel' had been singing out the range. It had got
down to 7250 yards, and we were turning a little in towards the
entrance, to prevent the ship closing too rapidly. Then round slewed
Billums's long gun over the starboard bow, pointing up in the air.
The Captain sang down to him to fire as soon as he liked, and almost
before he'd said it, off went the gun with a roar--back it flew--my cap
went flying overboard, and the brown cordite smoke came stinging into my
eyes.
'Why the dickens don't you stick your cap on properly?' Mr. Bigge
snarled. 'You aren't a blooming infant,' and we watched to see where
the shell would fall.
It seemed an awfully long time, and then there was a shout of 'There it
is!' all along the ship, and up spouted the water a couple of cables
ahead of the white ship.
Mr. Montague shouted down to know what range Billums actually had on his
sights, so as to see whether the range finder was working properly or
not, and then there was another shout of 'She's turning!' and I was
never so relieved in my life as to see her put her helm over and run
away.
The Captain roared for the Engineer Commander, and sang out, 'Tell the
_Hercules_ she's steaming seaward.'
The morning seemed to be quite lovely again, and we headed after her,
smoke pouring out of all our funnels, and that leaky steam joint hissing
more and more. Our bows began to break the water now, and the
jelly-fish streamed past like a flash.
_La Buena Presidente_ was covered with smoke too, and seemed to be in a
jolly hurry to escape.
'She isn't going to fight after all,' I laughed, feeling awfully
pleased.
'Don't know--they're getting down her rails and awnings,' Mr. Bigge
said, looking through his glass.
So they were. We could see the men swarming on her quarterdeck and the
awning coming off her.
I felt all shivery again, and heard the Gunlayer sing out from inside
the turret, 'The longer they take about it the farther the sun'll be up,
and it won't get in my bloomin' eyes so much.'
'It seems a shame to go killing people a morning like this, doesn't it?'
Mr. Bigge muttered to himself, and I jolly well agreed with him.
We were buzzing along finely now, and could feel the ship shaking and
throbbing.
The 'Angel' was still at the range finder, and our indicator showed
6250, when suddenly the big ship turned again--she was going at a
tremendous speed--and--oh, it made my backbone feel cold--made straight
for the entrance and El Castellan.
We still had our signal 'Stop Engines' flying, but there wasn't the
least doubt now that she was simply going to rush past us. Clatter,
clatter, came the signalmen down from the fore bridge to take shelter,
everybody disappeared into their turrets, popping down the
sighting-hoods like rabbits, the Captain and the Navigator came down and
clambered through the top of the conning-tower, the 'Forlorn Hope,' with
a grimace at me, squeezed himself into his turret and closed the
armoured door, and, with my heart in my mouth, I wriggled down into
mine.
[Illustration: The big ship turned again]
'Aren't you coming, sir?' I asked Mr. Bigge, but he shook his head. I
felt a little safer inside there, and stood watching the range
indicator. It was simply altering every few
seconds--5400--5300--5200--there was no time to show the fifties.
Mr. Bigge sang out for me--he wanted to know something--and I popped my
head out again and couldn't see the ship--she had slanted away a little,
to pass along our port side--but I just caught sight of Billums sitting
on the back part of the top of his turret, on the fo'c'stle, with his
knees drawn up to his chin, resting his field-glasses on them.
You couldn't hear a sound anywhere--except that escaping steam--and then
the gong inside the turret began sounding the 'stand by'--the next time
it sounded it would mean we had to fire. The able seaman at the
telephone sang out, 'The port battery's just got the order to fire,
sir,' I almost fell down inside the turret again, and then the whole of
our guns that could bear on the port beam fired, and some of them had
time to fire again before we heard the roaring 'clap' and the crash of
the shells bursting against the big ship's side. The range indicator
showed 3200 yards, and we couldn't miss her very easily at so short a
distance.
She was passing down our port side and going in the opposite direction,
so that we had to circle round to follow her, and I knew that the
starboard turrets would then come into action.
Mr. Bigge shouted down that we were turning to starboard, the bell at
the telephone from the conning-tower rang, the able seaman jammed his
ear against it, sang out, 'Starboard guns, stand by, sir!' and the gun's
crew jumped to their proper stations.
'Remember your right hand, Bill!' the Gunlayer called out, and wedged
his eye into the indiarubber sleeve of the telescopic sight.
'Train aft,' Mr. Bigge shouted down through the sighting-hood, and round
we slewed.
The gun's crew was ready, the gun loaded, and the next shell lying in
the loading tray, so I had nothing to do except to see that the Sight
Setter kept the same range on his sights as the indicator showed, and
that everything was done properly.
'We're coming "on,"' Mr. Bigge sang down. 'Stand by!'
The Gunlayer jerked out, 'I've got her, sir'--he'd spotted her through
his telescope--and I just had the pluck to pop my head out for a second
and caught sight of the big white ship tearing across our stern as we
swung round, and then the fire-gong clanged loudly and I slipped back
again.
There was a roar and a shake, men jumped about, banging and
clattering--I heard the ammunition hoist rattle-rattle up to the gun,
and the breech-block snap 'to,' and off she went again.
'We're hitting her!' Mr. Bigge sang out. 'Aim under her mast and
bridge.'
'She's going to fire,' he shouted, a second later, and almost before
he'd said it, there was a most awful roar, like a thunder-clap, and then
the most appalling noise and hot glare--the whole ship shook and seemed
to be tearing in pieces. The Gunlayer was cursing that he couldn't see
out of his telescope, and wedged his arm along it to wipe the glass.
'That's better,' he growled, and fired again.
The range indicator, all this time, had been showing bigger ranges, and
it had just showed--3650--when that same awful thunder-clap sounded a
second time, and then the noise and the hot glare; the ship seemed to be
breaking in pieces again, things came crashing down on deck, and she
trembled as if she'd run aground. Something had struck her, somewhere
close below us; a huge flame shot up just in front of the gun port, I
was banged against the side, the Gunlayer came tumbling down from his
sighting platform, and we could hardly breathe. I felt quite silly,
too.
The Gunlayer scrambled up again and fired, but we didn't know whether he
was hitting her, because she was covered with smoke and almost hidden by
the spray and the smoke of shells which burst short. I began to get my
breath back.
'The range indicator ain't working, sir!' the Sight Setter called out.
'It ain't altered for the last three minutes.'
I jumped across. It still showed--3650--and I tapped it to see if it
had jammed, but it didn't move. Just as I was going to tell Mr. Bigge,
_La Buena Presidente_ fired again, there were those awful noises, and
something came crashing down on top of our turret, bulging in the roof.
'Can't move her, sir, the turret's jammed,' the Gunlayer yelled. He
sprang up through the sighting-hood--something red and slippery was
dripping down through the holes in the top of the turret--and I followed
him. Mr. Bigge wasn't there, but the top was covered with the twisted
rails and smoking burning planks of the projecting end of the bridge--I
knew it was the bridge because the stump of the semaphore was still
fixed to a rail.
I didn't really realise anything or know quite what I was doing. I
burnt my hands trying to pull the wreckage away, but we couldn't move
it, and I had to keep my eyes down so as not to see the big ship
firing--I couldn't have stayed there if I had. I knew that Mr. Bigge
must have been killed, and that I was now in charge.
Then that awful thunder-clap sounded again, there was a terrific crash
behind us, a huge mass of iron crashed down on the deck, and one of the
men said quite calmly, 'The foremost funnel's gone, sir,' but I dare not
look--I was too terrified.
We couldn't move that wreckage off the fore bridge, so I ordered the men
inside the turret, and then tried to ring up the conning-tower, but
couldn't make the telephone work. I tried the telephone to the
transmitting station, the room below the water-line, at the foot of the
foremast, which passed all messages to us from the fire-control
position, on the mast above it, and I heard the Fleet Paymaster's voice
at the other end. 'Please tell the Captain----' I'd just got as far as
that when the ship shook and trembled again, and we could feel something
crashing and bursting inside her.
I tried the telephone once more, but it wouldn't work at all. I knew
that I ought to tell the Captain and ask what should be done, so I bit
my lips and crept out of the turret, down the rails at the back, and
jumped down on deck, but it was all covered with burning bits of wood
and twisted and torn, almost red-hot, iron plates. Smoke and steam was
pouring up from where the foremost funnel had been, and flames from the
boiler furnaces were licking the grey paint off, but the rest of our
guns, on the starboard side, were still firing very fast.
[Illustration: THE EFFECT OF THE SHELL]
I kept my eyes down and dashed through the smoke to try and get under
the fo'c'stle and nearly fell through a hole in the deck. The gangway
was blocked up with wreckage. Several bodies lay underneath it, and I
saw one arm sticking out, a signalman's badge on the sleeve. I ran back
and had to crawl under the fallen funnel, through a gap where it had
crumpled up, wondering when that next thunder-clap would come and kill
me. I crawled under it, noticed that the 7.5 turret next to ours seemed
out of place and the deck very uneven, saw the Shadow's face in the
sighting-hood of the second 7.5 turret just as his gun fired, and darted
between the funnel casings to the port side. I had to go quickly
because the paint was burning on the iron plates on each side of me.
That thunder-clap seemed to be awfully long in coming, and I thought
that perhaps, after all, we'd beaten the huge ship and scrambled
for'ard, over more smoking wreckage, towards the fo'c'stle, 'Blotchy'
Smith looking out from the port for'ard 9.2 turret, very white in the
face, and yelling to know how things were going.
I couldn't stop to speak to him because of the smoke pouring up from the
foremost funnel hatchway, and I just put my sleeve in front of my eyes
and my mouth and darted through it, under the fo'c'stle. Even then I
couldn't get to the conning-tower, where the Captain was, because the
whole of the shelter deck was crumpled up like paper, but the port door
leading on to the fo'c'stle had been blown off, and just as I looked
through it, the for'ard 9.2 fo'c'stle gun fired. I heard Billums shout,
'Hit!' and there he was still perched on top of the turret, his head
bare, and his yellow hair showing.
'We're jammed! Mr. Bigge's killed! I want to tell the Captain,' I
shouted, but he couldn't hear what I'd said, and only pointed over the
starboard quarter. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted, 'The
_Hercules_!'
Oh! wasn't I glad, and was just going to try and climb up to the
conning-tower, when I saw O'Leary put his head out of the sighting-hood
and speak to Billums. I heard Billums shout, 'Cease fire.' Then the
Commander came scrambling along past me with some men, a bugler sounded
'Collision Quarters,' and I noticed, for the first time, that we had a
tremendous list to starboard. The Commander bellowed at me to make
myself useful, and sent me down below with a message to the First
Lieutenant, so I hadn't time to ask any one what was the matter.
I could hardly find my way along the lower deck. Everything was wrecked,
the mess tables and lockers were burning furiously, and I could hardly
see for smoke, which poured out through great gaps in the port side. I
managed to find one of the hatchways open--the cover must have been
blown off--and got down into the 'bag flats,'[#] but it was worse here,
pitch-dark, and water, up to my knees, was rolling from side to side.
There was a sickening smell there too. As I groped my way along to try
and find the for'ard hatchway leading down to the ammunition passages,
where the First Lieutenant was, I saw a light and heard the Fleet
Paymaster's voice. He was looking out of the fore transmitting room,
and some candles were burning inside it. 'We haven't been able to make
any one hear for the last quarter of an hour,' he said. 'What's gone
wrong?'
[#] Narrow spaces, below the water-line and behind the upper
coal-bunkers, where the men's bags are stowed.
'I don't know, sir. The ship has escaped, I think; Mr. Bigge's killed.'
Mr. Perkins came along, splashing through the water, so I gave him the
message and climbed up on deck again. I met Billums under the shelter
deck--or rather what had been the shelter deck--and he told me that some
armour-plates had been smashed in below the water-line--that was why we
were heeling over so badly.
'Two shell struck almost together, drove a plate clean through the side,
and killed every one in the after bag flats--Dr. Clegg, the Padre, and
the whole of the 'stretcher party' aft there.' He was very sad.
'Is the "Angel" all right?' I asked, feeling perfectly miserable. He
put his hand on my shoulder and led me back out on the fo'c'stle again.
I knew at once that my chum was killed.
'Be brave, Bob; look up!' he said.
I looked; oh! it was awful, the topmast and the control-position had
disappeared, and there wasn't anything left there, except a few bits of
wire hanging down, and a copper voice-pipe sticking out by itself.
'One shell in that second broadside burst against it, Bob,' and Billums
put his hand on my shoulder, very gently, to steady me; 'it must have
been all over in a second. They felt no pain.'