THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SAILOR IN ACTION
"Mother and sweetheart, England; ...
... thy love was ever wont
To lift men up in pride above themselves
To do great deeds which of themselves alone
They could not; thou hast led the unfaltering feet
Of even thy meanest heroes down to death,
Lifted poor knights to many a great emprise,
Taught them high thoughts, and though they kept their souls
Lowly as little children, bidden them lift
Eyes unappalled by all the myriad stars
That wheel around the great white throne of God."
--ALFRED NOYES (_Drake_).
The naval man is often confronted with the question: "What does
it feel like to be in an action at sea?" This is undoubtedly very
difficult to answer in anything approaching an adequate manner. There
are various reasons for hesitancy in reply. Broadly speaking, the
answer depends on two main factors, environment and temperament, but
there are many minor points depending on the experience, education,
and character of the man in question that at the same time vitally
affect it. An attempt to generalise, therefore, is sure to be open to
criticism. It is consequently with much diffidence that the following
ideas are set forth, in the hope that they may assist the landsman to
appreciate, in some slight degree, the various points of view of the
officers and men who fight in our warships.
There is obviously a wide difference in the outlook, and consequently
in the working of the mind, of the man behind a gun, or in any other
position where he can see and hear how matters are progressing, and
the man buried in the bowels of the ship, who is stoking, working
machinery, or engaged in the supply of ammunition. When once the
action has begun, the former will probably never give a moment's
thought to his own safety or that of the ship he is in, whilst the
latter, during any intervals that may occur in his work, can only
think of how things are going with his ship. Lastly, there is a
very divergent view between the man who knows he is going into a
battle such as that fought off the Falkland Islands, where our ships
possessed a marked superiority, and the man who was present, say, at
Coronel, where the conditions were reversed.
During an action, the captain of a man-of-war is usually in the
conning-tower, where he is surrounded by several inches of steel.
A good all-round view is obtained through a slit between the roof
and the walls. From this point of vantage he can communicate with
the gunnery control positions, the gun positions, engine-rooms,
torpedo-rooms, and, in fact, with every portion of the complex
machine represented by a modern warship. Having spent a number of
years at sea, he has frequently pictured to himself what a naval
engagement would be like, but it is very problematical whether he has
ever taken the trouble to analyse what his own feelings would be; in
any case, his imaginations were probably both far from the reality.
When approaching the scene of action he most likely gives a passing
thought to his kith and kin, but his responsibility will be too
great to admit of his feelings taking hold of him, and his thoughts
will afterwards be concentrated entirely on the work in hand. During
the action he is watching every movement with the utmost keenness,
giving a curt order where necessary as he wipes from his face the
salt water splashed up by a short projectile. His nerves and even
his muscles are strung up to a high pitch of tensity, and he loses
himself altogether in working out the problem before him.
The gunnery officer in the control position on the foremast is,
of course, in a much more exposed position; without any armour
protection to speak of. Doubtless there flashes across his mind a
hope that he will come through without being picked off by a stray
shot. The thoughts of the men with him, and those of the men working
the range-finders, who also have practically no protection, will
probably be very similar to his. But when approaching the enemy, all
their attention is needed to acquire as much information as possible,
in order to get an idea of his approximate course and speed. Later,
all their faculties are exercised in determining the corrections to
be made to the sights of their guns as regards range and deflection,
so as to hit the enemy, and in giving the orders to fire.
The navigation officer, notebook in hand, is with the captain in the
conning-tower, and his thoughts are not far different. His attention
is riveted on the course of the ship and any impending manœuvre that
he may presume to be imminent or advisable. In some of the older
ships, where the quartermaster steers from the conning-tower, his
observation is often made more irksome by salt-water spray getting
into his eyes and preventing him from seeing the compass clearly.
With the commander and others who may be below in the ammunition
passages in the depths of the ship, the one thought obsessing the
mind to the exclusion of almost everything else will be: "What is
happening, and how are we getting on?" Passing up ammunition is no
sinecure; it is invariably a warm job down below. Stripped to the
waist, hard at it, and perspiring freely, many a joke is cracked
in much the same spirit as inspires Tommy in the trenches. Now and
again a bit of news comes down and is passed along like lightning
from mouth to mouth. For example, in one case a shell hits one of our
ship's funnels, and it has gone by the board with a frightful din,
as if hell were suddenly let loose; the news is passed down to the
commander in the ammunition passage, to which he cheerily replies:
"That's all right; we have plenty left, haven't we?" Again, a shell
strikes the hull of the ship, making her quiver fore and aft and
almost stop her roll; naturally the effect of this is felt down below
far more than on deck, and though some may wonder whether it has
struck on the waterline or not, there is merely a casual remark that
the enemy is shooting a bit better.
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.
As a general rule, however, the guns are kept manned and speed is
not reduced after a modern naval action, so that the number of
men released from duty is comparatively small. Perhaps the enemy
is sinking, when the seamen will be engaged in turning out boats
preparatory to saving life. The men who are unemployed watch the
sinking of an enemy ship with very different sentiments. All
experience a glow of satisfaction, and most men will pity the poor
wretches who are drowning or clinging more or less hopelessly to
floating pieces of wreckage. A few are entirely callous, deeming such
emotions a sign of weakness in view of the many atrocities committed
by the enemy. This scarcely applied after the battle of the Falkland
Islands, where the "Hymn of Hate" and other German propaganda
fostering feelings of enmity had not embittered men's minds.
Lastly, there comes the utter physical weariness both of mind and
body, attended by an intense longing for food, drink, and sleep,
accompanied by the pleasant thought that the war will now soon be
over. Officers crowd into the wardroom to get a drink and something
to eat. The galley fire will be out, for the chef has been passing up
ammunition, so no hot food, tea, or cocoa will be available for some
little time. A walk round the ship reveals men lying in all sorts of
impossible postures, too done up to bother about eating; others are
crowding round the canteen, or getting any food that they can on the
mess deck.
After the battle of the Falkland Islands one of the boy stewards
who had been passing up shell during the action was found in the
ammunition passage, "dead to the world," lying athwart an old
washtub. There he was, in that stale and stuffy atmosphere, in the
most uncomfortable position imaginable, fast asleep, completely worn
out from sheer exhaustion, with his head and arms dangling over one
side of the tub.
A large number have to continue their labours on watch in the engine
room or on deck, in spite of having the greatest difficulty in
keeping their eyes open. The extreme tension and strain is over, and
it requires a strong effort to resist the temptation to let things
slide and relapse into a state of inanition.
That the men brace themselves to grapple with their further duties
in a spirit which allows no sign of reluctance or fatigue to
show itself, does them infinite credit. They must look forward
nevertheless to the moment when the ship will pass safely into some
harbour guarded by net-defence from submarine attack, where all
the guns' crews are not required to be constantly awake at their
guns, and fires can be put out. Then, after coaling, prolonged and
undisturbed sleep may be indulged in to make up for the lost hours,
and "peace, perfect peace," will reign--for a while.