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[page 44]
85
(6).
so bad going up but coming down the man above you being a sailor and naturally more expert and quicker in the art, treads on your fingers. I had an idea that sailors wore bare feet - but they don't. Now we are in the foretop and ahead and astern are more ships of the squadron steaming in line ahead whilst underneath you is a long narrow thing slipping through the water which you know must be your own ship although it doesn't appear to belong to you. Over in the corner is the Gunnery Commander who by some uncanny means directs the firing of the ship. He is surrounded by about 10 men and numerous dials, instruments of various sorts, telephones, range finders, wind detectors, speaking tubes and goodness knows what not. Everybody seems to be juggling with instruments and shrieking down speaking tubes in an apparent endeavour to drown the voices of those who are shrieking up them. Evidently down below wins for he has made himself heard to the effect that we are doing ten knots. That much I understand. Away ahead on the horizon is a trawler towing a tiny target which cannot be seen without glasses. Ones first thought is of thankfulmess at not being on that trawler. A signal flutters from the flagship and the ships swing away to port whilst their guns train onto the mark. The shouting down the tubes and the juggling with instruments and the signallling to and from other ships continues whilst the Gunnery Commander who appears to be taking no notice of what is taking place round about him, tries to explain to me what is doing. He evidently has an eye to his job all the time for suddenly the ship gives a lift, there is a xxxx tremendous xxxxxx drawn-out report, my cap nearly blows off and I realise that the broadside has gone and that eight shots each weighing nearly a ton are en route for that target at I forget how many feet per second. My first thought is for that trawler and I hurry my