CHAPTER VII
JUTLAND: SIR DAVID BEATTY'S PART (continued)

You are going down to the gun room about tea-time, when suddenly "Action stations " is sounded, and you rush up just as you are and take your appointed place in your turret close by the ammunition hoists. The two gun crews and the officers tumble up in haste and make ready for battle, clear away and test all gear, though no one at the moment supposes that anything more than the usual practice is in the wind. While waiting for further orders, word is passed that Galatea has reported that the enemy is in sight. There will be no crimson target of scene·painter's canvas stretched over wooden trellis, and towed by a tug. This time it is real war! The target will not sail quietly on its way. The target is going to hit savagely back. Half an hour after the bugle sounds you are all hard at work. The great muzzles swing round to the port bow, right and left guns shout their defiance at the foe alternately. A constant flow of ammunition is coming up the hoists, and this is your job, your life and death, success or failure - you must give your mind to nothing else. You have neither gas-mask nor Gieve's waistcoat, but you must carry on, and the work must go without a hitch. The noise is incessant, for besides the salvos of the heavy guns the 6-inch battery is bursting out at intervals with rapid fire more trying to the ear than the crash of the great turret armament right under you; the shells are falling all round. If you stop for a moment and look through one of the sights of the control cabinet you catch a glimpse of the ship ahead, all but hidden by the mighty jets of spray which tower far above the mastheads, the intervening water torn and tormented by the shells which have gone wide. Smoke is pouring out of rents in the forecastle. The enemy has got the range at once, and the hits are falling pretty regularly on your ship, a stolid old trainer remarking each time : "There goes another! " - just as though a 12-inch shell striking was quite an ordinary incident. Then one of the hydraulic cylinders suddenly gives out, owing to a fault in the casting - quite a little thing in itself, but sufficient to place the gun out of action, and make the crew, lately so buoyant and cheery, sick at heart. Soon after there is a tremendous crash, which seems as though it had stopped the ship itself - a German shell has hit the armoured barbette a glancing blow, flying forward, cutting cables, twisting stanchions, filling the fore part of the ship with splinters and making a horrible mess. After an hour of hard fighting the conflict is still of a fierce and resolute character, but a little later on your fire begins
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to tell, and the rapidity of the enemy's shots gradually falls off - the hits, too, are fewer. It is now nearly five o'clock, and you feel that the helm is being put hard over for a. sharp tum; your turret swings round and the great guns begin firing on the starboard beam. There is more quick firing, but in the end the enemy's attack dies down again. About an hour afterwards word is passed to the turret that the Battle Fleet is sighted, the firing continues slowly. After a long spell comes twilight. The yelling of the shells grows more and more intermittent as the mist increases, the last being fired about ten. The guns are now practically horizontal, as thc range is only two miles. After a further period of waiting some of the crew are allowed to leave the turret to collect food for their comrades. You may go for a moment to the wardroom to try to find something to eat. Working your way aft along the 6-inch batteries in semi-darkness, for the lights are all out, you tumble over mess tables and gear all heaped and smashed. Water is washing about and cordite fumes are everywhere. You are told that the midshipman of Q turret has been killed by a. shell striking the roof, that one man was blown right under his gun, that at the same moment the elevating wheel turned and the gun crushed him. There are dead men in the ammunition passages, and shells coming through a warrant officer's cabin have killed a whole party.

You find some of the wardroom officers black and filthy, eating raw onions and biscuit and drinking cocoa, and then you work back through the litter to your turret, with biscuits and a thermos flask. You are dead tired, and try to get some sleep on the top of a shell bin. Distant firing is still going on astern, but you are very weary and the long night slowly wears away uncomfortably.

The grey morning light as it breaks slowly, shows the guns' crews haggard, with drawn faces, and unspeakably dirty. A signal has been received - "Take station astern of Battle Fleet." You are still at action stations and only one or two may steal away to try to get breakfast. The gun-room is in an awful mess; a shell has burst beneath, starting a fire, and the whole place is flooded. School books are floating about in four inches of water, and everything in the way of loose fittings is smashed. The gallery is all right though, and cook has some boiled eggs and tea. He has momentarily reached the height of his popularity. Afterwards, the crews are fallen out and begin to clear up the dreadful chaos and collect souvenirs. Their eagerness for material mementoes sounds coldblooded, but such an instinct inevitably follows a crisis.

It is possible now to see the damage done. Some of the escapes seem
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gun on Chester's port side out of action, killing or wounding a large proportion of the crews at Nos. 2 and 3 guns. In nineteen minutes thirty-one men had been killed and fifty wounded. The fire control circuits became disabled, and four shells struck close to the water line. It was here that Jack Cornwell, a boy rated first class though but little over sixteen, was mortally wounded early in the action. He stayed at his post with the pads on his ears heroically waiting for orders though all the rest of the gun's crew were killed. A Victoria Cross in appreciation of his courage was given posthumously. The drawing shows the light cruiser in action heavily engaged by the three Germans. She is steaming at full speed in zigzags, trying to confuse the control of the German fire.

Soon after the battle-cruisers came upon the scene, and Rear- Admiral Hood rushed his ships in between Chester and her German foes. The enemy did not wait, but, turning away in a hurry, discharged his torpedoes at the advancing British ships. The tracks of five torpedoes were seen shortly afterwards. Inflexible turned to port to avoid them, while Invincible and Indornitable turned to starboard. Three passed too near to be pleasant, and one even ran within twenty yards. In the haze other German light cruisers, with a large force of destroyers, showed up astern of the first three, trying by overwhelming force to push through.

Shark, Acasta, Ophelia and Christopher were the destroyers which formed the submarine screen of the Third Battle-Cruiser Squadron. They had been left when Invincible made her turn and now sighted the new enemy. Commander Loftus Jones did not reckon the odds against him. He saw that the light cruisers and destroyers were enemies, and engaged without hesitation. The Germans poured in a devastating fire, and both Shark and Acasta were very badly damaged. Many of the crew were killed and wounded, and when three more enemies steamed out of the haze and opened fire Shark's position appeared desperate. Lieut.-Commander Barron, wishing to tow his unfortimate leader,
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'More Sea Fights of the Great War' by W.L. Wyllie, C. Owen & W.D. Kirkpatrick pub. 1919
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