CHAPTER XV

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.