A Fleet in Being: Notes of Two Trips With The Channel SquadronKipling, Rudyard
General
A Fleet in Being: Notes of Two Trips With The Channel Squadron
Kipling, Rudyard
Great Britain. Royal Navy
Many things are impressive and not a few terrifying in the Fleet, but
the most impressive sight of all is the swift casting-forth from the
trim black sides of the instruments and ministers of death. They vary
hourly, according to the taste and fancy of the speller. A wisp of
signals floats from the Flagship. Our little cruiser erupts—boils
like a hive—and some one takes out a watch. There is a continuous low
thunder of bare feet, a clatter, always subdued, of arms snatched from
the racks, a creaking of falls and blocks, and the noise of iron doors
opening and shutting. Of a sudden the decks stand empty; the Maxims have
gone from the bulwarks, and the big cutters are away, pulling mightily
for the Flagship. From each one of our twelve neighbours pour forth
the silent crowded boats. They cluster round the Flag, are looked over,
and return. They are not merely boats with men in them. They are fully
provisioned; the larger ones have boat-guns, the smaller Maxims, with a
proper allowance of ammunition and spare parts, medical, chests, and all
the hundred oddments necessary for independent action. All or any one
of them can be used at once for patrol work or for landing parties, can
be switched off from the main system, as a light engine is switched off
up a siding. Each unit is complete and self-contained. In ten minutes
the boats are back again, the Maxims replaced, the rifles stacked and
racked, the provisions and water returned to store. The ordinary routine
of ‘man and arm boats’ is over.
LANDING PARTIES
Another signal (_see_ Note IV.) will turn out, transport, land, embark,
and disembark three thousand armed men, with twenty-one field guns, in
the inside of three hours; leaving six thousand men in the ships to carry
on if necessary the work of a bombardment; or you can vary the programme
and load a mere thousand or so into eight identical double-funnelled
fifteen-knot steam launches—one from each battleship—and play
miniature Fleet-manœuvres to your heart’s content. They are as used
to performing evolutions together as are their big parents. They can
tow half-a-dozen cutters a-piece and work in four feet of water. As an
experiment you can land your twenty-one-field guns with sufficient men to
throw up earthworks round them; or you can yoke men to the guns and drag
them up the flanks of mountains. Or, as in mining operations, you can
turn loose all hell with a string to it—pay it out and swiftly drag it
back again. One never wearies of watching the outrush and influx of the
landing parties; the swift flight of the boats; the minute’s check at
the beach; the torrents of blue and red pouring over the bows; and the
loose-knit line of mingled red and blue winding away inland among the
boulders and heather.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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