Mr. Bigge shouted down that we were turning to starboard, the bell at the telephone from the conning-tower rang, the able seaman jammed his ear against it, sang out, ’Starboard guns, stand by, sir!’ and the gun’s crew jumped to their proper stations. ’Remember your right hand, Bill!’ the Gunlayer called out, and wedged his eye into the indiarubber sleeve of the telescopic sight. ’Train aft,’ Mr. Bigge shouted down through the sighting-hood, and round we slewed. The gun’s crew was ready, the gun loaded, and the next shell lying in the loading tray, so I had nothing to do except to see that the Sight Setter kept the same range on his sights as the indicator showed, and that everything was done properly. ’We’re coming "on,"’ Mr. Bigge sang down. ’Stand by!’ The Gunlayer jerked out, ’I’ve got her, sir’—he’d spotted her through his telescope—and I just had the pluck to pop my head out for a second and caught sight of the big white ship tearing across our stern as we swung round, and then the fire-gong clanged loudly and I slipped back again. There was a roar and a shake, men jumped about, banging and clattering—I heard the ammunition hoist rattle-rattle up to the gun, and the breech-block snap ’to,’ and off she went again. ’We’re hitting her!’ Mr. Bigge sang out. ’Aim under her mast and bridge.’ ’She’s going to fire,’ he shouted, a second later, and almost before he’d said it, there was a most awful roar, like a thunder-clap, and then the most appalling noise and hot glare—the whole ship shook and seemed to be tearing in pieces. The Gunlayer was cursing that he couldn’t see out of his telescope, and wedged his arm along it to wipe the glass. ’That’s better,’ he growled, and fired again. The range indicator, all this time, had been showing bigger ranges, and it had just showed—3650—when that same awful thunder-clap sounded a second time, and then the noise and the hot glare; the ship seemed to be breaking in pieces again, things came crashing down on deck, and she trembled as if she’d run aground. Something had struck her, somewhere close below us; a huge flame shot up just in front of the gun port, I was banged against the side, the Gunlayer came tumbling down from his sighting platform, and we could hardly breathe. I felt quite silly, too. The Gunlayer scrambled up again and fired, but we didn’t know whether he was hitting her, because she was covered with smoke and almost hidden by the spray and the smoke of shells which burst short. I began to get my breath back. ’The range indicator ain’t working, sir!’ the Sight Setter called out. ’It ain’t altered for the last three minutes.’ I jumped across. It still showed—3650—and I tapped it to see if it had jammed, but it didn’t move. Just as I was going to tell Mr. Bigge, _La Buena Presidente_ fired again, there were those awful noises, and something came crashing down on top of our turret, bulging in the roof.