I could hardly find my way along the lower deck. Everything was wrecked, the mess tables and lockers were burning furiously, and I could hardly see for smoke, which poured out through great gaps in the port side. I managed to find one of the hatchways open—the cover must have been blown off—and got down into the ’bag flats,’[#] but it was worse here, pitch-dark, and water, up to my knees, was rolling from side to side. There was a sickening smell there too. As I groped my way along to try and find the for’ard hatchway leading down to the ammunition passages, where the First Lieutenant was, I saw a light and heard the Fleet Paymaster’s voice. He was looking out of the fore transmitting room, and some candles were burning inside it. ’We haven’t been able to make any one hear for the last quarter of an hour,’ he said. ’What’s gone wrong?’ [#] Narrow spaces, below the water-line and behind the upper coal-bunkers, where the men’s bags are stowed. ’I don’t know, sir. The ship has escaped, I think; Mr. Bigge’s killed.’ Mr. Perkins came along, splashing through the water, so I gave him the message and climbed up on deck again. I met Billums under the shelter deck—or rather what had been the shelter deck—and he told me that some armour-plates had been smashed in below the water-line—that was why we were heeling over so badly. ’Two shell struck almost together, drove a plate clean through the side, and killed every one in the after bag flats—Dr. Clegg, the Padré, and the whole of the ’stretcher party’ aft there.’ He was very sad. ’Is the "Angel" all right?’ I asked, feeling perfectly miserable. He put his hand on my shoulder and led me back out on the fo’c’stle again. I knew at once that my chum was killed. ’Be brave, Bob; look up!’ he said. I looked; oh! it was awful, the topmast and the control-position had disappeared, and there wasn’t anything left there, except a few bits of wire hanging down, and a copper voice-pipe sticking out by itself. ’One shell in that second broadside burst against it, Bob,’ and Billums put his hand on my shoulder, very gently, to steady me; ’it must have been all over in a second. They felt no pain.’ I simply buried my face in his monkey-jacket and sobbed and sobbed. ’Pull yourself together, Bob,’ he whispered, ’remember that you are an officer. They felt no pain.’ I heard the Commander bellow at Billums; he roared my name too and cursed me, sending me down to the Engineer Commander for as many stokers as he could spare. I was too absolutely frozen to care about anything, and when I met ’Blotchy’ Smith, half blubbing, and he told me that Barton had been killed in the after turret and the Forlorn Hope in his, I hardly heard what he said—I felt quite silly and ’wobbly’ in my head.