Stand By! Naval Sketches and StoriesDorling, H. Taprell (Henry Taprell)
History
Stand By! Naval Sketches and Stories
Dorling, H. Taprell (Henry Taprell)
Great Britain. Royal Navy; World War, 1914-1918 -- Naval operations
But when he was sent to a destroyer he found the life was more
strenuous, for the little ship spent far more time at sea. The weather
was sometimes very bad indeed, and at first he was sea-sick, but it was
always a consolation to have a cabin of his own, to live in the
wardroom, and to be treated as a responsible officer instead of a mere
"makee learn."
He had to work at least six times harder than he had in a battleship.
For one thing he had all the charts to correct and to keep up to date,
no small labour with pencil, dividers, parallel rulers, and much red
ink in these days of war, prolific minefields, dangerous areas,
extinguished lights, and removed buoys. He also assisted with the
ship's gunnery, and at sea kept a regular three watches, eight hours
out of every twenty-four, with the first lieutenant and gunner. But it
was the sense of responsibility and the feeling that he was doing
really useful work which gladdened his heart and kept him keen and
energetic.
"Have you ever been in a destroyer before?" his commanding officer had
asked him as soon as he joined.
"No, sir."
"Ever kept officer of the watch at sea?"
Again the answer was in the negative.
"Well, you'll have to do it here, my son. If you want to know anything
come to me. There's nothing much in it so long as you keep your eyes
skinned. You'll soon learn."
* * * * *
The skipper had said there was nothing in it, but the first night at
sea he found himself alone on the bridge in charge of the ship he
thought differently.
A light cruiser squadron and two flotillas of destroyers were steaming
at 20 knots in close formation without lights. The night was as black
as the wolf's mouth, and the rapidly rising wind cut the tops off the
short seas and sent them flying over the bridge in constant showers of
spray. Moreover, the perpetual pitching and rolling soon gave our
friend a squeamish and altogether nasty sensation in the region of his
waistcoat, and in ten minutes, by which time the water had found its
way through his oilskins and was trickling merrily down the back of his
neck, he felt miserable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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