Instantly the men spring up, the breech is thrown open, a jet of water is sent along the barrel, and another shell is thrown in. Meanwhile the officer in command of the barbette calls out, "Stand by for No. 2 gun." When No. 2 gun has been fired the telephone bell rings, and the voice from above is heard to say, "Both miles wide; try to hit something next time." "We are here to fire the gun, not to range it," mutters the captain of the turret as he makes a few hasty calculations and some adjustments. "Both guns at once, dead line ahead," comes the next order. Round spins the barbette again on its axis, and then a terrific jerk and an awful roar as the two weapons go off together. At once every eye is turned to the indicator which shows the result of the shots. "One well home, the other a trifle short." The gunners caper about in huge delight. By this time the whole of the big guns of the ships are barking away, all under the careful eye of the little group of officers perched up aloft. "Salvo firing[94] on signal" is now the order, and the range, elevation, and direction of the guns are given. Once more the silence is tense. Suddenly the indicating needle of every big gun on the ship begins to move in unison. FIRE! Then there is a mighty roar, and the ship shudders and pauses on its onward course. "Nasty one for somebody," says a bluejacket as he wipes the perspiration from his face and bare chest. "Hope they liked it," chimes in another as the guns are loaded again. Now there is a loud report, followed by a crash of bent and battered metal not far off. "Pretty near one that," says a gunner. "Wonder if it has done any damage." There is no time for further inquiry; damage has been done. A large shell from the enemy has hit another barbette, and has exploded. The lieutenant in charge has been glancing through the sighting-hood; he drops like a log, and two other men have fallen beside him. A few bolt-heads have been crisply shorn off by the immense jerk of the impact, and they have fled across the steel chamber like rifle bullets; one poor fellow is killed, and a second has a leg broken. It is the price of Admiralty, and without pause a midshipman takes the lieutenant's place and "carries on." Still the firing continues, and the air in the turret by this time is almost stifling. The electric fans have failed owing to some damage below. Presently, however, comes the welcome order, "Enemy's ship out of action. Out of the barbette, and muster on deck." A loud roar of cheering goes up; the great doors are pushed back, and the men take up their stations and watch the last throes of the enemy's ship as it lurches and sinks beneath the waves. Nothing but the work of rescue now remains. All undamaged boats are manned and hoisted out, and away they go on their errand of mercy. The battle is over and won.