Free The Lion at Sea by Max Hennessy Page A

light on the eastern horizon, suddenly confused by doubt. Was he as brave as he thought he was? Naval warfare was no longer a question of two ships lying alongside each other so that their crews could indulge in hand-to-hand fighting. These days, it was a matter of hurling huge quantities of high explosive across miles of sea, to wrench and tear at steel plating as if it were cardboard. A shell striking armour plate disintegrated in a flash into hundreds of red-hot, jagged splinters of steel that could tear a man in half.
    Was he courageous enough to face the sights he’d undoubtedly have to face? Naval officers were trained to be a body of brave, self-sacrificing and intensely loyal officers, he’d often been told. But there was a great deal of difference between the word, which came from a book of rules, and the deed, which came from a man’s guts, his heart and his breeding. He wasn’t sure that he fitted all the requirements that were demanded of him and time alone would tell him if he were. What was worse, he’d noticed often that these same officers he was supposed to emulate, despite their undoubted courage and incontestable loyalty, had never had their critical faculties encouraged, so that none of them appeared to question anything, except within the rigid framework of that guide to the wise and law for the foolish, King’s Regulations and Admiralty Instructions . He could only hope that not only would he be brave but that he would also behave with intelligence.
    As he went off watch, the ship was alive with men, their faces grave, working for the first time as if they knew that life itself now depended on how well their jobs were done. He pushed through them towards his cabin and, almost instinctively, took out the picture of Charley that she’d given him on his last leave, and stuck it in the corner of the mirror. He had no idea why he did it. She was still only a child from the point of view of experience and knowledge but somehow the gesture indicated the curious loyalty that had always existed between them, and in his mind’s eye he had a glimpse of her praying for him. Without thinking, he knelt by his bunk.
    ‘Let me conduct myself well, Lord,’ he asked.
    He rose to his feet, faintly shamefaced, because he hadn’t got down on his knees outside church since he’d been a small boy. But the gesture had been instinctive and he sensed that it was right.
    Let me conduct myself well, he thought again. That was all he could ask.
    Within hours the war had started for him.

 
     
Five
    While they were at breakfast, a signal arrived detaching Clarendon to Commodore Reginald Tyrwhitt’s command at Harwich, and the wardroom cleared at once.
    ‘Pipe hands to prepare for sea!’
    Pipes twittered and the master-at-arms and ship’s corporals went through the messes which immediately became a seething mass of running men. The sky was dark grey like the side of a battleship, with a lighter sword-stroke of pearl low on the horizon in the east. Beyond the muzzles of the forward turret Kelly could see the bustling activity of the cable party and an officer silhouetted against the guard rail. A bell jangled.
    ‘Engine room standing by!’
    There was already excitement in the air. The war had only just begun and they still had no idea what to expect.
    ‘Pipe all hands for leaving harbour!’ The First Lieutenant glanced at his watch. ‘My respects to the captain. Tell him it’s ten minutes to slipping.’
    The deck began to quiver and smoke began to curl down from the funnel in a dark plume like an ostrich feather in a woman’s hat. Everley appeared and placed himself in the centre of the bridge.
    ‘Special sea duty men closed up, sir. Ship ready for sea.’
    ‘Very well. Sound off.’
    A bugle shrilled and there was the spatter of running feet.
    ‘Signal from ashore, sir! Proceed!’
    Everley gave a small frown and Kelly wondered what he was thinking about. Why hadn’t he gone ashore himself to see his wife?