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Literary
September 5, 1898
The Morning News
Savannah, Chatham County, Georgia
What is this article about?
A detailed narrative of naval gunnery operations inside a warship's turret during a battle with Spanish ships. The crew loads and fires massive guns amid smoke, heat, and chaos, targeting enemy vessels in a harbor entrance.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
Fighting From a Turret.
From Collier's Weekly.
Between the guns and the sides of the turrets are stationed the men who tend the training motors, open and close the breech, and clean out the powder chambers. In the rear of each gun is a powerful electric fan, intended to drive the smoke out of the turret through the bore of the gun, and a hydraulic rammer with which the half-ton projectile is forced up into the gun. At this rammer stands the gun captain, who superintends the loading. and the first sponger. who sees to the preparation of the gun for receiving the charge. Between the platform on which these men stand and the face of the breech is a light trap door, covering a shaft, up which the ammunition lifts are hoisted from the handling room below. On the girders between the guns are stationed the men operating the ammunition lifts. the water service and the various signals and telephones.
There is a disposition to chatter among the apprentices; the suspense is great and inaction is hard to bear, especially as all of the light guns now seem to be engaged.
"Train on the entrance to the harbor."
The motors utter a groan and the ponderous cylinder swings slowly round, wheezing and rumbling. The range indicator mounts quickly to 2,900 yards and stops; the telephone rings and its attendant reports.
"Fire at will."
The telescopes are set with a turn of the wrist, while with the other hand the guns are elevated, until the cross-wires sweep the horizon; but the smoke from the light guns is thick and nothing is distinct.
Suddenly there is a rift, and in it appears the black hull of a ship—a stranger, but aft she carries a grand ensign marked with the blood and gold of Spain. From her side and turrets there is a continuous play of lightning flashes. but the din of nearer guns allow no sound from her to be distinguished. One questions uncertainly for an instant: "Is she fighting? Is she firing at us? Is this a naval battle?" And then comes the eager anxiety to do one's own part and do it well.
The sixteen men about the guns are now silent and expectant. The turret turns slowly—slower—stops. The ship is rolling gently, while the enemy's hull between her smokestacks is sweeping on to meet the descending crosswires of the telescope; the officer, with all his soul in his eye, awaits the collimation, and at the instant presses the firing handle. There is a deafening roar, a blinding flash, the great gun recoils wildly into the turret, and then slides smoothly out again. The air is filled with smoke; two men are already turning like mad at the plug crank, and, as the half-ton block swings aside, a third directs a stream of water into the chamber. A turn Is given the elevator valve and the breech swings up high, allowing the water to run down the bore and out of the muzzle. The gun captain takes charge, and the officer turns to the other gun. He glances at the range indicator—twenty-six hundred yards—sets the sight, and a moment later the smoke lifts again.
Two Spanish ships are now out and a third is in the entrance; the first one seems on fire. Was it from his shot? Who can tell? For a dozen heavy guns are firing at her. A second later and the trainer swings the nearest ship into his field, and he fires again. Another pair of men swing open the breech and the hose is pointed down the bore.
In the meantime the first gun has been lowered into its loading position, the ammunition car has been hoisted in rear of it and the rammer has forced home the shell. Twice more it enters the breech. each time pressing before it 275 pounds of powder. With its last withdrawal, the empty ammunition car drops out of sight, the breech-plug is swung into place, the gun captain steps forward, slips in the primer and connects the plugs of the firing wires.
"Ready, left!" he reports.
And so it goes, first one gun and then the other. It is hard and hot work. The firing is so fast and continuous that the fans cannot keep the turret clear of smoke. The men cough and gag; down in the handling room they are fainting. The smoke has deposited a gray scurf on skin and clothes; its alkali has attacked the paintwork and turned it to a slimy soap; the black drippings from the gun washing has fallen in foul splotches down the turret walls and lies in puddles on the floors.
From Collier's Weekly.
Between the guns and the sides of the turrets are stationed the men who tend the training motors, open and close the breech, and clean out the powder chambers. In the rear of each gun is a powerful electric fan, intended to drive the smoke out of the turret through the bore of the gun, and a hydraulic rammer with which the half-ton projectile is forced up into the gun. At this rammer stands the gun captain, who superintends the loading. and the first sponger. who sees to the preparation of the gun for receiving the charge. Between the platform on which these men stand and the face of the breech is a light trap door, covering a shaft, up which the ammunition lifts are hoisted from the handling room below. On the girders between the guns are stationed the men operating the ammunition lifts. the water service and the various signals and telephones.
There is a disposition to chatter among the apprentices; the suspense is great and inaction is hard to bear, especially as all of the light guns now seem to be engaged.
"Train on the entrance to the harbor."
The motors utter a groan and the ponderous cylinder swings slowly round, wheezing and rumbling. The range indicator mounts quickly to 2,900 yards and stops; the telephone rings and its attendant reports.
"Fire at will."
The telescopes are set with a turn of the wrist, while with the other hand the guns are elevated, until the cross-wires sweep the horizon; but the smoke from the light guns is thick and nothing is distinct.
Suddenly there is a rift, and in it appears the black hull of a ship—a stranger, but aft she carries a grand ensign marked with the blood and gold of Spain. From her side and turrets there is a continuous play of lightning flashes. but the din of nearer guns allow no sound from her to be distinguished. One questions uncertainly for an instant: "Is she fighting? Is she firing at us? Is this a naval battle?" And then comes the eager anxiety to do one's own part and do it well.
The sixteen men about the guns are now silent and expectant. The turret turns slowly—slower—stops. The ship is rolling gently, while the enemy's hull between her smokestacks is sweeping on to meet the descending crosswires of the telescope; the officer, with all his soul in his eye, awaits the collimation, and at the instant presses the firing handle. There is a deafening roar, a blinding flash, the great gun recoils wildly into the turret, and then slides smoothly out again. The air is filled with smoke; two men are already turning like mad at the plug crank, and, as the half-ton block swings aside, a third directs a stream of water into the chamber. A turn Is given the elevator valve and the breech swings up high, allowing the water to run down the bore and out of the muzzle. The gun captain takes charge, and the officer turns to the other gun. He glances at the range indicator—twenty-six hundred yards—sets the sight, and a moment later the smoke lifts again.
Two Spanish ships are now out and a third is in the entrance; the first one seems on fire. Was it from his shot? Who can tell? For a dozen heavy guns are firing at her. A second later and the trainer swings the nearest ship into his field, and he fires again. Another pair of men swing open the breech and the hose is pointed down the bore.
In the meantime the first gun has been lowered into its loading position, the ammunition car has been hoisted in rear of it and the rammer has forced home the shell. Twice more it enters the breech. each time pressing before it 275 pounds of powder. With its last withdrawal, the empty ammunition car drops out of sight, the breech-plug is swung into place, the gun captain steps forward, slips in the primer and connects the plugs of the firing wires.
"Ready, left!" he reports.
And so it goes, first one gun and then the other. It is hard and hot work. The firing is so fast and continuous that the fans cannot keep the turret clear of smoke. The men cough and gag; down in the handling room they are fainting. The smoke has deposited a gray scurf on skin and clothes; its alkali has attacked the paintwork and turned it to a slimy soap; the black drippings from the gun washing has fallen in foul splotches down the turret walls and lies in puddles on the floors.
What sub-type of article is it?
Prose Fiction
What themes does it cover?
War Peace
What keywords are associated?
Naval Battle
Turret Gunnery
Spanish Ships
Gun Crew
Smoke Chaos
Harbor Entrance
What entities or persons were involved?
From Collier's Weekly.
Literary Details
Title
Fighting From A Turret.
Author
From Collier's Weekly.
Key Lines
Suddenly There Is A Rift, And In It Appears The Black Hull Of A Ship—A Stranger, But Aft She Carries A Grand Ensign Marked With The Blood And Gold Of Spain.
There Is A Deafening Roar, A Blinding Flash, The Great Gun Recoils Wildly Into The Turret, And Then Slides Smoothly Out Again.
Two Spanish Ships Are Now Out And A Third Is In The Entrance; The First One Seems On Fire.
"Ready, Left!" He Reports.
The Firing Is So Fast And Continuous That The Fans Cannot Keep The Turret Clear Of Smoke. The Men Cough And Gag; Down In The Handling Room They Are Fainting.