the shells that went over and the cataracts of water from
those short sprinkling the ship with spray. But this was what one
expected. Everything was what one expected, except that desire to
catch the fragments. Naturally, one was too busy to think much of
anything except the enemy's ships--to learn where your shells were
striking."

"You could tell?"

"Yes--just as well and better than at target practice; for the target was
larger and solid. It was enthralling, this watching the flight of our
shells toward their target." Where were the scars from the wounds?
One looked for them on both the Lion and the Tiger. An armour patch
on the sloping top of a turret might have escaped attention if it had not
been pointed out. A shell struck there and a fair blow, too. And what
happened inside? Was the turret gear put out of order?

To one who has lived in a wardroom a score of questions were on the
tongue's end. The turret is the basket which holds the precious eggs.
A turret out of action means two guns out of action; a broken knuckle
for the pugilist.

Constructors have racked their brains over the subject of turrets in
the old contest between gun-power and protection. Too much gun-
power, too little armour! Too much armour, too little gun-power!
Finally, results depend on how good is your armour, how sound your
machinery which rotates the turret. That shell did not go through
bodily, only a fragment, which killed one man and wounded another.
The turret would still rotate; the other gun kept in action and the one
under the shell-burst was soon back in action. Very satisfactory to the
naval constructors.

Up and down the all but perpendicular steel ladders with their narrow
steps, and through the winding passages below decks in those cities
of steel, one followed his guide, receiving so much information and so
many impressions that he was confused as to details between the
two veterans, the Lion, which was hit fifteen times, and the Tiger,
which was hit eight. Wherever you went every square inch of space
and every bit of equipment seemed to serve some purpose.

A beautiful hit, indeed, was that into a small hooded aperture where
an observer looked out from a turret. He was killed and another man
took his place. Fresh armour and no sign of where the shot had
struck. Then below, into a compartment between the side of the ship
and the armoured barbette which protects the delicate machinery for
feeding shells and powder from