Although the disaster to the Vanguard took place when we were in harbour, and the ill-fated ship was lying only about four cables from us, I personally was not a witness of her sad end, for it took place about 11.30 P.M., at which time I was asleep in my hammock, and—strange as it may seem—I was not even aroused by the noise of the explosion. However, next morning one of my messmates gave me the following account of what he had seen. He had been just about to turn in when he heard the detonation, and dashed up on to the fo'c'sle to see what had happened. Flames were leaping up to an incredible height, and the air was thick with fragments of red-hot metal.

Climbing down on to the quarter-deck, he observed that some of our ship's company were lowering a whaler, but as there was no officer in charge he jumped in, took the tiller, and headed for the scene of the disaster. No trace of the Vanguard was to be seen, but where she had lain the sea was ablaze with burning oil, and there seemed but little hope of rescuing even such of her crew as might have survived the explosion. Although the flaming waters were strewn with debris of every description, they saw no single sign of humanity save only the scorched and blackened corpse of a stoker, which they lifted into the whaler and later handed over to a trawler.

On an island, some half a mile away, numerous fires had sprung up, started apparently by fragments of burning cordite, and such had been the force of the explosion that a cutter, weighing over two tons, had passed right between the masts of the next ship in the line.

Our boat remained in the vicinity of the disaster for some time, but could find no survivors to pick up, and so they had sadly to return to the ship.

When next morning I was awakened by Campbell and told of the tragedy which had taken place while I slept, I could hardly believe it. Leaping out of my hammock, I ran up on deck to see for myself.... Alas, it was too true, for where only last night the Vanguard had lain, nothing was now visible but a few patches of oil floating on the calm surface of the harbour.

Collecting my gear, I went down to the bathroom, where I found five members of her gunroom, who, having been at one of the Fleet Theatre shows the night before, had escaped the disaster, and had been sent to us pending the holding of a court of inquiry. They were naturally the centre of an excited crowd, who all seemed to expect them to be able to give some information, in spite of the fact that as they were in another ship, and more than a mile away at the time of the explosion, they had both heard and seen rather less than ourselves.

That afternoon they were sent off to an auxiliary cruiser, where they were confronted with the melancholy task of trying to identify such portions of human bodies as had been recovered along the foreshore and floating in the sea. It is not to be wondered at that they returned in the evening in a very dismal and morbid frame of mind.

During the day, parties from many of the ships were detailed to search the neighbouring islands for the log, ledger, and other registers kept on board H.M.'s ships, as these may sometimes afford a clue to the cause of an accident, and in any case it is obvious that such highly confidential documents as wireless and signal books must not be allowed to fall into unauthorized hands.

In the afternoon I saw piled on our quarter-deck a quantity of salvage, among which were an officer's overcoat, two seamen's bags, an empty small arms ammunition box, and some Service books; the latter were so scorched and so covered with oil fuel as to be practically undecipherable, as was the case with nearly all papers recovered. Divers were sent down to inspect the wreck, of which, however, little remained to afford a clue to the cause of the disaster. Of masts and funnels there was no sign, and only two turrets, minus roofs and guns, were found at some distance from the rest of the debris. It was discovered that all magazines except one had blown up.

There was universal rejoicing when some two weeks after the tragic end of the luckless Vanguard, and about a week after the conclusion of exams., the whole Fleet moved to another base. Here we were much more in touch with civilization, for a large town with quite respectable shops was within reach.

On the first opportunity I went ashore, and, in wilful disregard of the proverb which warns us not to count our chickens before they are hatched, invested in a nice new pair of gold stripes, and got the ship's tailor to sew them on to the sleeves of one of my coats, in hopeful anticipation that I might shortly be entitled to wear them. One day, before we had received the official intimation of our promotion, Campbell and I met another of our term who, having already heard of his success, was duly invested, so to speak. Evidently suffering from swollen head, he greeted us with the offensive remark: "Hallo! you Snotties!" ... But when we received the joyful news, we too swaggered into town, feeling as conscious of our arms as though we had been newly vaccinated and taken well, and hoping to encounter some of our less fortunate fellows to whom we could pass on that swanky greeting!... But no luck!

After the exams. we had become Super-Snotties, and as such not required to do any of an ordinary Midshipman's duties, but the Commander would not put us on to watch-keeping until we had actually "shipped our stripes," so we had, in the graceful lingo of the gunroom, absolutely "stink all" to do for nearly three weeks, and could go ashore every day if we pleased. Now, however, this blissful period was at an end, and we had to begin watch-keeping. After our slack time we thought this dreadfully hard work, although we only had to keep two watches a day for two days running, and then had three days off—and no night watches at all! In reality this was, of course, very light work, and I looked back on it with rueful regret when some two months later, for three solid weeks, most of which were spent at sea, I had to be on the bridge for twelve hours out of the twenty-four.

It had long been my cherished ambition to be appointed to one of the smaller craft, in which my work would be much more varied and responsible than that of a junior officer in a big ship. So, shortly after receiving promotion, I applied through the Captain to have my name forwarded with a view to being appointed to the Vernon for the torpedo control course, which same is the usual preliminary to work in a destroyer.

On September 1 I duly received my appointment, and I finally left H.M.S. —— on the 5th.

I arrived in Portsmouth on the 9th, having spent the previous four days on leave in London. Some dozen other Subs. were about to undergo the torpedo course, which commenced on the following morning, and we found that we were to be billeted at the Central Hotel. We were all delighted at the prospect of living on the "beach," for we foresaw plenty of opportunity for going to theatres, etc.

H.M.S. Vernon comprises three old wooden hulks—relics of the days of Nelson—and they are moored at the head of Portsmouth Harbour, and connected bow to stern by broad gangways. These ships collectively form the torpedo school of the Navy, and nearly every N.O. at some period of his career undergoes a course of instruction here.

When next morning we arrived on board we had to traverse the whole length of the three ships to reach the bows of the farthest, where the torpedo control room is situated. A fairly extensive knowledge of torpedoes is necessary in order to pass for Sub-Lieutenant, and so we already knew all about a "mouldy" as they are called in naval vernacular. However, this first forenoon, a Chief Petty Officer was detailed to run through the main essentials in order to refresh our memories, but most of us, relying on our recently acquired knowledge, settled down in comfortable corners and dozed until lunch-time. The course proper commenced in the afternoon. Much to our disgust, about 2 P.M. a signal was received saying that all officers undergoing torpedo control course were to be billeted in the Redoubtable, a very old battleship, moored at the northern end of the docks, and used as a depot ship.

At 3.20, work being over for the day, we caught the 3.30 boat to the beach, and set about transferring our gear to our new temporary home. We were, however, much relieved to find on inquiry that the Redoubtable's last boat did not run until 11.30 P.M., so after all our liberty would not be much curtailed.