The Greatest Game in the World 



How the fleet at battle practice hits the target at seven miles 

 By Captain Frank E. Evans 



United States Marine Corps 



Firing a broadside or 

 "salvo." The huge bulk 

 of the ship slides to port 

 like a crab from the 

 force of the mighty 

 blast. The shells con- 

 tain sand instead of 

 the regular explosive 



© Underwood and 

 Underwood, N. Y. 



WHEN' t li e 

 American fleet 

 steams out to 

 sea for its battle practice 

 every man on board, 

 from the youngest ap- 

 prentice seaman to the grizzled 

 Admiral, knows that he is about to 

 play the greatest game in the world. 

 Back of it lies a wealth of tradition. 

 No other game can approach it in science, 

 in the millions invested, or in thrills. It 

 is played with the gray steel tubes of 

 twelve-and fourteen-inch guns that serve 

 up thousand-pound projectiles. 



The game is the culmination of months of 

 patient practice. The reward is the privi- 

 lege of painting a three-foot white E, mean- 

 ing "Excellent," on the winning turrets and, 

 for the champion of the fleet, a red pennant 

 with a black ball in its center to be flown at 

 masthead for a year. 



When the fleet steams out past the 

 Capes of the Chesapeake to its favorite 

 playing ground, rails and stanchions are 

 unshipped, ladders housed and life-lines 

 rigged along the bare decks. Cabin doors 



Above: The 

 range-indicator 

 on the Wyom- 

 ing. The chang- 

 ing figures of the 

 range flash up 

 like those in a 

 cash-register 



are stowed 

 away and pic- 

 tures and elec- 

 tric light 

 bulbs laid flat 

 in bunks to 

 save them 

 trom the guns. Boats are swung inboard 

 and "nested," the smaller ones in the 

 larger ones. If you walk about the decks, 

 you will see vegetable lockers, boats, crates 

 and all wooden gear tagged "overboard." 

 And over they would go in a real battle. 



The quick tattoo of battle gongs clang 

 noisily, insistently, when the teams line 

 up for the final practice, calling them to 

 "general quarters." From the wardroom 

 the "spotters" come storming up the 

 ladders. Glasses to watch the splash of 

 the shells are strapped over their shoulders 

 and chin-straps hold on their visored caps. 

 Some are in dungarees. The members of 

 the gun crews drive past you at the double 

 quick to their stations; bluejackets inside 

 the turrets, bandsmen to the sick bay, the 



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