CHAPTER XIII--Sefton in CommandBy this time the firing had ceased, while, the search-lights of the German war-ships having been screened, intense darkness brooded over the scene. The sea was rising rapidly, as if Nature was about to assert her power over the opposing fleets.Exposed to the full force of the wind and waves, Sefton stood upon the remaining portion of the bridge, with his lieutenant-commander reclining within easy distance. Crosthwaite had given his subordinate strict orders to inform him of the moment when the Huns were again sighted. His wounds mattered little. Provided his head were cool and his brain alert theCalder'sskipper meant to miss no part of the next phase of the scrap.The destroyer was now steaming in almost the opposite direction to that by which she had penetrated the enemy line. She was five or six miles to leeward of the German ships and possibly three times that distance from the British main fleet.Far away to the west'ard came the dull rumble of a furious cannonade."Our light cruisers are having a scrap with the Hun destroyers," muttered Sefton. "By Jove, this is a night!"The sub was correct in his surmise. Although the British heavy ships were not attacked during the night, thanks to the screen provided by the Second Light-cruiser Squadron and several of the destroyer flotillas, the enemy torpedo-craft were several times in touch with the "fringes of the fleet".Darkness played many strange pranks with the combatants, mistakes that more than once told against the Huns occurring with remarkable persistency.On one occasion a battleship of the "Kaiser" class was observed by theFearless. The Hun was entirely isolated, and was steaming at full speed. The British destroyer was unable to engage her gigantic antagonist--the two vessels passing in opposite directions at an aggregate rate of 50 miles an hour. To launch a torpedo would almost certainly result in a miss, while it was extremely hazardous for theFearlessto turn and follow, without colliding with other British destroyers following much farther astern. Nor did the German battleship make any attempt to engage; possibly theFearlesswas not visible from the war-ship's deck.Holding on her course, theFearlesswarned her consorts by wireless, and a heavy explosion long after told its own tale.An even more remarkable incident occurred during the night. Several British light cruisers were steaming in line ahead when a severely mauled German ocean-going torpedo-boat was observed approaching. Mistaken for one of our destroyers, the two leading cruisers let her slip past within the distance of a cable's length. The third, taking no risks, suddenly unmasked her search-lights and played them full upon the stranger. Caught in the blinding glare, her crew could be seen hard at work endeavouring to turn a pair of torpedo-tubes abeam--a task of considerable difficulty owing to the "racer" being damaged.The British light cruiser saved them the job in a most effectual manner. Depressing her for'ard 9.2-inch gun, she sent a huge shell at point-blank range crashing into the light-built hull.[image]"SHE SENT A HUGE SHELL AT POINT-BLANK RANGE CRASHING INTO THE LIGHT-BUILT HULL"A blinding flash, a huge puff of smoke, and all was over. The search-light played upon an expanse of agitated water where, five seconds before, a German torpedo-craft had been churning on her way.Meanwhile theCalderheld resolutely on her course, ignorant of her position relative to the enemy fleet, and liable at any moment to "knock up against" one of the German light cruisers.Crosthwaite had now resumed command. His unconquerable determination had soared above physical injuries. He was not out for personal kudos. Actuated solely by a desire to uphold the prestige of the Grand Fleet, and his own flotilla in particular, he was determined to hurl theCalderbetween the hostile lines. It mattered little that the destroyer was unsupported--for long since she had lost touch with her consorts. Even if none of her officers and crew returned to tell the tale, he was confident that the craft under his command would play her part in a manner worthy of the time-honoured traditions of the British navy.Presently a high dark mass was observed almost ahead and slightly on the destroyer's port bow. It was a hostile battleship. She was lying athwart theCalder'scourse, with a considerable list to starboard, and proceeding at a rate of about four knots. Her foremast had been shot away, and with it the for'ard funnel, which in ships of this class is close to the mast. One of her two steel derricks had collapsed, the curved end trailing over the side. Long gashes in her armoured plates testified to the accuracy and power of the British gunnery.Already the torpedoes had been "launched home" into theCalder'stwin tubes. In any case the battleship must not be allowed to crawl into port, even if she should be incapable of repairs for months.Crosthwaite was about to con the destroyer in order to bring the torpedo-tubes to bear, when the already stricken battleship gave a violent lurch, from which she made no attempt at recovery.Farther and farther she heeled, the rush of water into her hull and the hiss of escaping air being distinctly audible above the howling of the wind. Her crew--or, rather, the survivors--could be heard as they leapt from the steeply inclined decks. There was no need for a torpedo to administer thecoup de grâce.Five minutes later only the battleship's keel-plates and the tips of the four propellers remained above the surface, by which time theCalderhad left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostile light cruisers, whose indistinct shapes were just beginning to be visible against the patch of starlight that penetrated a gap in the inky mist.A sudden blinding glare enveloped theCalder, causing her lieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly. Fairly caught by the rays of half a dozen search-lights, they were temporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandaged with opaque scarves.Fortunately Sefton's back was turned from the direction in which the destroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warned him. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steam steering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still grasping automatically."Hard-a-port!" shouted the sub.The man made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bending forward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of shell had pierced his brain.Pushing the body aside, Sefton put the helm hard over, and the destroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did not make use of her search-lights, entered a darkened patch between the brilliantly lighted areas on either side.With her remaining guns spitting defiance at the hostile light cruisers, and launching her torpedoes immediately a target presented itself, the destroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small, hurtled overhead, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soon reduced to a mere wreck.The German cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their gun-layers been equal to the British, theCalderwould have been blown clean out of the water; but the terrible night had told upon their nerves. A wholesome dread of the British destroyers with their deadly torpedoes was present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyer was supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impression that theCalderwas leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmise was not comforting to the Huns.In the midst of the tornado of shell one of theCalder'storpedoes "got home", ripping open the bottom of a light cruiser and causing an internal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyer that the terrific rush of displaced air was distinctly felt, while a dense cloud of smoke from the sinking cruiser, driving to leeward across the foam-flecked and shell-sprayed waves, completely enveloped the little craft that had dealt the successful blow."Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Sefton recognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'm afraid."The cloud of smoke saved theCalderfrom destruction, for, turning while still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of vapour, the destroyer slipped away from the rays of search-lights, and, doubling, literally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had been keeping a minute before.In vain the German search-lights swept the sea in the supposed position of the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fate of their lost light cruiser, they screened lights and re-formed line.Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of the night, Sefton began to realize the responsibility of his position. Crosthwaite was now lying motionless--either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he was already dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Sefton was unable to lift a finger to help him. The sub was the only one left standing on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a sinking vessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over theCalder, broken occasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered her deck.Yet Sefton's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had to take the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his duty had been carried out. TheCalder, in a damaged, perhaps foundering, condition, was alone on the wild North Sea.The dark form of a bluejacket clambered up the twisted bridge-ladder, and, crossing to where Sefton stood, touched his shoulder."Where's the sub-lootenant, mate?" he asked."I'm here, Brown," replied the young officer."Beg pardon, sir," replied the A.B. "Couldn't recognize you in the darkness. Thought I'd see if you was all right.""Thanks," replied Sefton, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes it on deck?""A clean sweep, sir," replied Brown. "A regular wipe-out. Copped us proper, the swine. Both tubes knocked out, after 4-inch blown clean over the side.""Do you know if we're making much water?" asked the sub anxiously, for the sluggish way in which the destroyer laboured through the water gave rise to considerable apprehension in that respect."Can't say, sir.""Then pass the word for the senior petty officer to report to me."The A.B. hurried off, muttering curiously expressed words of thanksgiving at his young officer's escape. Gratitude had been a hitherto undeveloped trait in Brown's nature, until that memorable occasion when Sefton risked his life, if not exactly to save, to be with him when he found himself in the "ditch".Groping for the voice-tube from the bridge to the engine-room, for the telegraph had disappeared, Sefton attempted to call up the engineer-lieutenant, but in vain. This means of communication with the engine-room was completely interrupted.It seemed an interminable time before the desired petty officer reported himself to the bridge. He was a short, lightly-built man, holding the rank of gunner's mate, and was a capable and fairly well-educated specimen of the lower deck. Yet, had it been daylight, and he had been dumped down just as he was in the streets of a naval town, he would have been promptly run in by the police as a vagrant. His features were literally hidden in soot mingled with blood, for a shell had hurled him face downwards upon a jagged steel grating, which had harrowed his face in a disfiguring though not dangerous fashion. His scanty uniform was in ribbons, and smelt strongly of smouldering embers, while a black scarf tied tightly round his left leg below the knee failed to stop a steady trickle from a shrapnel wound.Briefly and to the point the petty officer made his report. TheCalderhad been hulled in more than twenty places, but only three holes were betwixt wind and water. These had already admitted a considerable quantity of water, but temporary repairs were already in hand. The steam-pumps had been damaged, but were capable of being set right, while the use of the hand-pumps enabled the sorry remnant of the destroyer's crew to keep the leaks well under control.Nevertheless theCalderno longer rose buoyantly to the waves. A sullen, listless movement told its own tale. Not without a grim, determined struggle would her crew be able successfully to combat the joint effects of war and rough weather.On deck most of the fittings had been swept clear. Of the funnel only seven feet of jagged stump remained. The rest had vanished. Both masts had been shot away close to the deck. Of the conning-tower only the base was left; the rest had been blown away almost with the last shell fired at point-blank range. TheCalder'sraised fo'c'sle no longer existed. From two feet close to the water-line at the stem, and rising obliquely to the foot of the bridge, there was nothing left but an inclined plane of bent and perforated steel plates."Our own mother wouldn't know us, sir," concluded the petty officer."Let us hope she'll have the chance," rejoined Sefton, wondering whether it was humanly possible once more to bring the crippled vessel alongside her parent ship, or whether theCalderwould again berth alongside the jetty at far-off Rosyth.The arrival of half a dozen men enabled Sefton to have the commanding officer removed below. Anxiously the sub awaited Stirling's verdict. The report was long in coming, but the doctor's hands were full to overflowing. During that terrible night many a man owed his life, under Providence, to the administrations of the young medico. Indifferent to his own peril, although the crippled destroyer was straining badly in the heavy seas, Pills toiled like a galley-slave in the semi-darkness, for the electric light had failed, and the temporary operating-room, crowded with ghastly cases, was illuminated only by the glimmer of three oil-lamps."That you, Pills?" enquired Sefton anxiously, as an officer, distinguishable only by his uniform cap stuck at a comical angle on the top of his head, clambered upon the bridge."No--Boxspanner," replied that worthy. "At least what's left of him. Where's the skipper?""Knocked out.""Done in?"Sefton shook his head."Don't know," he replied. "Pills has him in hand. In any case he's got it pretty badly. Well, how goes it?""Can't get more'n five knots out of the engines," replied the engineer-lieutenant. "Port engine-room reduced to scrap. There was three feet of water in the stokeholds, but it's subsiding, thank goodness! Deuce of a mess when the lights went out. Stumbled over a man and banged my head. It feels like a blister on the tyre of a car--liable to burst at any moment, don't you know. The fellow strafed me for treading on him. Asked him what the deuce he was lying there for, since he had wind enough to kick up a row. What do you think he was up to?""Can't say," replied Sefton."Plugging a shot-hole with his bare back. Had his shoulder wedged against the gash. He'd been like that for twenty minutes--and he'd lost three fingers of the right hand.""You'll have to make a special report," remarked the sub."A special report of every man of my department you mean!" exclaimed Boxspanner enthusiastically. "By Jove! If you could have seen them----"The arrival of the doctor cut short the engineer-lieutenant's eulogies."Just up for a breather," gasped Stirling. "Thought I'd let you know how things are going in my line. A bit stiff our butcher's bill. The skipper's pretty rough. Took a wicked-looking chunk of high-explosive shell out of his forehead. I've had the deuce of a job to stop the flow of arterial blood from a gash in his leg. He'll pull through. He's as hard as nails.""That's good," said Sefton and Boxspanner in one breath."Talking of nails," continued Stirling, "I've just had a rum case--Thompson, the leading signalman. Took fifty pieces of metal from his hide. The poor wretch couldn't sit down, although the wounds were light. Those strafed Huns had crammed one of their shrapnel-shells with gramophone needles. Fact! I'm not joking! I suppose they haven't the heart for any more music, so they made us a present of the needles. How much longer to daybreak?""About a quarter to three, Greenwich time," replied Sefton. "I haven't a watch."He did not think it necessary to explain that his wristlet watch had been ripped from its strap by a flying fragment of shell. He was becoming painfully aware of the circumstance, for every movement of his wrist gave him a sharp pain.Boxspanner crossed over to the temporary binnacle--one removed from the wreckage of one of the boats--for the destroyer's standard compass had gone the way of the majority of the deck-fittings, while the gyro-compass, placed in the safest part of the vessel, had been dismounted by the bursting of a shell."It's only a quarter past eleven," he announced dolorously, as he consulted his watch by the feeble light of the binnacle."Rot!" ejaculated the doctor. "It was midnight when we went into action."The engineer-lieutenant made a second examination. The glass of the watch had been completely broken; not even a fragment remained. The hands had gone, while across the dial were two cracks in such positions that they had misled Boxspanner into the belief that they were the hands. Yet, on holding the timepiece to his ear and listening intently--for like the rest of theCalder'scomplement he was temporarily deafened from the result of the violent gun-fire--he found that the watch was still going."It's getting light already," observed Stirling, pointing to a pale-reddish hue in the north-eastern sky. "Well, I must away. More patching and mending demand my modest attention."Slowly the dawn broke, a crimson glow betwixt the dark, scudding masses of clouds betokening a continuance of the hard blow, and plenty of it. With the rising sea the task of theCalder'screw increased tenfold. Anxiously the horizon was swept in the hope of a friendly vessel being sighted, but the sky-line was unbroken. The tide of battle, if the action were still being maintained, had rolled away beyond sight and hearing of the little band of heroes who so worthily maintained the prestige of the White Ensign.
CHAPTER XIII--Sefton in CommandBy this time the firing had ceased, while, the search-lights of the German war-ships having been screened, intense darkness brooded over the scene. The sea was rising rapidly, as if Nature was about to assert her power over the opposing fleets.Exposed to the full force of the wind and waves, Sefton stood upon the remaining portion of the bridge, with his lieutenant-commander reclining within easy distance. Crosthwaite had given his subordinate strict orders to inform him of the moment when the Huns were again sighted. His wounds mattered little. Provided his head were cool and his brain alert theCalder'sskipper meant to miss no part of the next phase of the scrap.The destroyer was now steaming in almost the opposite direction to that by which she had penetrated the enemy line. She was five or six miles to leeward of the German ships and possibly three times that distance from the British main fleet.Far away to the west'ard came the dull rumble of a furious cannonade."Our light cruisers are having a scrap with the Hun destroyers," muttered Sefton. "By Jove, this is a night!"The sub was correct in his surmise. Although the British heavy ships were not attacked during the night, thanks to the screen provided by the Second Light-cruiser Squadron and several of the destroyer flotillas, the enemy torpedo-craft were several times in touch with the "fringes of the fleet".Darkness played many strange pranks with the combatants, mistakes that more than once told against the Huns occurring with remarkable persistency.On one occasion a battleship of the "Kaiser" class was observed by theFearless. The Hun was entirely isolated, and was steaming at full speed. The British destroyer was unable to engage her gigantic antagonist--the two vessels passing in opposite directions at an aggregate rate of 50 miles an hour. To launch a torpedo would almost certainly result in a miss, while it was extremely hazardous for theFearlessto turn and follow, without colliding with other British destroyers following much farther astern. Nor did the German battleship make any attempt to engage; possibly theFearlesswas not visible from the war-ship's deck.Holding on her course, theFearlesswarned her consorts by wireless, and a heavy explosion long after told its own tale.An even more remarkable incident occurred during the night. Several British light cruisers were steaming in line ahead when a severely mauled German ocean-going torpedo-boat was observed approaching. Mistaken for one of our destroyers, the two leading cruisers let her slip past within the distance of a cable's length. The third, taking no risks, suddenly unmasked her search-lights and played them full upon the stranger. Caught in the blinding glare, her crew could be seen hard at work endeavouring to turn a pair of torpedo-tubes abeam--a task of considerable difficulty owing to the "racer" being damaged.The British light cruiser saved them the job in a most effectual manner. Depressing her for'ard 9.2-inch gun, she sent a huge shell at point-blank range crashing into the light-built hull.[image]"SHE SENT A HUGE SHELL AT POINT-BLANK RANGE CRASHING INTO THE LIGHT-BUILT HULL"A blinding flash, a huge puff of smoke, and all was over. The search-light played upon an expanse of agitated water where, five seconds before, a German torpedo-craft had been churning on her way.Meanwhile theCalderheld resolutely on her course, ignorant of her position relative to the enemy fleet, and liable at any moment to "knock up against" one of the German light cruisers.Crosthwaite had now resumed command. His unconquerable determination had soared above physical injuries. He was not out for personal kudos. Actuated solely by a desire to uphold the prestige of the Grand Fleet, and his own flotilla in particular, he was determined to hurl theCalderbetween the hostile lines. It mattered little that the destroyer was unsupported--for long since she had lost touch with her consorts. Even if none of her officers and crew returned to tell the tale, he was confident that the craft under his command would play her part in a manner worthy of the time-honoured traditions of the British navy.Presently a high dark mass was observed almost ahead and slightly on the destroyer's port bow. It was a hostile battleship. She was lying athwart theCalder'scourse, with a considerable list to starboard, and proceeding at a rate of about four knots. Her foremast had been shot away, and with it the for'ard funnel, which in ships of this class is close to the mast. One of her two steel derricks had collapsed, the curved end trailing over the side. Long gashes in her armoured plates testified to the accuracy and power of the British gunnery.Already the torpedoes had been "launched home" into theCalder'stwin tubes. In any case the battleship must not be allowed to crawl into port, even if she should be incapable of repairs for months.Crosthwaite was about to con the destroyer in order to bring the torpedo-tubes to bear, when the already stricken battleship gave a violent lurch, from which she made no attempt at recovery.Farther and farther she heeled, the rush of water into her hull and the hiss of escaping air being distinctly audible above the howling of the wind. Her crew--or, rather, the survivors--could be heard as they leapt from the steeply inclined decks. There was no need for a torpedo to administer thecoup de grâce.Five minutes later only the battleship's keel-plates and the tips of the four propellers remained above the surface, by which time theCalderhad left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostile light cruisers, whose indistinct shapes were just beginning to be visible against the patch of starlight that penetrated a gap in the inky mist.A sudden blinding glare enveloped theCalder, causing her lieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly. Fairly caught by the rays of half a dozen search-lights, they were temporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandaged with opaque scarves.Fortunately Sefton's back was turned from the direction in which the destroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warned him. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steam steering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still grasping automatically."Hard-a-port!" shouted the sub.The man made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bending forward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of shell had pierced his brain.Pushing the body aside, Sefton put the helm hard over, and the destroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did not make use of her search-lights, entered a darkened patch between the brilliantly lighted areas on either side.With her remaining guns spitting defiance at the hostile light cruisers, and launching her torpedoes immediately a target presented itself, the destroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small, hurtled overhead, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soon reduced to a mere wreck.The German cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their gun-layers been equal to the British, theCalderwould have been blown clean out of the water; but the terrible night had told upon their nerves. A wholesome dread of the British destroyers with their deadly torpedoes was present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyer was supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impression that theCalderwas leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmise was not comforting to the Huns.In the midst of the tornado of shell one of theCalder'storpedoes "got home", ripping open the bottom of a light cruiser and causing an internal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyer that the terrific rush of displaced air was distinctly felt, while a dense cloud of smoke from the sinking cruiser, driving to leeward across the foam-flecked and shell-sprayed waves, completely enveloped the little craft that had dealt the successful blow."Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Sefton recognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'm afraid."The cloud of smoke saved theCalderfrom destruction, for, turning while still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of vapour, the destroyer slipped away from the rays of search-lights, and, doubling, literally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had been keeping a minute before.In vain the German search-lights swept the sea in the supposed position of the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fate of their lost light cruiser, they screened lights and re-formed line.Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of the night, Sefton began to realize the responsibility of his position. Crosthwaite was now lying motionless--either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he was already dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Sefton was unable to lift a finger to help him. The sub was the only one left standing on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a sinking vessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over theCalder, broken occasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered her deck.Yet Sefton's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had to take the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his duty had been carried out. TheCalder, in a damaged, perhaps foundering, condition, was alone on the wild North Sea.The dark form of a bluejacket clambered up the twisted bridge-ladder, and, crossing to where Sefton stood, touched his shoulder."Where's the sub-lootenant, mate?" he asked."I'm here, Brown," replied the young officer."Beg pardon, sir," replied the A.B. "Couldn't recognize you in the darkness. Thought I'd see if you was all right.""Thanks," replied Sefton, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes it on deck?""A clean sweep, sir," replied Brown. "A regular wipe-out. Copped us proper, the swine. Both tubes knocked out, after 4-inch blown clean over the side.""Do you know if we're making much water?" asked the sub anxiously, for the sluggish way in which the destroyer laboured through the water gave rise to considerable apprehension in that respect."Can't say, sir.""Then pass the word for the senior petty officer to report to me."The A.B. hurried off, muttering curiously expressed words of thanksgiving at his young officer's escape. Gratitude had been a hitherto undeveloped trait in Brown's nature, until that memorable occasion when Sefton risked his life, if not exactly to save, to be with him when he found himself in the "ditch".Groping for the voice-tube from the bridge to the engine-room, for the telegraph had disappeared, Sefton attempted to call up the engineer-lieutenant, but in vain. This means of communication with the engine-room was completely interrupted.It seemed an interminable time before the desired petty officer reported himself to the bridge. He was a short, lightly-built man, holding the rank of gunner's mate, and was a capable and fairly well-educated specimen of the lower deck. Yet, had it been daylight, and he had been dumped down just as he was in the streets of a naval town, he would have been promptly run in by the police as a vagrant. His features were literally hidden in soot mingled with blood, for a shell had hurled him face downwards upon a jagged steel grating, which had harrowed his face in a disfiguring though not dangerous fashion. His scanty uniform was in ribbons, and smelt strongly of smouldering embers, while a black scarf tied tightly round his left leg below the knee failed to stop a steady trickle from a shrapnel wound.Briefly and to the point the petty officer made his report. TheCalderhad been hulled in more than twenty places, but only three holes were betwixt wind and water. These had already admitted a considerable quantity of water, but temporary repairs were already in hand. The steam-pumps had been damaged, but were capable of being set right, while the use of the hand-pumps enabled the sorry remnant of the destroyer's crew to keep the leaks well under control.Nevertheless theCalderno longer rose buoyantly to the waves. A sullen, listless movement told its own tale. Not without a grim, determined struggle would her crew be able successfully to combat the joint effects of war and rough weather.On deck most of the fittings had been swept clear. Of the funnel only seven feet of jagged stump remained. The rest had vanished. Both masts had been shot away close to the deck. Of the conning-tower only the base was left; the rest had been blown away almost with the last shell fired at point-blank range. TheCalder'sraised fo'c'sle no longer existed. From two feet close to the water-line at the stem, and rising obliquely to the foot of the bridge, there was nothing left but an inclined plane of bent and perforated steel plates."Our own mother wouldn't know us, sir," concluded the petty officer."Let us hope she'll have the chance," rejoined Sefton, wondering whether it was humanly possible once more to bring the crippled vessel alongside her parent ship, or whether theCalderwould again berth alongside the jetty at far-off Rosyth.The arrival of half a dozen men enabled Sefton to have the commanding officer removed below. Anxiously the sub awaited Stirling's verdict. The report was long in coming, but the doctor's hands were full to overflowing. During that terrible night many a man owed his life, under Providence, to the administrations of the young medico. Indifferent to his own peril, although the crippled destroyer was straining badly in the heavy seas, Pills toiled like a galley-slave in the semi-darkness, for the electric light had failed, and the temporary operating-room, crowded with ghastly cases, was illuminated only by the glimmer of three oil-lamps."That you, Pills?" enquired Sefton anxiously, as an officer, distinguishable only by his uniform cap stuck at a comical angle on the top of his head, clambered upon the bridge."No--Boxspanner," replied that worthy. "At least what's left of him. Where's the skipper?""Knocked out.""Done in?"Sefton shook his head."Don't know," he replied. "Pills has him in hand. In any case he's got it pretty badly. Well, how goes it?""Can't get more'n five knots out of the engines," replied the engineer-lieutenant. "Port engine-room reduced to scrap. There was three feet of water in the stokeholds, but it's subsiding, thank goodness! Deuce of a mess when the lights went out. Stumbled over a man and banged my head. It feels like a blister on the tyre of a car--liable to burst at any moment, don't you know. The fellow strafed me for treading on him. Asked him what the deuce he was lying there for, since he had wind enough to kick up a row. What do you think he was up to?""Can't say," replied Sefton."Plugging a shot-hole with his bare back. Had his shoulder wedged against the gash. He'd been like that for twenty minutes--and he'd lost three fingers of the right hand.""You'll have to make a special report," remarked the sub."A special report of every man of my department you mean!" exclaimed Boxspanner enthusiastically. "By Jove! If you could have seen them----"The arrival of the doctor cut short the engineer-lieutenant's eulogies."Just up for a breather," gasped Stirling. "Thought I'd let you know how things are going in my line. A bit stiff our butcher's bill. The skipper's pretty rough. Took a wicked-looking chunk of high-explosive shell out of his forehead. I've had the deuce of a job to stop the flow of arterial blood from a gash in his leg. He'll pull through. He's as hard as nails.""That's good," said Sefton and Boxspanner in one breath."Talking of nails," continued Stirling, "I've just had a rum case--Thompson, the leading signalman. Took fifty pieces of metal from his hide. The poor wretch couldn't sit down, although the wounds were light. Those strafed Huns had crammed one of their shrapnel-shells with gramophone needles. Fact! I'm not joking! I suppose they haven't the heart for any more music, so they made us a present of the needles. How much longer to daybreak?""About a quarter to three, Greenwich time," replied Sefton. "I haven't a watch."He did not think it necessary to explain that his wristlet watch had been ripped from its strap by a flying fragment of shell. He was becoming painfully aware of the circumstance, for every movement of his wrist gave him a sharp pain.Boxspanner crossed over to the temporary binnacle--one removed from the wreckage of one of the boats--for the destroyer's standard compass had gone the way of the majority of the deck-fittings, while the gyro-compass, placed in the safest part of the vessel, had been dismounted by the bursting of a shell."It's only a quarter past eleven," he announced dolorously, as he consulted his watch by the feeble light of the binnacle."Rot!" ejaculated the doctor. "It was midnight when we went into action."The engineer-lieutenant made a second examination. The glass of the watch had been completely broken; not even a fragment remained. The hands had gone, while across the dial were two cracks in such positions that they had misled Boxspanner into the belief that they were the hands. Yet, on holding the timepiece to his ear and listening intently--for like the rest of theCalder'scomplement he was temporarily deafened from the result of the violent gun-fire--he found that the watch was still going."It's getting light already," observed Stirling, pointing to a pale-reddish hue in the north-eastern sky. "Well, I must away. More patching and mending demand my modest attention."Slowly the dawn broke, a crimson glow betwixt the dark, scudding masses of clouds betokening a continuance of the hard blow, and plenty of it. With the rising sea the task of theCalder'screw increased tenfold. Anxiously the horizon was swept in the hope of a friendly vessel being sighted, but the sky-line was unbroken. The tide of battle, if the action were still being maintained, had rolled away beyond sight and hearing of the little band of heroes who so worthily maintained the prestige of the White Ensign.
By this time the firing had ceased, while, the search-lights of the German war-ships having been screened, intense darkness brooded over the scene. The sea was rising rapidly, as if Nature was about to assert her power over the opposing fleets.
Exposed to the full force of the wind and waves, Sefton stood upon the remaining portion of the bridge, with his lieutenant-commander reclining within easy distance. Crosthwaite had given his subordinate strict orders to inform him of the moment when the Huns were again sighted. His wounds mattered little. Provided his head were cool and his brain alert theCalder'sskipper meant to miss no part of the next phase of the scrap.
The destroyer was now steaming in almost the opposite direction to that by which she had penetrated the enemy line. She was five or six miles to leeward of the German ships and possibly three times that distance from the British main fleet.
Far away to the west'ard came the dull rumble of a furious cannonade.
"Our light cruisers are having a scrap with the Hun destroyers," muttered Sefton. "By Jove, this is a night!"
The sub was correct in his surmise. Although the British heavy ships were not attacked during the night, thanks to the screen provided by the Second Light-cruiser Squadron and several of the destroyer flotillas, the enemy torpedo-craft were several times in touch with the "fringes of the fleet".
Darkness played many strange pranks with the combatants, mistakes that more than once told against the Huns occurring with remarkable persistency.
On one occasion a battleship of the "Kaiser" class was observed by theFearless. The Hun was entirely isolated, and was steaming at full speed. The British destroyer was unable to engage her gigantic antagonist--the two vessels passing in opposite directions at an aggregate rate of 50 miles an hour. To launch a torpedo would almost certainly result in a miss, while it was extremely hazardous for theFearlessto turn and follow, without colliding with other British destroyers following much farther astern. Nor did the German battleship make any attempt to engage; possibly theFearlesswas not visible from the war-ship's deck.
Holding on her course, theFearlesswarned her consorts by wireless, and a heavy explosion long after told its own tale.
An even more remarkable incident occurred during the night. Several British light cruisers were steaming in line ahead when a severely mauled German ocean-going torpedo-boat was observed approaching. Mistaken for one of our destroyers, the two leading cruisers let her slip past within the distance of a cable's length. The third, taking no risks, suddenly unmasked her search-lights and played them full upon the stranger. Caught in the blinding glare, her crew could be seen hard at work endeavouring to turn a pair of torpedo-tubes abeam--a task of considerable difficulty owing to the "racer" being damaged.
The British light cruiser saved them the job in a most effectual manner. Depressing her for'ard 9.2-inch gun, she sent a huge shell at point-blank range crashing into the light-built hull.
[image]"SHE SENT A HUGE SHELL AT POINT-BLANK RANGE CRASHING INTO THE LIGHT-BUILT HULL"
[image]
[image]
"SHE SENT A HUGE SHELL AT POINT-BLANK RANGE CRASHING INTO THE LIGHT-BUILT HULL"
A blinding flash, a huge puff of smoke, and all was over. The search-light played upon an expanse of agitated water where, five seconds before, a German torpedo-craft had been churning on her way.
Meanwhile theCalderheld resolutely on her course, ignorant of her position relative to the enemy fleet, and liable at any moment to "knock up against" one of the German light cruisers.
Crosthwaite had now resumed command. His unconquerable determination had soared above physical injuries. He was not out for personal kudos. Actuated solely by a desire to uphold the prestige of the Grand Fleet, and his own flotilla in particular, he was determined to hurl theCalderbetween the hostile lines. It mattered little that the destroyer was unsupported--for long since she had lost touch with her consorts. Even if none of her officers and crew returned to tell the tale, he was confident that the craft under his command would play her part in a manner worthy of the time-honoured traditions of the British navy.
Presently a high dark mass was observed almost ahead and slightly on the destroyer's port bow. It was a hostile battleship. She was lying athwart theCalder'scourse, with a considerable list to starboard, and proceeding at a rate of about four knots. Her foremast had been shot away, and with it the for'ard funnel, which in ships of this class is close to the mast. One of her two steel derricks had collapsed, the curved end trailing over the side. Long gashes in her armoured plates testified to the accuracy and power of the British gunnery.
Already the torpedoes had been "launched home" into theCalder'stwin tubes. In any case the battleship must not be allowed to crawl into port, even if she should be incapable of repairs for months.
Crosthwaite was about to con the destroyer in order to bring the torpedo-tubes to bear, when the already stricken battleship gave a violent lurch, from which she made no attempt at recovery.
Farther and farther she heeled, the rush of water into her hull and the hiss of escaping air being distinctly audible above the howling of the wind. Her crew--or, rather, the survivors--could be heard as they leapt from the steeply inclined decks. There was no need for a torpedo to administer thecoup de grâce.
Five minutes later only the battleship's keel-plates and the tips of the four propellers remained above the surface, by which time theCalderhad left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostile light cruisers, whose indistinct shapes were just beginning to be visible against the patch of starlight that penetrated a gap in the inky mist.
A sudden blinding glare enveloped theCalder, causing her lieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly. Fairly caught by the rays of half a dozen search-lights, they were temporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandaged with opaque scarves.
Fortunately Sefton's back was turned from the direction in which the destroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warned him. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steam steering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still grasping automatically.
"Hard-a-port!" shouted the sub.
The man made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bending forward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of shell had pierced his brain.
Pushing the body aside, Sefton put the helm hard over, and the destroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did not make use of her search-lights, entered a darkened patch between the brilliantly lighted areas on either side.
With her remaining guns spitting defiance at the hostile light cruisers, and launching her torpedoes immediately a target presented itself, the destroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small, hurtled overhead, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soon reduced to a mere wreck.
The German cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their gun-layers been equal to the British, theCalderwould have been blown clean out of the water; but the terrible night had told upon their nerves. A wholesome dread of the British destroyers with their deadly torpedoes was present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyer was supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impression that theCalderwas leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmise was not comforting to the Huns.
In the midst of the tornado of shell one of theCalder'storpedoes "got home", ripping open the bottom of a light cruiser and causing an internal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyer that the terrific rush of displaced air was distinctly felt, while a dense cloud of smoke from the sinking cruiser, driving to leeward across the foam-flecked and shell-sprayed waves, completely enveloped the little craft that had dealt the successful blow.
"Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Sefton recognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'm afraid."
The cloud of smoke saved theCalderfrom destruction, for, turning while still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of vapour, the destroyer slipped away from the rays of search-lights, and, doubling, literally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had been keeping a minute before.
In vain the German search-lights swept the sea in the supposed position of the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fate of their lost light cruiser, they screened lights and re-formed line.
Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of the night, Sefton began to realize the responsibility of his position. Crosthwaite was now lying motionless--either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he was already dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Sefton was unable to lift a finger to help him. The sub was the only one left standing on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a sinking vessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over theCalder, broken occasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered her deck.
Yet Sefton's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had to take the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his duty had been carried out. TheCalder, in a damaged, perhaps foundering, condition, was alone on the wild North Sea.
The dark form of a bluejacket clambered up the twisted bridge-ladder, and, crossing to where Sefton stood, touched his shoulder.
"Where's the sub-lootenant, mate?" he asked.
"I'm here, Brown," replied the young officer.
"Beg pardon, sir," replied the A.B. "Couldn't recognize you in the darkness. Thought I'd see if you was all right."
"Thanks," replied Sefton, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes it on deck?"
"A clean sweep, sir," replied Brown. "A regular wipe-out. Copped us proper, the swine. Both tubes knocked out, after 4-inch blown clean over the side."
"Do you know if we're making much water?" asked the sub anxiously, for the sluggish way in which the destroyer laboured through the water gave rise to considerable apprehension in that respect.
"Can't say, sir."
"Then pass the word for the senior petty officer to report to me."
The A.B. hurried off, muttering curiously expressed words of thanksgiving at his young officer's escape. Gratitude had been a hitherto undeveloped trait in Brown's nature, until that memorable occasion when Sefton risked his life, if not exactly to save, to be with him when he found himself in the "ditch".
Groping for the voice-tube from the bridge to the engine-room, for the telegraph had disappeared, Sefton attempted to call up the engineer-lieutenant, but in vain. This means of communication with the engine-room was completely interrupted.
It seemed an interminable time before the desired petty officer reported himself to the bridge. He was a short, lightly-built man, holding the rank of gunner's mate, and was a capable and fairly well-educated specimen of the lower deck. Yet, had it been daylight, and he had been dumped down just as he was in the streets of a naval town, he would have been promptly run in by the police as a vagrant. His features were literally hidden in soot mingled with blood, for a shell had hurled him face downwards upon a jagged steel grating, which had harrowed his face in a disfiguring though not dangerous fashion. His scanty uniform was in ribbons, and smelt strongly of smouldering embers, while a black scarf tied tightly round his left leg below the knee failed to stop a steady trickle from a shrapnel wound.
Briefly and to the point the petty officer made his report. TheCalderhad been hulled in more than twenty places, but only three holes were betwixt wind and water. These had already admitted a considerable quantity of water, but temporary repairs were already in hand. The steam-pumps had been damaged, but were capable of being set right, while the use of the hand-pumps enabled the sorry remnant of the destroyer's crew to keep the leaks well under control.
Nevertheless theCalderno longer rose buoyantly to the waves. A sullen, listless movement told its own tale. Not without a grim, determined struggle would her crew be able successfully to combat the joint effects of war and rough weather.
On deck most of the fittings had been swept clear. Of the funnel only seven feet of jagged stump remained. The rest had vanished. Both masts had been shot away close to the deck. Of the conning-tower only the base was left; the rest had been blown away almost with the last shell fired at point-blank range. TheCalder'sraised fo'c'sle no longer existed. From two feet close to the water-line at the stem, and rising obliquely to the foot of the bridge, there was nothing left but an inclined plane of bent and perforated steel plates.
"Our own mother wouldn't know us, sir," concluded the petty officer.
"Let us hope she'll have the chance," rejoined Sefton, wondering whether it was humanly possible once more to bring the crippled vessel alongside her parent ship, or whether theCalderwould again berth alongside the jetty at far-off Rosyth.
The arrival of half a dozen men enabled Sefton to have the commanding officer removed below. Anxiously the sub awaited Stirling's verdict. The report was long in coming, but the doctor's hands were full to overflowing. During that terrible night many a man owed his life, under Providence, to the administrations of the young medico. Indifferent to his own peril, although the crippled destroyer was straining badly in the heavy seas, Pills toiled like a galley-slave in the semi-darkness, for the electric light had failed, and the temporary operating-room, crowded with ghastly cases, was illuminated only by the glimmer of three oil-lamps.
"That you, Pills?" enquired Sefton anxiously, as an officer, distinguishable only by his uniform cap stuck at a comical angle on the top of his head, clambered upon the bridge.
"No--Boxspanner," replied that worthy. "At least what's left of him. Where's the skipper?"
"Knocked out."
"Done in?"
Sefton shook his head.
"Don't know," he replied. "Pills has him in hand. In any case he's got it pretty badly. Well, how goes it?"
"Can't get more'n five knots out of the engines," replied the engineer-lieutenant. "Port engine-room reduced to scrap. There was three feet of water in the stokeholds, but it's subsiding, thank goodness! Deuce of a mess when the lights went out. Stumbled over a man and banged my head. It feels like a blister on the tyre of a car--liable to burst at any moment, don't you know. The fellow strafed me for treading on him. Asked him what the deuce he was lying there for, since he had wind enough to kick up a row. What do you think he was up to?"
"Can't say," replied Sefton.
"Plugging a shot-hole with his bare back. Had his shoulder wedged against the gash. He'd been like that for twenty minutes--and he'd lost three fingers of the right hand."
"You'll have to make a special report," remarked the sub.
"A special report of every man of my department you mean!" exclaimed Boxspanner enthusiastically. "By Jove! If you could have seen them----"
The arrival of the doctor cut short the engineer-lieutenant's eulogies.
"Just up for a breather," gasped Stirling. "Thought I'd let you know how things are going in my line. A bit stiff our butcher's bill. The skipper's pretty rough. Took a wicked-looking chunk of high-explosive shell out of his forehead. I've had the deuce of a job to stop the flow of arterial blood from a gash in his leg. He'll pull through. He's as hard as nails."
"That's good," said Sefton and Boxspanner in one breath.
"Talking of nails," continued Stirling, "I've just had a rum case--Thompson, the leading signalman. Took fifty pieces of metal from his hide. The poor wretch couldn't sit down, although the wounds were light. Those strafed Huns had crammed one of their shrapnel-shells with gramophone needles. Fact! I'm not joking! I suppose they haven't the heart for any more music, so they made us a present of the needles. How much longer to daybreak?"
"About a quarter to three, Greenwich time," replied Sefton. "I haven't a watch."
He did not think it necessary to explain that his wristlet watch had been ripped from its strap by a flying fragment of shell. He was becoming painfully aware of the circumstance, for every movement of his wrist gave him a sharp pain.
Boxspanner crossed over to the temporary binnacle--one removed from the wreckage of one of the boats--for the destroyer's standard compass had gone the way of the majority of the deck-fittings, while the gyro-compass, placed in the safest part of the vessel, had been dismounted by the bursting of a shell.
"It's only a quarter past eleven," he announced dolorously, as he consulted his watch by the feeble light of the binnacle.
"Rot!" ejaculated the doctor. "It was midnight when we went into action."
The engineer-lieutenant made a second examination. The glass of the watch had been completely broken; not even a fragment remained. The hands had gone, while across the dial were two cracks in such positions that they had misled Boxspanner into the belief that they were the hands. Yet, on holding the timepiece to his ear and listening intently--for like the rest of theCalder'scomplement he was temporarily deafened from the result of the violent gun-fire--he found that the watch was still going.
"It's getting light already," observed Stirling, pointing to a pale-reddish hue in the north-eastern sky. "Well, I must away. More patching and mending demand my modest attention."
Slowly the dawn broke, a crimson glow betwixt the dark, scudding masses of clouds betokening a continuance of the hard blow, and plenty of it. With the rising sea the task of theCalder'screw increased tenfold. Anxiously the horizon was swept in the hope of a friendly vessel being sighted, but the sky-line was unbroken. The tide of battle, if the action were still being maintained, had rolled away beyond sight and hearing of the little band of heroes who so worthily maintained the prestige of the White Ensign.