CHAPTER XIII--Sefton in Command
By this time the firing had ceased, while, the search-lights of theGerman war-ships having been screened, intense darkness brooded over thescene. The sea was rising rapidly, as if Nature was about to assert herpower over the opposing fleets.
Exposed to the full force of the wind and waves, Sefton stood upon theremaining portion of the bridge, with his lieutenant-commander recliningwithin easy distance. Crosthwaite had given his subordinate strictorders to inform him of the moment when the Huns were again sighted.His wounds mattered little. Provided his head were cool and his brainalert the _Calder's_ skipper meant to miss no part of the next phase ofthe scrap.
The destroyer was now steaming in almost the opposite direction to thatby which she had penetrated the enemy line. She was five or six milesto leeward of the German ships and possibly three times that distancefrom 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 shipswere not attacked during the night, thanks to the screen provided by theSecond Light-cruiser Squadron and several of the destroyer flotillas,the enemy torpedo-craft were several times in touch with the "fringes ofthe fleet".
Darkness played many strange pranks with the combatants, mistakes thatmore than once told against the Huns occurring with remarkablepersistency.
On one occasion a battleship of the "Kaiser" class was observed by the_Fearless_. The Hun was entirely isolated, and was steaming at fullspeed. The British destroyer was unable to engage her giganticantagonist--the two vessels passing in opposite directions at anaggregate rate of 50 miles an hour. To launch a torpedo would almostcertainly result in a miss, while it was extremely hazardous for the_Fearless_ to turn and follow, without colliding with other Britishdestroyers following much farther astern. Nor did the German battleshipmake any attempt to engage; possibly the _Fearless_ was not visible fromthe war-ship's deck.
Holding on her course, the _Fearless_ warned her consorts by wireless,and a heavy explosion long after told its own tale.
An even more remarkable incident occurred during the night. SeveralBritish light cruisers were steaming in line ahead when a severelymauled German ocean-going torpedo-boat was observed approaching.Mistaken for one of our destroyers, the two leading cruisers let herslip past within the distance of a cable's length. The third, taking norisks, suddenly unmasked her search-lights and played them full upon thestranger. Caught in the blinding glare, her crew could be seen hard atwork endeavouring to turn a pair of torpedo-tubes abeam--a task ofconsiderable 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 atpoint-blank range crashing into the light-built hull.
"SHE SENT A HUGE SHELL AT POINT-BLANK RANGE CRASHING INTOTHE LIGHT-BUILT HULL"]
A blinding flash, a huge puff of smoke, and all was over. Thesearch-light played upon an expanse of agitated water where, fiveseconds before, a German torpedo-craft had been churning on her way.
Meanwhile the _Calder_ held resolutely on her course, ignorant of herposition relative to the enemy fleet, and liable at any moment to "knockup against" one of the German light cruisers.
Crosthwaite had now resumed command. His unconquerable determinationhad 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 the_Calder_ between the hostile lines. It mattered little that thedestroyer was unsupported--for long since she had lost touch with herconsorts. Even if none of her officers and crew returned to tell thetale, he was confident that the craft under his command would play herpart in a manner worthy of the time-honoured traditions of the Britishnavy.
Presently a high dark mass was observed almost ahead and slightly on thedestroyer's port bow. It was a hostile battleship. She was lyingathwart the _Calder's_ course, with a considerable list to starboard,and proceeding at a rate of about four knots. Her foremast had been shotaway, and with it the for'ard funnel, which in ships of this class isclose to the mast. One of her two steel derricks had collapsed, thecurved end trailing over the side. Long gashes in her armoured platestestified to the accuracy and power of the British gunnery.
Already the torpedoes had been "launched home" into the _Calder's_ twintubes. In any case the battleship must not be allowed to crawl intoport, even if she should be incapable of repairs for months.
Crosthwaite was about to con the destroyer in order to bring thetorpedo-tubes to bear, when the already stricken battleship gave aviolent lurch, from which she made no attempt at recovery.
Farther and farther she heeled, the rush of water into her hull and thehiss of escaping air being distinctly audible above the howling of thewind. Her crew--or, rather, the survivors--could be heard as they leaptfrom the steeply inclined decks. There was no need for a torpedo toadminister the _coup de grace_.
Five minutes later only the battleship's keel-plates and the tips of thefour propellers remained above the surface, by which time the _Calder_had left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostilelight cruisers, whose indistinct shapes were just beginning to bevisible against the patch of starlight that penetrated a gap in the inkymist.
A sudden blinding glare enveloped the _Calder_, causing herlieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly.Fairly caught by the rays of half a dozen search-lights, they weretemporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandagedwith opaque scarves.
Fortunately Sefton's back was turned from the direction in which thedestroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warnedhim. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steamsteering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still graspingautomatically.
"Hard-a-port!" shouted the sub.
The man made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bendingforward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of shell had pierced hisbrain.
Pushing the body aside, Sefton put the helm hard over, and thedestroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did notmake use of her search-lights, entered a darkened patch between thebrilliantly 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, thedestroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small,hurtled overhead, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soonreduced to a mere wreck.
The German cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their gun-layers beenequal to the British, the _Calder_ would have been blown clean out ofthe water; but the terrible night had told upon their nerves. Awholesome dread of the British destroyers with their deadly torpedoeswas present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyerwas supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impressionthat the _Calder_ was leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmisewas not comforting to the Huns.
In the midst of the tornado of shell one of the _Calder's_ torpedoes"got home", ripping open the bottom of a light cruiser and causing aninternal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyerthat the terrific rush of displaced air was distinctly felt, while adense cloud of smoke from the sinking cruiser, driving to leeward acrossthe foam-flecked and shell-sprayed waves, completely enveloped thelittle craft that had dealt the successful blow.
"Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Seftonrecognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'mafraid."
The cloud of smoke saved the _Calder_ from destruction, for, turningwhile still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of vapour, thedestroyer slipped away from the rays of search-lights, and, doubling,li
terally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had beenkeeping a minute before.
In vain the German search-lights swept the sea in the supposed positionof the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fateof their lost light cruiser, they screened lights and re-formed line.
Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of the night, Sefton began torealize the responsibility of his position. Crosthwaite was now lyingmotionless--either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he wasalready dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Seftonwas unable to lift a finger to help him. The sub was the only one leftstanding on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a sinkingvessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over the _Calder_, brokenoccasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered herdeck.
Yet Sefton's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had totake the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his dutyhad been carried out. The _Calder_, 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 thedarkness. Thought I'd see if you was all right."
"Thanks," replied Sefton, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes iton deck?"
"A clean sweep, sir," replied Brown. "A regular wipe-out. Copped usproper, the swine. Both tubes knocked out, after 4-inch blown cleanover the side."
"Do you know if we're making much water?" asked the sub anxiously, forthe sluggish way in which the destroyer laboured through the water gaverise 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 ofthanksgiving at his young officer's escape. Gratitude had been ahitherto undeveloped trait in Brown's nature, until that memorableoccasion when Sefton risked his life, if not exactly to save, to be withhim when he found himself in the "ditch".
Groping for the voice-tube from the bridge to the engine-room, for thetelegraph had disappeared, Sefton attempted to call up theengineer-lieutenant, but in vain. This means of communication with theengine-room was completely interrupted.
It seemed an interminable time before the desired petty officer reportedhimself to the bridge. He was a short, lightly-built man, holding therank of gunner's mate, and was a capable and fairly well-educatedspecimen of the lower deck. Yet, had it been daylight, and he had beendumped down just as he was in the streets of a naval town, he would havebeen promptly run in by the police as a vagrant. His features wereliterally hidden in soot mingled with blood, for a shell had hurled himface downwards upon a jagged steel grating, which had harrowed his facein a disfiguring though not dangerous fashion. His scanty uniform wasin ribbons, and smelt strongly of smouldering embers, while a blackscarf tied tightly round his left leg below the knee failed to stop asteady trickle from a shrapnel wound.
Briefly and to the point the petty officer made his report. The_Calder_ had been hulled in more than twenty places, but only threeholes were betwixt wind and water. These had already admitted aconsiderable quantity of water, but temporary repairs were already inhand. The steam-pumps had been damaged, but were capable of being setright, while the use of the hand-pumps enabled the sorry remnant of thedestroyer's crew to keep the leaks well under control.
Nevertheless the _Calder_ no longer rose buoyantly to the waves. Asullen, listless movement told its own tale. Not without a grim,determined struggle would her crew be able successfully to combat thejoint effects of war and rough weather.
On deck most of the fittings had been swept clear. Of the funnel onlyseven feet of jagged stump remained. The rest had vanished. Both mastshad been shot away close to the deck. Of the conning-tower only thebase was left; the rest had been blown away almost with the last shellfired at point-blank range. The _Calder's_ raised fo'c'sle no longerexisted. From two feet close to the water-line at the stem, and risingobliquely to the foot of the bridge, there was nothing left but aninclined 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 whetherit was humanly possible once more to bring the crippled vessel alongsideher parent ship, or whether the _Calder_ would again berth alongside thejetty at far-off Rosyth.
The arrival of half a dozen men enabled Sefton to have the commandingofficer removed below. Anxiously the sub awaited Stirling's verdict.The report was long in coming, but the doctor's hands were full tooverflowing. During that terrible night many a man owed his life, underProvidence, to the administrations of the young medico. Indifferent tohis own peril, although the crippled destroyer was straining badly inthe 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 threeoil-lamps.
"That you, Pills?" enquired Sefton anxiously, as an officer,distinguishable only by his uniform cap stuck at a comical angle on thetop 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 gotit pretty badly. Well, how goes it?"
"Can't get more'n five knots out of the engines," replied theengineer-lieutenant. "Port engine-room reduced to scrap. There wasthree feet of water in the stokeholds, but it's subsiding, thankgoodness! Deuce of a mess when the lights went out. Stumbled over aman and banged my head. It feels like a blister on the tyre of acar--liable to burst at any moment, don't you know. The fellow strafedme for treading on him. Asked him what the deuce he was lying therefor, since he had wind enough to kick up a row. What do you think hewas up to?"
"Can't say," replied Sefton.
"Plugging a shot-hole with his bare back. Had his shoulder wedgedagainst the gash. He'd been like that for twenty minutes--and he'd lostthree 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!" exclaimedBoxspanner 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 howthings are going in my line. A bit stiff our butcher's bill. Theskipper's pretty rough. Took a wicked-looking chunk of high-explosiveshell out of his forehead. I've had the deuce of a job to stop the flowof arterial blood from a gash in his leg. He'll pull through. He's ashard as nails."
"That's good," said Sefton and Boxspanner in one breath.
"Talking of nails," continued Stirling, "I've just had a rumcase--Thompson, the leading signalman. Took fifty pieces of metal fromhis hide. The poor wretch couldn't sit down, although the wounds werelight. Those strafed Huns had crammed one of their shrapnel-shells withgramophone needles. Fact! I'm not joking! I suppose they haven't theheart for any more music, so they made us a present of the needles. Howmuch longer to daybreak?"
"About a quarter to three, Greenwich time," replied Sefton. "I haven'ta watch."
He did not think it necessary to explain that his wristlet watch hadbeen ripped from its strap by a flying fragment of shell. He wasbecoming painfully aware of the circumstance, for every movement of hiswrist gave him a sharp pain.
Boxspanner crossed over to the temporary binnacle--one removed from thewreckage of one of the boats--for the destroyer's standard compass hadgon
e the way of the majority of the deck-fittings, while thegyro-compass, placed in the safest part of the vessel, had beendismounted by the bursting of a shell.
"It's only a quarter past eleven," he announced dolorously, as heconsulted his watch by the feeble light of the binnacle.
"Rot!" ejaculated the doctor. "It was midnight when we went intoaction."
The engineer-lieutenant made a second examination. The glass of thewatch had been completely broken; not even a fragment remained. Thehands had gone, while across the dial were two cracks in such positionsthat they had misled Boxspanner into the belief that they were thehands. Yet, on holding the timepiece to his ear and listeningintently--for like the rest of the _Calder's_ complement he wastemporarily deafened from the result of the violent gun-fire--he foundthat the watch was still going.
"It's getting light already," observed Stirling, pointing to apale-reddish hue in the north-eastern sky. "Well, I must away. Morepatching and mending demand my modest attention."
Slowly the dawn broke, a crimson glow betwixt the dark, scudding massesof clouds betokening a continuance of the hard blow, and plenty of it.With the rising sea the task of the _Calder's_ crew increased tenfold.Anxiously the horizon was swept in the hope of a friendly vessel beingsighted, but the sky-line was unbroken. The tide of battle, if theaction were still being maintained, had rolled away beyond sight andhearing of the little band of heroes who so worthily maintained theprestige of the White Ensign.