Leaving Sub-lieutenant Jack Sefton on his elevated perch in the
fire-control station, it will be necessary to follow the fortunes of the
vessel from which he had in theory deserted--the destroyer _Calder_.
Like the rest of the flotillas, the _Calder_ had cleared for action
shortly after noon. Hers was a far different part from that of the
_Warrior_. There was practically no protection for her guns' crew and
for the men serving the torpedo-tubes. Her conning-tower afforded
shelter only from slivers of steel and the bursting shrapnel; it was
vulnerable to large projectiles. Relying solely on her speed and
quickness of helm, the destroyer's mission was to dart in towards the
enemy lines and get in as many hits with her torpedoes as possible.
Then, if fortunate enough to escape a direct hit from the German guns,
she would have to scurry back to the shelter of the battle-cruisers, and
await another opportunity to make a further torpedo attack upon the
enemy.
At 3.30 p.m. Beatty's command increased speed to 25 knots, the Second
Battle-cruiser Squadron forming astern of the First, while a far-flung
line of destroyers took up station ahead. The course was now E.S.E.,
slightly converging upon the enemy, whose ships, looming with varying
degrees of visibility through the haze, were now at a distance of a
little more than ten sea miles.
Half that distance away the Fifth Battle Squadron, including the
gigantic _Warspite_, was bearing N.N.W., with the object of supporting
the battle-cruisers when occasion arose.
It was a proud moment for the gallant Beatty when he realized that now
he was between the enemy battle-cruisers and their North Sea bases;
while there was an ever-increasing possibility that Jellicoe's main
fleet would speedily be in a position to cut off the German battleships
from their retreat through the Skager-Rack to Kiel. Yet at the same
time the odds against Beatty were bordering upon the enormous. His duty
was to engage, entice, and hold the enemy in a northerly direction
without being overwhelmed by superior force. Even at the risk of losing
some of his best ships he had to engage the attention of the enemy, lure
them into the belief that at last the British battle-cruisers had run
into a trap, and hammer away until the Commander-in-Chief arrived upon
the scene with a vastly superior fleet.
At a quarter to five the opposing forces opened fire simultaneously at a
range of 20,000 yards. The _Calder_ was keeping station broad on the
beam of the _Queen Mary_, and warding off threatened submarine attacks,
for the time was not yet ripe for the destroyers to hurl themselves
against the battered hostile ships.
"By Jove, this is going to be 'some' scrap," muttered Crosthwaite, as a
regular tornado of heavy shells "straddled" the leading battle-cruisers.
At first the German gunnery was excellent, several direct hits being
received by the British battle-cruisers, but in a few moments the
steady, rapid, methodical salvoes from the British 13.5's began to make
themselves felt. Between the patches of haze, rent by the lurid flashes
of the guns, could be descried the greenish-grey outlines of the hostile
vessels fast being reduced to scrap-iron. For the time being all seemed
well with the British battle-cruisers, whose volume of fire was still
being delivered with that terrible regularity which the Huns have good
cause to dread.
Suddenly the huge _Indefatigible_ was destroyed; a gallant
battle-cruiser of nearly 19,000 tons had paid the price of Admiralty.
In previous naval battles such an appalling catastrophe as the blowing
up of a mighty ship has caused the two fleets spontaneously to cease
fire for a period of some minutes; but in the Jutland fight, regardless
of the fate of the battle-cruiser, the rest of the squadron redoubled
their efforts. Not for one second did the hellish din cease, as the
death-dealing salvoes hurtled into the opposing ships. To quote the
words of one on board the _Tiger_, it was "a glorified Donnybrook
Fair--whenever you see a head, crack it!"
Twenty minutes later Crosthwaite saw the _Queen Mary_ sunk. So quickly
did she disappear that the _Tiger_, following astern, passed through the
smoke that marked the grave of the devoted ship.
Beyond, the _Invincible_, already badly hit, sank, taking with her 750
gallant officers and men.
By this time the Fifth Battle Squadron, which had been attached to
Beatty's command, came into action, opening fire at 20,000 yards, and
although the pressure of the enemy's predominance in numbers was
considerably relaxed, the danger was by no means over. For, in the now
thicker haze, the German battle fleet had arrived upon the scene, and
Beatty was literally betwixt two fires. Yet he handled his vessels with
admirable strategical and tactical skill, being convinced, as was every
man under him, that in spite of losses he was succeeding in holding the
Huns.
Majestically the four great battleships, _Warspite_, _Valiant_,
_Barham_, and _Malaya_, bore into the melee, each of their 15-inch guns
firing with terrible effect. The head of the German column seemed to be
literally crumpled and crushed. A large three-funnelled battleship,
possibly the _Thuringien_, received terrific punishment. Masts,
funnels, turrets, were blown away piecemeal, until, a mass of smoke and
flames, she hauled off line and was quickly screened by the smoke from
some of the German destroyers. Whether she sank--and it seemed as if
she could not do otherwise--Crosthwaite was unable to determine. Other
German vessels, badly damaged, were swung out of position, some of them
on fire and showing a tremendous list.
At a quarter to five both fleets altered course several points, the
rival lines turning outwards and completely reversing their previous
direction. It was at this juncture that the British destroyers were
ordered to take advantage of the confusion in which the Huns had been
thrown and to launch a torpedo attack upon the battered enemy ships.
"Now for it," thought Crosthwaite, the glint of battle in his eyes. It
was his chance--a dash in broad daylight against the quick-firers of the
German vessels. Never before in the history of naval warfare had
destroyers been ordered to attack battleships save at night. Everything
depended upon skill in handling, speed, and the turmoil into which the
enemy had been thrown by the terrific gun-fire of the battleships of the
_Queen Elizabeth_ class.
In four columns line ahead the destroyer flotillas raced off at top
speed. Drawing clear of the cruisers, they turned 8 points to
starboard, a course that would bring them in contact with the enemy
line. Thick clouds of fire-tinged smoke belched from their funnels--not
due to bad stoking but to the deliberate manipulation of the
oil-fuel-fed furnaces, since smoke alone offered any concealment during
the daylight attack.
With a couple of quartermasters, a signalman, and a messenger to attend
to the voice-tubes, Crosthwaite took up his station within the
conning-tower. All his mental powers were at work, and yet he remained
perfectly cool and collected. Hardly a detail that came under his notice
of that onward rush escaped his recollection.
For the first few miles the destroyers kept perfect station. Had they
been on peace manoeuvres their relative distances could not have been
better maintained. Through the eddying, ash-laden smoke, Crosthwaite
strained his bloodshot eyes upon the destroyer next ahead, ready at the
first sign to reduce speed or swerve should the little craft be hit or
fall out of line. The possibility of the _Calder_ being "done in" never
occurred to him, once the order had been given to attack. It was always
one of her consorts that might meet with ill-luck, but Crosthwaite's
command--no, never.
Shells were beginning to ricochet from the water all around the devoted
destroyers; yet, seemingly bearing a charmed life, they held grimly on
their way.
More than once the sharp crash of a projectile exploding astern caused
the lieutenant-commander to turn his head. Already rents were visible
in the _Calder's_ funnels, through which the smoke poured in long
trailing wisps. By the two tubes the torpedo-men stood rigidly at
attention. Their two deadly weapons had been "launched home" and the
tubes trained ten degrees for'ard of the beam. With his hand upon the
firing-trigger the torpedo coxswain of each end waited, as impassive as
if carved in marble, ready to speed the missile on its way, and
apparently indifferent to the fact that a sliver of steel striking the
deadly warhead would involve the destroyer and her entire crew in
absolute and instantaneous destruction.
Suddenly the leading destroyer ported helm, turning so swiftly and
listing so excessively that, for the moment, Crosthwaite thought that
she had received a mortal blow. Her alert commander had noticed a
suspicious movement amongst the irregular line of battered German
war-ships, now almost within effective torpedo range.
Out from behind the screen of battleships tore a German light cruiser
and nearly a score of their ocean-going torpedo-boats. Whether it was
with the intention of intercepting the British destroyers, or whether
about to launch a torpedo attack upon Beatty's battle-cruisers,
Crosthwaite knew not. All he did know was that the rival flotillas were
closing at an aggregate rate of more than a mile a minute, and that the
next few seconds would find the torpedo-craft mixed up in a most unholy
scrap.
All attempts at formation were now cast to the winds. Interlining,
dodging across each other's bows, the engaging vessels raced madly to
and fro, their quick-firers barking as rapidly as the gunners could
thrust home the cartridges and clang the breech-blocks. So intricate
was the manoeuvring that Crosthwaite saw two German torpedo-boats
collide, and, while in that position, they were raked by a dozen shells
from the _Turbulent_.
Almost the next instant he was aware that a similar peril threatened the
_Calder_, for a British destroyer, hit in her engine-room, circled
erratically to starboard across her bows.
Gripping the engine-room telegraph-indicator levers, Crosthwaite rammed
them to full speed astern. It was his only chance, for he could not
pass either across the bows or astern of the crippled destroyer without
certain risk of colliding with others of the flotilla. Then he
waited--perhaps five seconds--in breathless suspense. Thank God, the
_Calder_ began to lose way! It now remained to be seen whether she
would gather sternway before her sharp stem crashed into the other
destroyer amidships.
Even as he gripped the levers Crosthwaite saw the crew of the crippled
craft's after 4-inch gun slew the weapon round to have a smack at the
German vessel that had hit her so badly. The gun-layer, pressing his
shoulder to the recoil-pad, bent over the sights. The next instant a
hostile shell landed fairly upon the 4-inch quick-firer, bursting with
an ear-splitting detonation.
When the smoke had drifted away, the gun was no longer visible, only a
few twisted pieces of metal marking the spot where the mounting had
stood. Of the men serving the quick-firer only one remained--the
gun-layer. By the vagaries of explosion he was practically unhurt,
except for being partially stunned by the terrible detonation. For some
minutes he stood stock-still, as if unable to realize that the gun and
his comrades had disappeared; then, making a sudden bound, he leapt into
the sea. Evidently under the impression that the vessel was on the
point of foundering, he had decided to swim for it.
Well it was for him that the _Calder_ was now almost motionless,
although her propellers were going hard astern. Caught by the backwash
of the revolving screws, he was swept past the side like a cork in a
mountain torrent, until one of the men on the _Calder's_ fore-bridge
threw him a rope.
As coolly as if mustering for divisions, the rescued gun-layer made his
way aft, and, saluting the gunner, requested to be allowed to assist in
serving the _Calder's_ after 4-inch.
Out from behind a dense cloud of smoke leapt a German torpedo-boat. Her
commander had spotted the _Calder_ practically without steerage-way, and
had made up his mind to ram, since his own craft was badly hit and could
not keep afloat much longer.
Quickly Crosthwaite shouted an order. A torpedo leapt from the
_Calder's_ deck and disappeared with a splash beneath the surface.
Anxiously the lieutenant-commander watched the ever-diverging lines that
marked the track of the locomotive weapon. The target was a difficult
one, although the range was but 200 yards.
The German skipper saw the approaching danger and attempted to port
helm. Crippled in the steam steering-gear, the Hun torpedo-boat was
slow in answering. A column of water leapt 200 feet in the air; by the
time it subsided the hostile craft was no longer in existence, save as a
shattered and torn hull plunging through nineteen fathoms of water to
her ocean bed.
By this time the German torpedo-craft had had about enough of it. At
least two of them had been sunk by German gun-fire, while another pair,
their upper works reduced to a mass of tangled scrap-iron, had mistaken
each other for foes, with the result that a German destroyer had been
sent to the bottom by a torpedo from her consort.
Turning back, the battered remnants of the Hun flotilla fled for the
shelter of their battle-cruisers. The path was now clear for the
furtherance of the British destroyers' attack upon the larger vessels of
the hostile fleet; but the difficulties had increased tenfold owing to
the injury of some of the boats, which were compelled to slacken speed
and drop astern.
Yet undaunted, the black-hulled hornets reformed into some semblance of
order, and, under a galling fire, hurled themselves upon the formidable
array of German battle-cruisers.