With her stock of torpedoes replenished and certain defects made good,
H.M.T.B.D. _Calder_ sheered off from her parent ship, and, increasing
speed to 21 knots, shaped a course to rejoin the rest of the flotilla.
Lieutenant-Commander Richard Crosthwaite was in high spirits. He
thought that he had succeeded in bluffing the commodore to give his
permission to rejoin the rest of the fleet instead of being ordered back
to the Firth of Forth. As a matter of fact, his senior officer,
realizing that a "stout heart goes a long way", had purposely refrained
from asking a lot of awkward questions concerning the _Calder's_
injuries. In the forthcoming and projected night attack every destroyer
available would be needed to put the fear of the British navy into the
minds of the Huns and 21-inch torpedoes into the vitals of their
battleships.
The spirit of the _Calder's_ skipper was shared by every member of the
crew. Even the wounded showed reluctance to be transferred to the
parent ship; those whose injuries did not prevent them from getting
about sturdily asserting that they might be of use. Those obliged to
take to their hammocks were emphatic in impressing upon their more
fortunate comrades the request "to get their own back".
The sun was low in the north-western sky when the _Calder's_ look-out
men sighted two vessels slowly making their way in the direction of
home. One, evidently badly damaged, was in tow of the other.
It was part of the destroyer's duty to investigate, since it might be
possible that the vessels were hostile craft endeavouring by making a
wide detour to reach their base.
A wireless message, in code, was sent from the _Calder_, requesting the
two vessels to disclose their identity. The reply left Crosthwaite no
longer in doubt. The towing ship was the _Engadine_, while the crippled
craft wallowing in her wake was the heroic _Warrior_.
It was Crosthwaite's opportunity to regain the services of his
sub-lieutenant if the latter had been lucky enough to escape from the
terrible gruelling to which the British cruiser had been subjected.
Closing to within a cable's length of the _Warrior_ he signalled:
"Request permission to take off my sub-lieutenant."
To which the _Warrior_ replied:
"Permission granted, provided no needless risk to His Majesty's ships."
Crosthwaite smiled grimly. The idea of further damage being done to the
_Warrior_ seemed out of the question, while he considered he was quite
capable of bringing the _Calder_ alongside without denting a single
plate.
Ordering "easy ahead", Crosthwaite brought the _Calder_ close alongside
the _Warrior's_ port quarter. Although the sea was now running high,
and the waves were breaking over the latter's almost submerged
quarter-deck, it was comparatively calm under her lee.
"There's your glorified Thames penny steamer alongside, old man,"
remarked Sefton's chum as the _Calder_ was made fast fore and aft, her
deck being little more than a couple of feet below that of the
cruiser--so low had the latter settled aft. "No, don't trouble to
return my coat. It's positively not respectable for the quarter-deck.
Well, so long! I'll run across you again before this business is over, I
guess."
Scrambling over the debris, from which smoke was still issuing in faint
bluish wisps, Sefton gained the armoured cruiser's side. Poising
himself for an instant he leapt on the _Calder's_ deck, followed by Able
Seaman Brown.
[Illustration: "POISING HIMSELF FOR AN INSTANT, SEFTON LEAPT ON THE
'CALDER'S' DECK"]
"Can I be of any assistance, sir?" enquired Crosthwaite from the bridge
of the destroyer.
The commanding officer of the _Warrior_ returned the salute and shook
his head. He was loath to detain even one destroyer from the fighting
that yet remained to be done.
Amid the cheers of both crews the _Calder_ sheered off, and, porting
helm, resumed her course, while the _Warrior_, in tow of the _Engadine_,
was confronted with the approach of night and a steadily-increasing
rough sea.
The badly-damaged _Warrior_ never reached port. After being towed for
twelve hours, her position became so serious that the sea-plane carrier
hove alongside and removed her crew.
Giving three cheers for the old ship, as the _Engadine_, abandoning her
tow, increased the distance between her and the _Warrior_, the gallant
crew watched the battered hulk rolling sullenly in the angry sea until
she was lost sight of in the distance.
Having formally reported himself, Sefton went below to make up arrears
of sleep. Boxspanner and the doctor were in the ward-room, both engaged
in animated conversation, not upon the subject of the action, but on the
merits and demerits of paraffin as a substitute for petrol for a
motor-bicycle.
With disjointed fragments of conversation ringing in his ears, and
"carburation", "sooty deposit in the sparking plug", and "engine-knock"
figuring largely, Sefton fell into a fitful slumber, dreaming vividly of
the stirring incidents of the past few hours, until he was aroused by
the reversal of the destroyer's engines, the lightly-built hull
quivering under the strain.
Instinctively he glanced at the clock. He had been asleep only ten
minutes--it seemed more like ten hours by the length of his excited
mental visions.
Leaping from his bunk, Sefton scrambled into his clothes and hurried on
deck. It was still twilight. The wind was moaning through the aerials;
splashes of spray slapped the destroyer's black sides as she lost way
and fell off broadside on to the waves.
Fifty yards to leeward was a large British sea-plane. She was listing
at a dangerous angle, her starboard-float being waterlogged, and showing
only above the surface as the fabric heeled in the trough of the sea.
Her planes were ripped in twenty places, while the fuselage showed signs
of having been hit several times. The tip of one blade of the propeller
had been cut off as cleanly as if by a knife. All around her the water
was iridescent with oil that had leaked from her lubricating-tanks.
Waist-deep in water, and sitting athwart the undamaged float, was the
pilot--a young sub-lieutenant, whose face was blanched with the cold.
He had voluntarily adopted his position in order to impart increased
stability to the damaged sea-plane.
Lying on the floor of the fuselage, with his head just visible above the
coamings, was the observer. He had discarded his flying-helmet, while
round his head was bound a blood-stained scarf. Evidently his wound was
of a serious nature, for he evinced no interest in the approach of the
_Calder_.
As the destroyer drifted down upon the crippled sea-plane a dozen ready
hands gripped the top of one of the wings, and a couple of seamen
swarmed along the frail fabric to the chassis.
The rescue of the pilot was a comparatively easy matter, but it took all
the skill of the bluejackets to extricate the wounded observer. It was
not until others of the crew came to the aid of their comrades, the men
in their zeal almost completing the submergence of the still floating
wreckage, that the unconscious officer was brought on board.
There was no time to waste in salvage operations. At an order from the
lieutenant-commander a seaman, armed with an axe, made his way to the
undamaged float. A few vigorous blows completed the work of
destruction. Held by the tip of one of the wings until the man regained
the destroyer, the sea-plane was allowed to sink.
"Rough luck to chuck away an engine like that," remarked a voice
regretfully.
Sefton turned his head and saw that the speaker was Engineer-Lieutenant
Boxspanner, and for once at least Dr. Stirling agreed with him.
The rescue of the sea-plane's crew threw additional work upon the
already harassed surgeon, for the observer was showing signs of
collapse, while upon examination it was found that the pilot had been
hit in the forehead by a shrapnel bullet.
Pulling himself together, the observer managed to impart important
information before he fainted through sheer exhaustion. The sea-plane
had sighted the main German fleet fifty miles to the nor'-nor'-east.
The intelligence was highly desirable. It settled without doubt the
all-important question as to the enemy's whereabouts, and definitely
proved that Jellicoe's ships were between the Huns and their North Sea
bases. If steps could be taken to intercept the German vessels' retreat
through the Cattegat, it seemed as if they were doomed to annihilation
at the hands of the British.
Quickly the news was wirelessed from the _Calder_ to the _Iron Duke_.
Unless anything unforeseen occurred, it seemed pretty certain that
Admiral Jellicoe would be able to turn the initial advantage into an
overwhelming defeat for the enemy.
The two airmen had rendered good service against considerable odds.
They had ascended three hours previously, and, flying low in order to be
able to see through the haze, had eventually sighted the badly-damaged
German squadron under Rear-Admiral von Scheer, which had contrived to
slip away while Admiral Hipper was endeavouring to delay the advance of
Jellicoe's main fleet.
Owing to the low degree of visibility, the seaplane came within range of
the hostile quick-firers almost before her pilot was aware of the
unpleasant fact. Greeted by a hot fire, almost the first shell of which
carried away the wireless, the sea-plane ascended, trusting to be hidden
in the clouds until she could volplane from another direction and renew
her reconnaissance of the hostile fleet.
Unfortunately, it was a case of "out of the saucepan into the fire", for
on emerging above the low-lying bank of clouds the sea-plane found
herself almost underneath a Zeppelin, several of which accompanied the
German fleet, although their sphere of usefulness was considerably
curtailed by reason of the climatic conditions. Although the haze
prevented the British from inflicting greater damage upon their
opponents, it is fairly safe to assert that had the sky been clear the
Zeppelins would have given the German fleet timely warning, and an
action would never have ensued.
Nothing daunted, the British sea-plane opened fire upon her gigantic
antagonist; but the odds were against her. The Zeppelins, floating
motionless in the air and in perfect silence, had long before heard the
noisy approach of the mechanical hornet, and her appearance was greeted
with a concentrated fire of half a dozen machine guns, accompanied by a
few choice titbits in the shape of bombs.
The latter, without exception, missed their objective, but the hail of
bullets ripped the sea-plane through and through and dangerously wounded
her observer. In spite of the riddled state of the planes the pilot
kept his craft well under control, but was forced to descend, not before
the Zeppelin was showing signs of having been much damaged by the
sea-plane's automatic gun. The last the airmen saw of her was that she
was making off at full speed in an easterly direction, her stern portion
dipping ominously in spite of the quantity of ballast hurled overboard
by her crew.
The British air-craft's long volplane terminated on the surface of the
sea miles from the place where she had "spotted" the hostile ships.
Before long the pilot made the disconcerting discovery that one of the
floats was leaking. Having bandaged his unfortunate comrade's wound, he
slipped over the side of the fuselage on to the damaged float. Failing
to locate and stop the leak, he took up his position on the sound float,
in the hope that his weight would preserve the sea-plane's stability.
In this position he remained for two hours, until, numbed by the cold,
he was on the point of abandoning hope when the _Calder_ hove in sight.
The sun had set when the _Calder_ rejoined the flotilla. The enemy was
entirely out of sight, but there was every possibility of the German
torpedo-boats making a night attack upon the long line of battleships.
Every precaution was taken against such a step. The battleships and
battle-cruisers were encircled by a line of light cruisers, while beyond
them, and mostly between the British fleet and the reported position of
the German ships, was a numerous gathering of destroyers for the dual
part of protecting the larger ships and also, when opportunity occurred,
of making a dash against the Huns.
"Mark my words, Sefton," said Lieutenant-Commander Crosthwaite when the
_Calder_, having transferred the two airmen, had taken up her allotted
station, "to-night's the night. We'll have the time of our lives."