Just before midnight two columns of destroyers in line ahead slipped
away in the darkness, the course being N. 42 deg. E. Without showing so
much as a glimmer of light, with their funnels screened with "spark
arresters" to prevent the exit of glowing embers from the furnaces, the
long, lean craft headed in the supposed direction of the enemy fleet.
From the elevated fore-bridge Sefton could scarce distinguish betwixt
the _Calder's_ bows and the dark, heavy waves. The only guide to enable
the destroyer to keep station was the phosphorescent swirl at the stern
of the vessel next ahead, as her triple propellers churned the water.
On deck the men were at the battle-stations, standing motionless and
silent. Their faces had been blackened with burnt cork to render them
as inconspicuous as possible should the beam of a hostile search-light
swing itself athwart their vessel.
Although the high-raised fo'c'sle of the _Calder_ was comparatively dry,
showers of spray cast aside by the flaring bows were caught by the
strong wind and dashed over the bridge until it was impossible to make
use of night-glasses owing to the beads of moisture on the lenses.
Beyond a curt, clearly-enunciated order to the quartermaster, neither of
the two officers spoke a word, Crosthwaite gripping the guard-rail and
peering ahead, while Sefton kept his attention upon the tell-tale
greyish smudge that marked the position of the destroyer ahead.
The result of years of training at night manoeuvres was bearing fruit.
Iron-nerved men were at the helm of each boat--men who had long since
got beyond the "jumpy" stage, when strange freaks of imagination conjure
up visions of objects that do not exist. A false alarm and a rapid fire
from the 4-inch guns would be fatal to the enterprise, the success of
which depended entirely upon getting well within torpedo-range without
being spotted by the alert foe.
A feeble light, screened in all directions save that towards the vessels
astern, blinked rapidly from the leading destroyer. It was the signal
for the flotilla to form in line abeam.
"Starboard ten!" ordered Crosthwaite.
"Starboard ten, sir!" was the helmsman's reply, while the
lieutenant-commander telegraphed for speed to be increased to 22 knots
in order to bring the _Calder_ even with the leader.
Had it been daylight the manoeuvre would have been executed with the
precision of a machine; being night it was impossible to follow the
movements of the whole flotilla, but carried out the orders were, each
destroyer keeping station with the one nearest on her starboard beam.
Suddenly the darkness was penetrated by the dazzling beam of a
search-light from a ship at a distance of two miles on the _Calder's_
port bow. For a moment it hung irresolute, and then swung round in the
direction of the on-coming destroyers.
A huge black mass intercepted the rays, its outlines silhouetted against
the silvery glare. The mass was a German light cruiser, evidently
detached for scouting purposes and returning with screened lights
towards the main fleet.
Instantly a furious cannonade was opened upon the luckless light cruiser
from half a dozen of her consorts. For a couple of minutes the firing
continued, until, with a tremendous flash and a deafening roar, her
magazine exploded.
"The Huns will never admit their mistake," thought Sefton. "They'll
claim to have destroyed another of our ships."
Then the sub's whole attention was chained to the work now on hand.
Barely had the last of the flying debris from the German light cruiser
struck the water when at full speed the British destroyer flotilla
hurled itself upon the foe.
Played upon by fifty search-lights, the target for a hundred guns, large
and small, the destroyers held on with one set purpose, their
torpedo-men discharging the 21-inch missiles with rapidity and cool
determination.
Above the crash of the ordnance could be heard the deeper boom of the
torpedoes as they exploded against the ships' bottoms at a depth of
fifteen or twenty feet below the surface.
Slick in between two large battleships the _Calder_ rushed, letting
loose a pair of torpedoes at each of the hostile ships. One torpedo was
observed to explode close to the stern of the battleship to starboard,
the stricken vessel leaving the line with a decided list and enveloped
in smoke.
"Light cruisers, by Jove!" muttered Sefton, as the _Calder_, on nearing
the end of the enemy line, was confronted by three vessels of the
"Wiesbaden" class.
A heavy fire greeted the approaching destroyer, but almost without
exception the shells went wide of their mark. Then, gathering speed,
one of the German light cruisers ported helm and attempted to ram her
lightly-built opponent.
Making no effort to avoid the danger, the _Calder_ held on, until
Sefton, turning to see what his commanding officer was doing, found
Crosthwaite sitting on the bridge with his back against the pedestal of
the semaphore, and his hands clasping his right leg just above the knee,
and blood oozing from a gash in his forehead.
The sub was the only officer on the bridge capable of taking command.
"Hard-a-starboard!" he shouted, in order to make himself heard above the
din.
Ever quick on her helm, the destroyer spun round almost on her heel.
The German's stem missed her by a couple of feet, while, hurled bodily
sideways by the mass of water from the former's bow wave, the _Calder_
slid past with her side-plating almost touching that of her enemy.
Simultaneously the Hun let fly a broadside. The destroyer reeled under
the shock, but once again she was in luck, for none of the hostile guns
could be sufficiently depressed to score a vital hit. The next instant
the cruiser was lost to sight in the darkness, saluted by a number of
rounds from the destroyer's after 4-inch gun.
Temporarily stunned by the detonations of the German cruiser's guns--for
he was within twenty feet of the muzzles of several of the
weapons--Sefton leaned against the conning-tower. The metal was
unpleasantly hot, for a light shell had burst against it hardly a minute
before. Beyond denting the steel armour and blowing the signal-locker
over the side, the missile had done no further damage.
Coughing the acrid fumes from his lungs and clearing his eyes of
involuntary tears, for the air was thick with irritating dust, Sefton
began to take a renewed interest in his surroundings.
The _Calder_ had penetrated the hostile line without sustaining serious
damage. She had now to return.
The sub grasped one of the voice-tubes. The flexible pipe came away in
his hand, the whole system having been cut through with a fragment of
shell.
"We've had it pretty hot!" he soliloquized. "Wonder we're still afloat.
Well, now for it once more."
He leant over the after side of the bridge. A dark figure was moving
for'ard ten feet beneath him.
"Pass the word to the L.T.O.," ordered the sub, "to report the number of
torpedoes remaining."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied the man, and, retracing his steps, he hurried
aft to where the leading torpedo-man was standing at the tubes.
Back came the messenger, lurching as he loomed through the darkness.
"The man hasn't found his sea-legs yet," thought Sefton; then aloud he
asked: "Well?"
"None left, sir," replied the seaman, and, having delivered his message,
he pitched upon his face.
Sefton had to let him lie there. The sub could not leave the bridge.
Even Crosthwaite had to be left alone until the destroyer was out of
action.
It would have been a futile task to attempt to take the _Calder_ back
between the enemy lines. With no other offensive weapons than her
comparatively light 4-inch quick-firers, she would be unable to do any
serious damage to the huge armoured ships, while at the same time she
would be exposed to an overwhelming fire as she passed abeam of the
German battleships and light cruisers.
So into the darkness, beyond the glare of the search-lights, Sefton took
the destroyer, with the intention of making a wide sweep and rejoining
the British fleet. Of how the _Calder's_ consorts were faring he knew
nothing, except that the action was being briskly maintained.
Occasionally the foggy night would be rent by a vivid red glare that
outclassed the almost continuous flashes of the guns, which illuminated
the low-lying clouds like incessant summer lightning. The roar of the
ordnance was simply indescribable. It seemed impossible that a man
could go through it without having his ear-drums burst by the terrific
air-beats of the appalling detonations.
A dark shape loomed through the darkness almost athwart the _Calder's_
track. Only a quick movement of the helm avoided collision with the
floating object, which, as the _Calder_ swept by, revealed itself as a
large destroyer.
On deck she was little better than a wreck. Bridge, conning-tower,
funnels, masts, and boats had vanished utterly. Her guns, wrenched from
their mountings, pointed upwards at grotesque angles through their
shattered shields. Where the torpedo-tubes had been was a jagged hole
still spanned by one arc of the gun-metal racer. This much was visible
in the reflected glare of the distant search-lights as the _Calder_
swept by with her guns trained abeam should the vessel still be capable
of offence.
A score of men, mostly engine-room ratings, were gathered amidships on
the shattered deck of the crippled vessel. They had desisted from the
work on which they were engaged, and were gazing mutely at the destroyer
that might be instrumental in giving them the _coup de grace_.
"What ship is that?" roared Sefton through a megaphone, the intervening
distance being less than twenty yards.
"His Majesty's destroyer _Yealm_," was the reply, flung proudly through
the darkness.
Thrusting both levers of the engine-room telegraph to "Full Speed
Astern" and afterwards to "Stop", the sub brought the _Calder_ to a
standstill within easy hailing distance of her disabled consort. Here
was a case in which assistance could be rendered without detriment to
the interests of the Service. The _Calder_, until she could replenish
her store of torpedoes, was practically useless as a fighting unit.
With her engines undamaged she could tow the _Yealm_ into comparative
safety, provided she was not intercepted by a straggling hostile ship.
"Stand by to receive a hawser!" continued Sefton. "We'll give you a
pluck out of this."
"No; thanks all the same, sir," shouted a deep voice. "We're sound
below the water-line, and we can get under way again in a few minutes.
We'll take our chances of getting out of it. We gave the swine an
almighty punching before they swept our decks. Carry on, sir, and give
them another half a dozen for us."
It was the _Yealm's_ torpedo gunner who spoke, the only surviving
executive officer of the gallant destroyer.
"Can you spare us any torpedoes?" shouted Sefton, an inspiration
flashing across his mind.
"Aye, aye, sir," was the reply. "Four."
"Very good; we'll come alongside," rejoined the sub, who thereupon
ordered two wire "springs" to be made ready, so as to establish
communication between the two destroyers.
"Well done, Sefton!" exclaimed his lieutenant-commander.
The sub turned and found that Crosthwaite had regained his feet, and was
standing beside him upon the partly demolished bridge.
"You're----", began Sefton, but the lieutenant-commander shut him up.
"Nothing," he replied laconically. "You might fix me up. Not a word to
Stirling, mind. If I keep out of his way, he's not to know. But, by
Jove, you've been knocked about a bit."
The information, although correct, came as a surprise to Sefton. For
the first time he noticed that the coat-sleeve of his left arm was cut
away, the remnant hanging by a few threads, while his left wrist was
encumbered by a bandage. He must have tied the handkerchief himself,
but the action had been purely automatic. Hitherto he had had no
knowledge that he had been hit by a splinter, and was quite unaware that
he had acted as his own bandager.
"Carry on," continued Crosthwaite. "I'll stand easy for a while. I'll
feel all right in a few minutes."
He vanished behind the wreckage of the conning tower, leaving Sefton to
survey the scene. It was now light enough to discern the nature of the
damage caused by the ordeal through which the _Calder_ had passed, for
the flashes of the distant guns, added to the reflected rays of the
search-lights, made it possible to see with fair distinctness.
Of the _Calder's_ funnels only one remained standing. The others,
either swept clean away or lying athwart the deck, left jagged cavities,
through which the smoke was pouring from the oil-fed furnaces.
The starboard side of the bridge had vanished, with it the domed top of
the conning-tower, while the armoured sheets upon the latter, ripped
like cardboard, had been torn open, revealing the interior--a jumble of
twisted voice-tubes and shattered indicators. The same shell that had
wrought havoc with the conning-tower had swept the for'ard 4-inch
completely from its mountings, taking its crew with it.
Meanwhile a dozen men had boarded the _Yealm_. Her scanty survivors were
too done up to tackle the task of heaving out the torpedoes, for,
included in the work of destruction, her derricks had shared the fate of
the rest of the top-hamper. Others of the _Calder's_ crew were
attending to the injuries of their comrades, for, in addition to eight
men killed outright, six were mortally wounded, and a dozen more had
sustained injuries that would incapacitate them for further service.
The plucky messenger who had brought Sefton's reply from the L.T.O. had
been carried below. In the heat of the fight he had received a splinter
of shell in his chest, the impact fracturing one of the breast-bones.
Yet, undaunted, he continued to serve his gun until the destroyer had
emerged from the hostile fire. Even then he refused to present himself
before the doctor, and was making his way to the fo'c'sle like a wounded
animal, when Sefton, unaware of his injuries, had ordered him to take a
message aft. This he did, in spite of the increasing pain and
faintness, and having delivered the reply he had been forced to
collapse.
At length the four gleaming cylinders were transferred from the _Yealm_
to the _Calder's_ decks. Once more the destroyer, although battered
sufficiently to justify her retiring from the fight, was made capable of
dealing deadly blows at her gigantic antagonists.
The "springs" were cast off, and, with the engines running at full speed
ahead, the _Calder_ again hurled herself into the fray.