With the pumps ejecting copious streams of water the damaged _Calder_
held gamely on her way, daylight adding to the horrors of the aftermath
of battle. The hull echoed to the clanging of the artificers' hammers
and the dull thud of the caulkers' mallets as the undaunted and tireless
men proceeded with the work of stopping leaks. On deck steps were being
taken to clear away the debris, and to set up a pair of temporary
funnels of sufficient height to carry the smoke clear of the side. The
sole remaining gun was overhauled and again made fit for action in case
of necessity. Although not anxious to fall in with a U boat or a stray
Zeppelin, the _Calder's_ crew were determined to take every precaution
to keep the tattered ensign still flying from the temporary staff set up
aft.
For another hour the destroyer crawled on her long journey towards the
cliff-bound shores of Britain. Then Sefton issued an order which was
repeated aft and down below. The engines were stopped, the remnants of
the crew mustered aft, and the battle-scarred pieces of bunting lowered
to half-mast.
The _Calder's_ crew were about to pay their last homage to those of
their comrades who had gallantly laid down their lives for king and
country.
Fifteen hammock-enshrouded forms lay motionless at the after end of the
deck. Bare-headed their messmates stood in silence as Sefton, with a
peculiar catch in his usually firm voice, read the prayer appointed for
the burial of those at sea. Then into the foam-flecked waves, the
bodies of those conquerors even in death were consigned, to find an
undisturbed resting-place fathoms deep on the bed of the North Sea.
It was no time for melancholy. At the word "Dismiss" the men trooped
for'ard, for there was plenty of work to do, and, in the navy
especially, hard but necessary work is rightly considered one of the
best antidotes for grief.
Snatching at the opportunity to visit his chief, Sefton hurried below to
the shattered ward-room, where Crosthwaite lay on a mattress that smelt
abominably of cordite and the lingering odours of poison-gas. The
lieutenant-commander had by this time recovered consciousness, and
greeted Sefton with a bad attempt at a smile.
"We've kept our end up," he said feebly. "Think you'll get the old ship
back to port?"
"I trust so," said the sub guardedly. "I'll do my level best."
"I know," assented Crosthwaite. "Still, you've a stiff job. I'll be on
the bridge in another half an hour and give you a spell."
Sefton said nothing. He realized that many hours--nay, days--would pass
before his chief would again assume command. Crosthwaite was quick to
notice his subordinate's silence.
"Suppose I've had it pretty badly," he admitted reluctantly. "It was a
rotten business getting knocked out at the critical time."
"Nothing much happened after that," explained Sefton. "We were out of
it within twenty seconds from the time you were hit."
"Man alive!" protested Crosthwaite. "You're altogether wrong. For
nearly ten minutes I was lying there quite conscious and watching you.
You're a plucky fellow, old man."
Before Sefton could reply he was called away. A Zeppelin had been
sighted, flying in the direction of the badly mauled _Calder_.
Quickly the remaining gun was manned. Although not intended for aerial
work, modification to the original mounting permitted it to be trained
within ten degrees of the perpendicular, supplementary sights having
been fitted to enable it to be laid while at extreme elevation.
The air-ship was still four miles off, and flying at an altitude of
about 2000 feet. Apparently undamaged, it was proceeding at a rapid
pace against the wind.
Deprived of the advantage of speed and manoeuvring powers, the destroyer
would fall an easy prey to the Zeppelin's bombs unless the _Calder_
could make good use of her solitary 4-inch quick-firer. The weapon was
loaded and trained abeam, the gun's crew being ordered to take cover,
and thus give the destroyer the appearance of being incapable of
defence.
Sefton made no attempt to alter helm. He had made up his mind to wait
until the huge target came within easy range. He knew that the _Calder_
was under observation, and that the Germans were trying to ascertain the
nature of the destroyer's injuries. Should they come to the conclusion
that the slowly-moving British craft was powerless of doing damage they
would not be likely to waste ballast in ascending to a safe altitude and
a corresponding loss of hydrogen in descending after the attack.
Nearer and nearer came the huge air-ship, her bows steadily pointing in
the direction of the destroyer. Range-finder in hand, Sefton curbed his
impatience. Not until the Zeppelin bore at a distance of 2500 yards did
he order the gun's crew to their stations.
With a vicious spurt of flame and a sharp, resounding detonation the
4-inch sent a shell hurtling through the air. Admirably timed, it burst
apparently close to the silvery-grey envelope. Almost instantly a huge
cloud of black and yellow smoke shot from the Zeppelin.
A rousing cheer burst from the throats of the British seamen. The cheer
was taken up by the wounded heroes down below, who, having heard in some
mysterious manner of the air-ship's approach, were waiting the issue of
events with mingled confidence and regret that they themselves were
unable to assist in "strafing the sausage".
The cheers literally froze on the lips of the men on deck, for when the
smoke cleared away the Zeppelin was a mere speck, 10,000 feet in the
air. Under cover of a discharge of smoke she had dropped a large
quantity of ballast and had shot vertically upwards to a safe altitude.
The Hun in command had received orders not to attack unless he could do
so without risk, the Zeppelin being specially detailed for observation
work. With a range of visibility of fifty or sixty miles she was of far
more service to the discomfited German High Seas Fleet in warning them
of the position of their victors than in strafing a solitary destroyer.
With solid water sweeping her fore and aft, the _Calder_ still struggled
on her course, steered by the hand-operated gear in conjunction with the
inefficient boat's compass. Hitherto the leaks had been kept under, but
now the water was making its way in through the shattered fore-deck.
Reluctantly Sefton came to the conclusion that he would have to give the
order "abandon ship" before many minutes had passed. Already the
knowledge that the old _Calder_ was slowly foundering had become
general, yet there was no panic.
Calmly some of the men began to collect all the buoyant materials they
could lay their hands upon for the purpose of constructing rafts, since
there were no boats left. Others stuck gamely to the task of manning
the pumps, while the wounded were carried on deck in order to give them
a chance of getting clear of the sinking ship.
At seven in the morning a vessel was sighted to the west'ard proceeding
in a nor'-easterly direction. After a few minutes of anxious doubt as to
her nationality, she proved to be a Danish trawler--unless the national
colours painted on her sides and the distinguishing numbers on her sails
were disguises.
Altering her course, the trawler bore down upon the _Calder_ and slowed
down within hailing distance to leeward.
"Come you all aboard," shouted the Danish skipper, a tall,
broad-shouldered descendant of a Viking forbear. "We save you. Plenty
room for all."
"We don't want to abandon ship yet," replied Sefton. "We may weather it
yet."
"An' I think that you answer so," rejoined the skipper. "You British
seamans brave mans. Englishmans goot; Danes goot; Germans no goot. Me
stand by an' 'elp."
"Seen anything of the battle?" enquired the sub.
The Danish skipper nodded his head emphatically.
"Germans run for port as if Satan after them," he declared; then,
realizing that he had paid the Huns a compliment, he hastened to add:
"No, no; Germans too fond of wickedness to run from Satan--it is from
the English that they run. Ships sunk everywhere, dead men float by
thousands: we no fish for months in these waters."
This was the first intimation that the _Calder's_ crew received of
Jellicoe's failure to combine annihilation with victory. Victory it
undoubtedly was; but, although the Grand Fleet had succeeded in getting
between the enemy and his North Sea bases, the Huns, favoured by
darkness and fog, had contrived to elude the toils, and were skeltering
for safety with a haste bordering upon panic. Jellicoe and Beatty had
done everything that courage and science could devise. They had
inflicted far greater losses on the Huns than the latter did upon us.
And, what is more, the British fleet "held the lists", while the
boastful Germans, crowding into Wilhelmshaven and other ports, spent
their time in spreading lying reports of their colossal victory over the
hated English.
"You no look surprise at the news," continued the master of the Danish
trawler. "Me think you cheer like mad."
"Of course, we're glad," replied Sefton, "but it is not quite what we
expected, you know. We're sorry that the enemy got away."
"Me, too," agreed the Dane. "Germany treat little Denmark badly. She
bully; we cannot do anything. Shall we run alongside an' take you and
your crew off?"
Sefton gave a glance to windward. It seemed as if the seas were
moderating. His reluctance to abandon ship increased. The _Calder_ had
played her part, and it seemed base ingratitude to leave her to founder.
[Illustration: "THE 'CALDER' HAD PLAYED HER PART, AND IT SEEMED BASE
INGRATITUDE TO LEAVE HER TO FOUNDER"]
"I don't think she's settling down any further, sir," replied one of the
carpenter's crew in answer to the sub's question. "Bulkheads are
holding well."
"Then we'll carry on," declared the sub, and, warmly thanking the Dane
for his humanity, he courteously declined the offer of assistance.
"Goot luck, then!" replied the skipper of the trawler as he thrust the
wheel hard over and ordered easy ahead. Yet not for another hour did he
part company. Keeping at a discreet distance from the labouring
destroyer, he remained until, the sea having moderated, and the _Calder_
showing no further signs of distress, he came to the conclusion that the
battered British craft stood a fair chance of making port.
For the next couple of hours the _Calder_ was continually passing
wreckage, scorched and shattered woodwork testifying to the devastating
effect of modern explosives. The destroyer was passing over the scene
of one of the many isolated engagements that composed the memorable
battle and certain British victory of Jutland.
"A boat or a raft of sorts, sir," reported a seaman, pointing to a
floating object a couple of miles away, and slightly on the _Calder's_
starboard bow.
Sefton brought his binoculars to bear upon the objects indicated by the
look-out. At regular intervals, as it rose on the crests of the waves,
a large raft known, after its inventor, as the "Carley" was visible. An
exaggerated lifebuoy, with a "sparred" platform so arranged that in the
event of the appliance being completely overset the "deck" would still
be available, the "Carley" has undoubtedly proved its value in the
present war. Practically indestructible, not easily set on fire by
shells, and with an almost inexhaustible reserve of buoyancy, the raft
is capable of supporting twenty men with ease.
Slowly the _Calder_ approached the life-buoy. She was doing a bare 3
knots; while, able to use only one propeller, she was hard on her helm.
"Wot are they--strafed 'Uns or some of our blokes?" enquired an ordinary
seaman of his "raggie"; for, although the men on the raft were now
clearly visible, their almost total absence of clothing made it
impossible to determine their nationality.
"Dunno, mate," replied his chum. "'Uns, perhaps; they don't seem in no
'urry to see us."
"'Uns or no 'Uns," rejoined the first speaker, "skipper's goin' to pull
'em out of the ditch, if it's only to show 'em that we ain't like them U
boat pirates."
"Strikes me they're pretty well done in," chimed in another. "There's
not one of 'em as has the strength of a steerage rat."
Huddled on the raft were fifteen almost naked human beings. Some were
roughly bandaged. All were blackened by smoke and scorched by exposure
to the sun and salt air. Another half-dozen were in the water,
supporting themselves by one hand grasping the life-lines of the raft.
By this time they had observed the _Calder's_ approach; but, content
that they had been seen, the exhausted men engaged in no demonstration
of welcome. They sat listlessly, with their salt-rimmed eyes fixed upon
their rescuers.
At a great risk of crushing the men in the water, the destroyer closed.
The "Carley" was secured and brought alongside, and the work of
transferring the survivors commenced. Without assistance the majority
would never have been able to gain the _Calder's_ deck, so pitiful was
their condition owing to a night's exposure to the cold.
They were British seamen, but Sefton forbore to question them until they
had received attention from the hard-worked Dr. Stirling, and been
supplied with food and drink from the already sadly-depleted stores.
When the men had recovered sufficiently to relate their adventures, they
told a typical story of British pluck and heroism. They were part of
the crew of the destroyer _Velocity_, and had taken part in a night
attack upon von Hipper's squadron.
In the midst of the melee a hostile light cruiser, tearing at 27 knots,
rammed the _Velocity_, cutting her completely in twain just abaft the
after engine-room bulkhead. Swallowed up in the darkness, the stern
portion of the destroyer floated for nearly ten minutes before it
foundered. Of what happened to the remaining and larger part of the
vessel the survivors had no definite knowledge, although some were under
the impression that it was towed away under fire by another destroyer.
Left with sufficient time to cut away a "Carley", the remnant of the
_Velocity's_ crew found themselves adrift, with the still engaging
vessels steaming farther and farther away.
Without food and almost destitute of clothing, for in anticipation of a
swim the men had taken off the remainder of their already scanty
"fighting-kit", their position was a precarious one. The rising seas
threatened to sweep them from the over-crowded raft, while the bitterly
cold night air numbed their limbs. Yet, with the characteristic
light-heartedness of the British tar, the men passed the time in singing
rousing choruses, even the wounded joining in.
At daybreak they were pretty well exhausted. No vessel was in sight.
They were without food and water, and unable to take any steps to propel
their unwieldy, heavily-laden raft in any direction.
Presently a large German battle-cruiser loomed through the mist. The
Huns must have had a bad attack of nerves, for, contrary to all the
dictates of humanity, they let fly a dozen quick-firers at the raft.
Possibly they mistook the low-lying object for a submarine. Fortunately
the shells flew wide.
Then, to the surprise of the remnant of the )Velocity's* crew, the
German ship suddenly heaved her bows clear of the water and disappeared
in a great smother of foam and a cloud of smoke.
A rousing cheer--it is wonderful how much sound men can give vent to
even when almost dead through exhaustion--hailed this unexpected
deliverance from one of many perils, and the seamen settled themselves
to resume their prolonged discomforts, buoyed up by the unshaken hope
that a British vessel would bear down to their assistance.
It was indeed remarkable how quickly most of the _Velocity's_ men
regained their spirits after being received on board the _Calder_.
One, in particular, was displaying acute anxiety as to the condition of
a bundle of one-pound notes, which, sodden with sea-water, he had
carefully removed from the pouch of his solitary garment--a body-belt.
Amidst a fire of good-natured chaff, the man spread his precious
belongings out to dry--an almost impossible task owing to the showers of
spray--until, taken compassion upon by a sympathetic stoker, he went
below to the stokehold and successfully completed the delicate
operation.
Another survivor stuck gamely to a wooden tobacco-box. His messmates
knew the secret, but, when questioned by the _Calder's_ men, he
cautiously opened the lid, displaying a couple of white rats. Before
going into action, the man, having doubts as to the safety of his pets
in the fo'c'sle, had stealthily removed them aft, placing the box in the
officers' pantry. When the _Velocity_ was rammed he did not forget his
dumb friends. At the risk of his life, he went below and secured the
box. Throughout the long night he kept the animals dry, only
surrendering them to his chums when his turn came to leap overboard and
lighten the already overcrowded life-buoy.
The rest of the day passed almost without incident. Food was running
short, for, in spite of the sadly depleted number of the _Calder's_
crew, there was barely another day's provisions left on board that had
not been spoiled by fire and water. In addition, the augmentation of
the ship's company by the rescued crew made the shortage still more
acute.
Just as night was coming on a petty officer approached Sefton and
saluted.
"For'ard bulkhead's giving, sir," he reported, as coolly as if he were
announcing a most trivial occurrence. "There's four feet of water in
the for'ard stokehold."
The safety of the _Calder_ and her crew depended upon that transverse
wall of steel. Once this bulkhead yielded to the terrific pressure of
water, no human ingenuity and resource could save the battered destroyer
from plunging to the bed of the North Sea.