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. Several British light cruisers were steaming in line ahead when a severely mauled German ocean-going torpedo-boat was observed approaching.

Mistaken for one of our destroyers, the two leading cruisers let her slip past within the distance of a cable's length. The third, taking no risks, suddenly unmasked her search-lights and played them full upon the stranger. Caught in the blinding glare, her crew could be seen hard at work endeavouring to turn a pair of torpedo-tubes abeam--a task of considerable 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 sh.e.l.l at point-blank range crashing into the light-built hull.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SHE SENT A HUGE Sh.e.l.l AT POINT-BLANK RANGE CRASHING INTO THE LIGHT-BUILT HULL"]

A blinding flash, a huge puff of smoke, and all was over. The search-light played upon an expanse of agitated water where, five seconds before, a German torpedo-craft had been churning on her way.

Meanwhile the _Calder_ held resolutely on her course, ignorant of her position relative to the enemy fleet, and liable at any moment to "knock up against" one of the German light cruisers.

Crosthwaite had now resumed command. His unconquerable determination had 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 the destroyer was unsupported--for long since she had lost touch with her consorts. Even if none of her officers and crew returned to tell the tale, he was confident that the craft under his command would play her part in a manner worthy of the time-honoured traditions of the British navy.

Presently a high dark ma.s.s was observed almost ahead and slightly on the destroyer's port bow. It was a hostile battleship. She was lying athwart the _Calder's_ course, with a considerable list to starboard, and proceeding at a rate of about four knots. Her foremast had been shot away, and with it the for'ard funnel, which in ships of this cla.s.s is close to the mast. One of her two steel derricks had collapsed, the curved end trailing over the side. Long gashes in her armoured plates testified to the accuracy and power of the British gunnery.

Already the torpedoes had been "launched home" into the _Calder's_ twin tubes. In any case the battleship must not be allowed to crawl into port, even if she should be incapable of repairs for months.

Crosthwaite was about to con the destroyer in order to bring the torpedo-tubes to bear, when the already stricken battleship gave a violent lurch, from which she made no attempt at recovery.

Farther and farther she heeled, the rush of water into her hull and the hiss of escaping air being distinctly audible above the howling of the wind. Her crew--or, rather, the survivors--could be heard as they leapt from the steeply inclined decks. There was no need for a torpedo to administer the _coup de grace_.

Five minutes later only the battleship's keel-plates and the tips of the four propellers remained above the surface, by which time the _Calder_ had left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostile light cruisers, whose indistinct shapes were just beginning to be visible against the patch of starlight that penetrated a gap in the inky mist.

A sudden blinding glare enveloped the _Calder_, causing her lieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly.

Fairly caught by the rays of half a dozen search-lights, they were temporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandaged with opaque scarves.

Fortunately Sefton's back was turned from the direction in which the destroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warned him. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steam steering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still grasping automatically.

"Hard-a-port!" shouted the sub.

The man made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bending forward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of sh.e.l.l had pierced his brain.

Pushing the body aside, Sefton put the helm hard over, and the destroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did not make use of her search-lights, entered a darkened patch between the brilliantly 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, the destroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small, hurtled overhead, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soon reduced to a mere wreck.

The German cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their gun-layers been equal to the British, the _Calder_ would have been blown clean out of the water; but the terrible night had told upon their nerves. A wholesome dread of the British destroyers with their deadly torpedoes was present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyer was supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impression that the _Calder_ was leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmise was not comforting to the Huns.

In the midst of the tornado of sh.e.l.l one of the _Calder's_ torpedoes "got home", ripping open the bottom of a light cruiser and causing an internal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyer that the terrific rush of displaced air was distinctly felt, while a dense cloud of smoke from the sinking cruiser, driving to leeward across the foam-flecked and sh.e.l.l-sprayed waves, completely enveloped the little craft that had dealt the successful blow.

"Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Sefton recognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'm afraid."

The cloud of smoke saved the _Calder_ from destruction, for, turning while still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of vapour, the destroyer slipped away from the rays of search-lights, and, doubling, literally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had been keeping a minute before.

In vain the German search-lights swept the sea in the supposed position of the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fate of their lost light cruiser, they screened lights and re-formed line.

Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of the night, Sefton began to realize the responsibility of his position. Crosthwaite was now lying motionless--either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he was already dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Sefton was unable to lift a finger to help him. The sub was the only one left standing on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a sinking vessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over the _Calder_, broken occasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered her deck.

Yet Sefton's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had to take the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his duty had 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 the darkness. Thought I'd see if you was all right."

"Thanks," replied Sefton, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes it on deck?"

"A clean sweep, sir," replied Brown. "A regular wipe-out. Copped us proper, the swine. Both tubes knocked out, after 4-inch blown clean over the side."

"Do you know if we're making much water?" asked the sub anxiously, for the sluggish way in which the destroyer laboured through the water gave rise to considerable apprehension in that respect.

"Can't say, sir."

"Then pa.s.s the word for the senior petty officer to report to me."

The A.B. hurried off, muttering curiously expressed words of thanksgiving at his young officer's escape. Grat.i.tude had been a hitherto undeveloped trait in Brown's nature, until that memorable occasion when Sefton risked his life, if not exactly to save, to be with him when he found himself in the "ditch".

Groping for the voice-tube from the bridge to the engine-room, for the telegraph had disappeared, Sefton attempted to call up the engineer-lieutenant, but in vain. This means of communication with the engine-room was completely interrupted.

It seemed an interminable time before the desired petty officer reported himself to the bridge. He was a short, lightly-built man, holding the rank of gunner's mate, and was a capable and fairly well-educated specimen of the lower deck. Yet, had it been daylight, and he had been dumped down just as he was in the streets of a naval town, he would have been promptly run in by the police as a vagrant. His features were literally hidden in soot mingled with blood, for a sh.e.l.l had hurled him face downwards upon a jagged steel grating, which had harrowed his face in a disfiguring though not dangerous fashion. His scanty uniform was in ribbons, and smelt strongly of smouldering embers, while a black scarf tied tightly round his left leg below the knee failed to stop a steady 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 three holes were betwixt wind and water. These had already admitted a considerable quant.i.ty of water, but temporary repairs were already in hand. The steam-pumps had been damaged, but were capable of being set right, while the use of the hand-pumps enabled the sorry remnant of the destroyer's crew to keep the leaks well under control.

Nevertheless the _Calder_ no longer rose buoyantly to the waves. A sullen, listless movement told its own tale. Not without a grim, determined struggle would her crew be able successfully to combat the joint effects of war and rough weather.

On deck most of the fittings had been swept clear. Of the funnel only seven feet of jagged stump remained. The rest had vanished. Both masts had been shot away close to the deck. Of the conning-tower only the base was left; the rest had been blown away almost with the last sh.e.l.l fired at point-blank range. The _Calder's_ raised fo'c'sle no longer existed. From two feet close to the water-line at the stem, and rising obliquely to the foot of the bridge, there was nothing left but an inclined 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 whether it was humanly possible once more to bring the crippled vessel alongside her parent ship, or whether the _Calder_ would again berth alongside the jetty at far-off Rosyth.

The arrival of half a dozen men enabled Sefton to have the commanding officer removed below. Anxiously the sub awaited Stirling's verdict.

The report was long in coming, but the doctor's hands were full to overflowing. During that terrible night many a man owed his life, under Providence, to the administrations of the young medico. Indifferent to his own peril, although the crippled destroyer was straining badly in the 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 three oil-lamps.

"That you, Pills?" enquired Sefton anxiously, as an officer, distinguishable only by his uniform cap stuck at a comical angle on the top 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?"