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.
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"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 mêlée 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.