Part 11 (2/2)

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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”POISING HIMSELF FOR AN INSTANT, SEFTON LEAPT ON THE 'CALDER'S' DECK”]

”Can I be of any a.s.sistance, 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 subst.i.tute 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 cha.s.sis.

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.

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