Part 20 (1/2)
The remaining Hun, finding that his automatic weapon was likewise empty, and mindful of Leslie's brandished air-pistol, was chary of closing with the lad. Incautiously, young Sefton levelled the pistol and fired, the pellet merely penetrating the German's coat and waistcoat, and inflicting a slight scratch on his chest.
In a trice, the Hun guessed the comparatively feeble nature of the British lad's weapon. He knew that seconds would have to elapse before the air-pistol could be reloaded. Mentally comparing his size with that of the fifteen-year-old youth, he came to the conclusion that it was safe to close.
Leslie, far from declining the unspoken challenge, threw himself at his opponent, and two pairs of desperately earnest antagonists were locked in deadly combat. It was long odds, for, with Crosthwaite Senior helpless with a bullet through his arm, and the admiral imprisoned beneath the overturned car, no help seemed likely to be forthcoming from that direction. To make matters worse, Hans, the leader of the gang, having quieted down after the first acute pain, had seen how things stood, and, recovering his pistol, had cautiously approached, seeking a favourable opportunity to turn the already-wavering scale.
CHAPTER XVII--Safe in Port
Throughout the long-drawn night the survivors of the _Calder's_ crew battled manfully against increasing difficulties in their efforts to save the destroyer from foundering. The faulty bulkhead, sh.o.r.ed and barricaded with tightly-packed hammocks and other canvas gear, required constant watching. The pumps were working continuously, relays of men undertaking the arduous task in the high-spirited manner that pervades the navy, especially when confronted with danger and peril.
Not once during the hours of darkness did Sefton quit the remnants of the bridge. Without the aid of navigating instruments, save the inadequate compa.s.s, the destroyer's course could not be maintained with the customary precision. Variation and deviation--factors carefully guarded against in ordinary circ.u.mstances--were affecting the boat's liquid compa.s.s, but to what extent Sefton knew not. With a vague idea that he would ”fetch” the Firth of Forth, the sub held on, the grinding revolutions of the remaining propeller dinning into his ears the knowledge that the old _Calder_ was momentarily, but slowly, approaching the sh.o.r.es of Britain.
A cup of unfragrant tea, sweetened with condensed milk, and a biscuit which was strongly scented with a peculiarly acrid smell, were gratefully accepted by the wellnigh exhausted sub. The man who brought the refreshments to the bridge had not thought it necessary to explain that he had sc.r.a.ped the sodden tea from the floor of the sh.e.l.l-wrecked officers'-pantry, or that he had been compelled to wash the salt water from the biscuits and toast them in the stokehold.
Once more the waves had subsided, and an almost flat calm prevailed.
Overhead a few stars shone dimly through the haze. Not a light was visible; all around, sea and sky blended in a dark, ill-defined murk.
At four bells the helmsman was relieved. He was the seventh consecutive man whom Sefton had seen taking his trick at the wheel, but still the sub stuck gamely at his post. He would have given almost anything to throw himself at full length upon the dewy deck and sleep like a log, even for a couple of hours, but such a privilege was denied him. His wounds, too, although slight, were beginning to feel painfully stiff.
The sea-water, penetrating his ragged uniform, irritated the abrasions almost beyond endurance. He yearned in vain for a hot bath and a change of clothing.
”How goes it now?” enquired a tired voice, hardly recognizable as that of Dr. Stirling. ”Where are we?”
”Somewhere in the North Sea, old bird,” replied Sefton, with a forced laugh. ”Do you happen to have a prescription for an eyelid prop, Pills?
My optics seem on the point of becoming bunged up.”
”Tell it not in Gath,” quoted the surgeon. ”I've just made a discovery--worth at the present moment more than untold gold. Egyptian, man, real Egyptian, and the only ones to be found on board.”
He proffered his silver case. Sefton seized one of the cigarettes with avidity. For hours he had longed in vain for a smoke. His own supply had vanished. Several hundred, having fallen through a jagged rent in the ward-room floor, were lying, a sodden pulp, in the water that surged in the s.h.i.+p's bilges.
”Thanks awfully!” he exclaimed gratefully.
”Bit of luck,” continued Stirling. ”Found the case in the wreckage of the beer barrel. I don't think the stuff's affected them. Case seems pretty tight. Thought I'd come on deck and have half a dozen whiffs with you.”
Crouching under the lee of the canvas screen that had been rigged up to replace the demolished storm-dodgers, Sefton carefully struck a match.
Almost before the cigarette was alight, a jarring shock made the _Calder_ tremble from her shattered bows to her jagged taffrail.
Immediately afterwards the remaining engine began to race with frightful rapidity.
Dropping the cigarette like a hot cinder, Sefton sprang to his feet, fully convinced that the long-expected catastrophe had occurred, and that the bulkhead had given way. Stirling, his first thoughts for his patients, scurried down the bridge-ladder and ran aft to where the double line of wounded men lay, each covered by a hammock to protect him from the night dews and drifting spray.
A minute pa.s.sed. There was no impetuous inrush of water. The bulkhead was still holding. The engine-room ratings had shut off steam, and the horrible, nerve-racking clank of the racing machinery ceased.
”Propeller fouled some wreckage, sir,” reported a petty officer.
”Blades stripped clean off the boss I'll allow.”
The man was right in his surmise. The last of the four propellers had struck some partly submerged object, with the result that the destroyer was no longer capable of moving through the water under her own power.
All she could do was to drift helplessly with wind and tide.
With a deafening hiss, a heavy cloud of steam released from the now useless boilers escaped skywards. The overworked engine-room and stokehold staffs were at last at liberty to ”stand easy”.