Part 20 (2/2)

Suddenly a beam of dazzling white light flashed through the darkness.

Impinging upon the cloud of steam, its reflected glare illumined the scene on deck as clearly as if it had been broad daylight. Then, with a quick, decisive movement, the giant ray was depressed, until it played fairly upon the battered hull, throwing every object into strong relief, and literally blinding the men with its dazzling glare.

”What s.h.i.+p is that?” shouted a deep voice through a megaphone, the sound travelling distinctly across the intervening water.

A couple of cables' lengths from the stationary _Calder_ was a large destroyer, with her search-light directed upon the object of her enquiry.

Sefton's reply was inaudible. The direction of the wind and the lack of a megaphone prevented his words from being understood. Again the challenge was repeated.

Standing erect in the full glare of the searchlight, and apart from his companions, a petty officer semaph.o.r.ed the desired information.

”Stand by to receive a hawser,” commanded the lieutenant-commander of the unknown destroyer. ”We'll take you in tow.”

The vessel was T.B.D. _Basher_, one of the inner patrol of destroyers operating between St. Abb's Head and Spurn Point. Pelting along at 20 knots in the darkness, her first intimation of the proximity of the crippled _Calder_ was the hiss of steam from her boilers. Prepared to open fire at an instant's notice, she trained her quick-firers abeam and switched on her search-lights, only to discover that she had fortunately fallen in with a ”lame duck” from the Jutland battle--a craft whose absence was beginning to give rise to considerable apprehension on the part of the British Admiralty.

”You'll tow better stern-foremost, I fancy,” shouted the _Basher's_ skipper, as he noted the extent to which the _Calder_ was down by the head.

”Yes, sir,” agreed Sefton. ”There will be less pressure upon the bulkhead for'ard. It has been giving us some anxiety.”

”Is Crosthwaite on board?” enquired the lieutenant-commander of the rescuing craft.

”Badly wounded,” was the sub's reply. ”We had it fairly hot for a time.

Can you give us any details of the result of the action, sir?”

”Yes; we gave them a terrific licking,” said the skipper of the _Basher_. ”The rotten part was that the Huns got away during the night.

Still, they won't come out again in a hurry. They've been very busy ever since sending out fantastic claims to a decisive victory over the British fleet. On paper they certainly beat us hollow, but the funny part about it is that Jellicoe made a demonstration in force off the Bight of Heligoland yesterday, and the beggars funked the invitation.

By the by, the sea's fairly calm. We'll run alongside and trans.h.i.+p your wounded. It will save a lot of bother if you have to abandon s.h.i.+p.”

Adroitly manoeuvred in the darkness, for the search-lights were now screened lest a prowling U boat might take advantage of the motionless British destroyers, the _Basher_ was made fast to her disabled consort.

Carefully the wounded men were transferred, Dr. Stirling, at the sub's request, going with them, since the _Basher_ was one of a cla.s.s of destroyers without the services of a medical man.

There was one exception. Crosthwaite resolutely declined to leave his s.h.i.+p.

”She's brought us through thus far,” he declared, ”and I'll stick to her until we fetch home. Where are we now?”

Sefton was unable to reply until he had enquired of the _Basher's_ navigating officer the position of the s.h.i.+p. The answer was somewhat astonis.h.i.+ng; the _Calder_, when picked up, was forty-five miles from the mouth of the Tyne.

”A precious fine piece of navigation,” remarked the sub ruefully. ”I was trying to make the Firth of Forth, and instead I find myself barging into the Northumberland coast.”

”Might have done a jolly sight worse, old man,” said Crosthwaite cheerfully. ”You're a brick, Sefton!”

The sub flushed like a schoolgirl, and, bolting from the sh.e.l.l-wrecked ward-room, made for the bridge.

”All clear aft?” shouted the _Basher's_ lieutenant-commander.

”Aye, aye, sir,” was the reply from a petty officer stationed at the after capstan, round which the towing-hawser had been made fast.

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