With Beatty off Jutland Part 10

CHAPTER X--Battered but Unconquered

Almost as in a dream Sefton realized that he was still alive. His hearing was practically done for, owing to the terrific detonation of the guns. His eyes were red and smarting from the effects of numerous particles of soot and dust that had drifted in through the sighting apertures of the fire-control station. He could scarcely speak, his throat was parched and gripped by a terrible thirst. His borrowed uniform was rent in several places, while the right leg of his trousers was warm and moist. Unknown to him, a splinter of metal had cut a clean gash just above the knee. In the excitement of the action he had not felt the wound. Now it was beginning to throb painfully.

"The stick will go by the board before long," remarked an officer, as the crippled foremast gave a sickening jerk with the roll of the s.h.i.+p to starboard. "The sooner we get out of this the better, I fancy."

It was easier said than done. Even if the attention of the men on deck--and they were busily engaged with hoses in quelling the numerous small outbreaks of fire amids.h.i.+ps--could be attracted, it was wellnigh impossible to form a means of communication with the elevated masthead platform.

"Worth risking it?" queried Sefton's chum, indicating the solitary shroud on either side of the mast.

The sub shook his head.

"A tall order," he replied. "I don't seem to have the strength of a steerage rat for a swarm-down from this height. No thanks, I'm not taking any."

"If we had only a coil of signal halyard," remarked the range-finding officer tentatively, "we might---- But there isn't a couple of fathoms of line left aloft."

He thrust his head and shoulders through a hole in the steel plating, and surveyed the scene 100 feet below. Viewed from that dizzy height, the prospect of descending by means of a wire stay was not inviting.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed. "There's a bluejacket swarming aloft."

"Bluejacket" was hardly a strictly correct description, for climbing hand over hand was a man clad only in a pair of canvas trousers. From his waist upwards he was stripped. His feet, too, were bare. His bronzed face, neck, and hands stood out in vivid contrast to the whiteness of the rest of the skin. His muscles, like whipcord, rippled as he ascended with a steady, even movement towards the isolated foretop. From his belt trailed a line the coils of which were being carefully "paid out" by a seaman standing on the extremity of the badly-damaged fore-bridge.

Half-way up the shroud the climber paused to regain his breath. As he threw back his head to gauge the remaining distance, his face was revealed to the group on the swaying platform.

"By George!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sefton's chum. "It's the man you went into the ditch after."

It was Able Seaman Brown. Having lost touch with his officer during the engagement, his first thoughts after the _Warrior_ had ceased fire were for the sub who had risked his life on his behalf. Enquiries elicited the information that Sefton had been last seen while ascending to the fire-control platform.

"Blow me if they ain't properly cut off," muttered the man, as he eyed the precarious perch. "Here goes."

Obtaining the consent of one of the officers to attempt his perilous ascent, A.B. Brown was now well on his way to establish communication with the deck.

Perspiring from every pore, his muscles creaking under the strain, the h.o.r.n.y palms of his hands lacerated by the frayed strands of the wire, the seaman at length gained one of the angle-girders upon which the platform was bolted. Here he remained for fully five minutes before essaying the last part of his journey.

Hanging from the metal structure was a block, from which the running-gear had long since "rendered through". The man examined it critically. To all outward appearance it seemed to be sound.

Jockeying himself along the sharp-edged angle-plate, Brown rove the end of the rope through the block, and "paid out" until the line touched the deck. Fortunately there was enough to spare. Three or four of the _Warrior's_ crew were standing by to give a.s.sistance, and quickly bent a "bos'n's chair" to one end of the rope.

"Come along, sir," exclaimed the A.B. encouragingly. "We'll have the lot of you down in a jiffy."

He held out his hand to steady Sefton on his dizzy journey along the metal "bracket", until a sudden thought flashed across his mind. What if the rope carried away or the pulley-block was defective?

"Hold on, sir," he said. "I'll show you the way down."

He signalled for the bos'n's chair to be sent aloft, reflecting that if the appliance were strong enough to bear his weight--he could give Sefton nearly a couple of stones--the sub would run very little risk.

If, on the other hand, the gear carried away, he reflected grimly, his "number would be up".

Sliding into the wooden seat, the A.B. motioned to his comrades to lower. Handsomely the men paid out the comparatively frail rope until Brown's bare feet came in contact with the bridge planking.

Five minutes later, the three seamen who had been attending to the voice-tubes in the fire-control station were lowered into safety, in spite of the fact that one was in a semi-conscious condition owing to a shrapnel wound in his head.

Sefton was the next to descend, after a spirited argument with his brother sub on the etiquette of seniority, until the lieutenant settled his subordinate's dispute by declaring that Sefton was a guest, and that the question of precedence did not hold good in present circ.u.mstances.

At length all the occupants of the fire-control platform were lowered in safety. Barely had the lieutenant gained the deck when Sefton's companion gave vent to an exclamation of annoyance.

"Dash it all!" he exclaimed. "I clean forgot all about that camera.

Here goes."

Slipping into the bos'n's chair he made the men haul away for all they were worth, and, spinning round at the end of the rope, the _Warrior's_ sub again ascended to the dizzy, insecure perch.

Sefton watched him disappear into the recesses of the enclosed s.p.a.ce, presently to reappear with the precious camera dangling round his neck.

"Wouldn't have lost it for anything," remarked the young officer as he regained the fore-bridge. "I've knocked about with it ever since I was at Osborne, you know."

"Take anything during the action?" enquired Sefton.

"By Jove, no, I didn't! Clean forgot all about it."

"And I fancy, old bird, you won't again," interposed an a.s.sistant paymaster, vainly attempting to "open out" the folding camera. "It's done for."

Which was only too true. A fragment of sh.e.l.l had penetrated the case, reducing the delicate mechanism to a complete wreck.

"Look out! Stand clear!" shouted a dozen voices.

With a rending crash the crippled mast buckled up and disappeared over the side.

Sefton glanced at his chum. The imperturbable sub shrugged his shoulders.

"Better to be born lucky than rich, old man," he remarked. "But, by heavens, what a jamboree!"

He could find no other words to describe the scene of destruction. Now that the s.h.i.+p was out of action, and the excitement of the t.i.tanic struggle was over, the grim realization of what a naval engagement means was beginning to reveal itself to the survivors of the gallant crew.

All the fires had been extinguished, with the exception of the big outbreak aft. Gangs of men toiled desperately at the hand-pumps with a double purpose. The _Warrior_ was making water freely. Already her stokeholds and engine-rooms were flooded. Deprived of the aid of her powerful steam bilge-pumps it seemed doubtful if the hand appliances would be able to cope with the steady inrush. Moreover, a considerable volume of water had to be directed upon the fire.

Officers with blackened faces and scorched uniforms encouraged the men by word and deed. At whatever cost the _Warrior_ had to be saved from foundering if human efforts were capable of such a herculean task.

Undaunted, the crew toiled manfully, fighting fire and water at one and the same time.

Already the dead had been identified and given a hasty, yet impressive, burial, while--an ominous sign--the wounded had been brought up from below and laid in rows upon the upper deck. It was a necessary precaution, and clearly indicated the grave possibility of the old _Warrior_ being unable to battle much longer against the ever-increasing leaks.

There was now plenty of work for Sefton to do. Placed in charge of one of the fire-parties he was soon strenuously engaged in fighting the conflagration. With the flooding of the after magazine all danger of an explosion was now at an end, but, unless the flames were speedily quelled, the possibility of foundering would be materially increased, since several sh.e.l.l-holes betwixt wind and water had occurred in that part of the s.h.i.+p still dominated by the outbreak.

Although no doubt existed in the minds of the _Warrior's_ crew as to the outcome of the general engagement, they were in suspense owing to a total lack of news. Without wireless they were debarred from communication with the rest of the squadron. As helpless as a log, the battered vessel was floating in the vast expanse of the North Sea without a single vessel in sight. The roar of the battle had rolled on far to the nor'ard, and although the incessant rumble of the terrific cannonade was distinctly audible, the _Warrior_ was as ignorant of the course of events as if she had been a hundred miles away.

The almost flat calm had given place to sullen undulations rippled by a steady breeze that threatened before long to develop into a hard blow.

There was every indication of an angry sea before nightfall.

An hour had elapsed since the _Warrior_ had ceased firing--sixty minutes of strenuous exertion on the part of all hands--when a vessel was sighted apparently steaming in the crippled cruiser's direction.

For some moments suspense ran high, for whether the strange craft were friend or foe no one on board could give a definite decision.