CHAPTER IX--The "Warrior's" Gallant Stand
"What do you think we are up against?" asked Sefton, taking advantage ofa lull in the firing to put the question to his companion in thefire-control station.
"Something big," replied the other, wiping a thin layer of coal dust andparticles of burnt cordite from the lenses of his binoculars. "Withthis rotten mist hanging around, one has to be jolly careful not topitch a salvo into one of our own craft. Wish to goodness I'dremembered to bring my camera along. By Jove! Wouldn't the old_Defence_ make a fine picture when she opened fire?"
"I'll fetch it for you," volunteered Sefton.
His companion looked at him in astonishment.
"I mean it," continued the sub. "We won't be in action again for quiteten minutes, unless those Huns take it into their heads to altercourse--which I don't fancy will be at all likely."
He pointed to five faint objects scurrying farther away through thepatches of haze. They were German light cruisers, which, having had ataste of the salvoes of the leading ships of the First Cruiser Squadron,had thought it prudent to sheer off.
"Then look slippy, old bird," said the other. "I'm rather keen ongetting the thing; I'd go myself if I were not here on duty with acapital D. I'll pass the word for the covers to be left open for yourreturn."
Gaining the shrouds, Sefton descended cautiously, for already fragmentsof exploding shells had cut through several of the wire strands, and hadplayed havoc with the ratlines.
Gaining the fore-bridge, he descended the ladder to the superstructure,and, passing in the wake of the trained-abeam turrets, reached the onlyhatchway leading to the main deck that had not been closed with anarmoured lid.
'Tween decks the air was hot and oppressive. The confined space reekedwith cordite fumes. Through the brown haze a streak of yellow lightplayed upon the deck--a beam of sunlight entering through a jaggedshell-hole in the ship's side.
Farther along, a party of sick-bay men were lowering a stretcher througha hatchway. On the stretcher was strapped a wounded petty officer, oneof whose legs had been shattered below the knee.
The man was struggling violently, and expostulating in no mild terms.Ignorant of his terrible injuries, he was insisting on being allowed toreturn to his station and "have another smack at the Huns".
"Can't go no farther this way, sir," announced a marine, recognizing thesub, and knowing that he was new to the ship. "Bulkhead doors are shut.There's a way round past the issue-room, sir, down this 'ere ladder."
The "issue-room" was open. An electric lamp illuminated theirregular-shaped space, which on one side was bounded by the convex baseof the after turret, a 6-inch wall of hard steel.
Sefton could hear voices raised in loud and vehement argument: twoassistant ship's stewards were discussing the respective merits ofmusic-hall favourites.
A third voice joined in the discussion--that of one of the ship's boys.
"'Taint neither the one or t'other," he began. "I was a-saying----"
"Then don't say it, but get on with your job," interrupted the firstspeaker. "Those casks look a regular disgrace. You haven't polishedthe brasswork for more'n three days, and it's captain's roundsto-morrow."
The next instant came a regular avalanche of flour-sacks, casks, coppermeasures, and other paraphernalia pertaining to the ship's steward'sdepartment. Across the raised coaming of the doorway tripped the threeoccupants of the issue-room, landing in a struggling, confused heap atSefton's feet.
From a distance of nearly nine miles an 11-inch shell had hit the_Warrior_ abreast of the after turret. It was some little time before itwas realized that the damage was slight.
The first to pick himself up was the ship's steward's boy.
"Guess you don't want me to carry on with that there polishing job," heremarked nonchalantly, as he heaved the winded petty officer to his feetand indicated the debris of the brass-bound casks.
Sefton lost no time in fetching the camera from the gun-room. Slingingit round his neck, he gained the upper deck, and began his ascent to thefire-control platform.
"Thanks," said his companion, as the sub handed the precious apparatusto him. "You're only just in time. Those light cruisers have alteredhelm 16 points. Looks fishy, by Jove! They've something behind them toback them up."
It was now nearly six o'clock. Already the _Defence_ was hurling shellsat the leading German light cruiser at 14,000 yards, the rangemomentarily decreasing as the two squadrons closed.
The Huns were certainly not devoid of pluck, although, as Sefton's chumhad remarked, they evidently had some card up their sleeves.
For the next fifteen minutes the _Warrior_ and her consorts were at it"hammer and tongs", directing a furious fire into the head of theapproaching column. One of the hostile cruisers, hit by a double salvofrom the _Warrior_ and the _Defence_, capsized and sank. Another,burning fiercely in three different places, hauled out of line.
"Great sport, isn't it?" exclaimed Sefton's companion, setting down hisrange-finder, for the distance had now decreased to 5000 yards, so thatthe gun-layers were able to trace their weapons independently of ordersfrom the fire-control.
Suddenly and unexpectedly a salvo of heavy shells hurtled through thehaze, and, with deadly precision, riddled the flagship _Defence_ throughand through. Her masts and funnels went by the board, flames burst fromher for'ard, 'midships, and aft, while with her engines disabled shedropped slowly astern.
It was now the _Warrior's_ turn to lead the line. As she forged ahead,other enormous shells straddled her, coming in different direction fromthe tempest of shot that had crippled the _Defence_.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Sefton. "We're in for it now."
Between the drifting clouds of smoke could be discerned the huge shapesof a dozen large battleships and battle-cruisers, not those ofJellicoe's command, but flying the Black Cross ensign of Germany. Onthe port side, at less than 4000 yards, were four hostilebattle-cruisers. At a similar distance to starboard were at least fivebattleships of the _Koenig_ class.
The _Warrior_ and _Defence_, hemmed in by vastly superior numbers, andmenaced by guns of far greater calibre, were seemingly doomed toannihilation. All that remained, as far as human judgment went, was tofight to the last and worthily uphold the glorious traditions of theSenior Service.
The _Warrior_ held grimly on her way, battered fore and aft on all sidesfrom the gradually contracting circle of big German ships. In spite ofthe terrific hail of projectiles rained upon her, the _Warrior_ stillmaintained a rapid and determined fire. It was against overwhelmingodds, and the Huns knew it.
Presently a violent thud caused the already trembling fire-controlplatform to shake to such an extent that Sefton quite thought the wholeconcern was about to tumble over the side. A shell had shattered thefore-topmast, the debris falling athwart the steel canopy protecting therange-finding officers. With the topmast came a raffle of gear,including the wireless aerials.
By this time the cruiser was hulled over and over again. Several of her7-inch-gun turrets had been bodily swept away with their crews; twofunnels had gone by the board; the remaining pair, perforated likesieves, were held in position merely by the wire guys. A fierce firewas raging aft, an incendiary shell having landed in the wardroom, whilea heavy dose of poison-gas prevented any of the crew from attempting toquench the flames.
Twelve minutes of terrible battering the _Warrior_ stood, until an11-inch shell, ripping through her 6-inch armoured belt, burst insidethe port engine-room, shattering the main steam-pipe.
The scene in the confined space was terrible beyond description. Theconcussion had shattered every electric lamp, the oil ones wereextinguished by the noxious fumes. The floor of the engine-room wasflooded to a depth of four inches with scalding water that surged to andfro with each roll of the sorely-pressed vessel, and added to thetorments of the men already wounded by the shell explosion.
Yet even in that inferno there were men whose courage did not desertthem, and
dozens of heroic and never-to-be-recorded deeds were performedin the darkness of the scalding engine-room.
Then the starboard engine-room was swept by the explosion of a shell,increasing to a terrible extent the casualties amongst the courageous"black squad". For nearly two miles the _Warrior_ carried away, until,deprived of the means of propulsion, she lay, a battered hulk,surrounded by her enemies.
It was the story of the _Revenge_ over again, but with a differentsequel.
Sefton realized that he and his companions were virtually prisoners inthe fire-control platform. Even had they dared to risk descendingthrough that tornado of shrapnel and flying slivers of molten steel,their means of escape was limited to one solitary shroud. The rest,"whipped" into a confused tangle, were trailing over the ship's sides.
Passive spectators, for their work aloft was done, they awaited the end,their eyes fixed upon the German battle-cruisers as at intervals theybecame visible through the drifting cloud of smoke and steam.
Only two guns of the _Warrior_ were now replying to the hostile fire,barking slowly, yet resolutely, as they sent their projectiles hurtlingthrough the air at the nearmost of the assailants, now but 3500 yardsdistant.
"By Jove, look!" exclaimed Sefton's chum, pointing with a bandaged handat a large object looming through the smoke close under the _Warrior's_stern.
It was the gigantic battleship _Warspite_.
Tearing along at well over her contract speed, the 27,500-ton leviathanmeant business. Receiving a salvo of heavy shells that were intended toadminister a _coup de grace_ to the crippled _Warrior_, and which forthe most part rebounded harmlessly from her armour, the _Warspite_ letrip with her splendid 15-inch guns. At the second salvo a Germanbattle-cruiser simply crumpled up and vanished in a cloud of smoke.
Pitted for the first time in this particular engagement against guns ofmore than their own calibre, the Germans began to fire most erratically.Many of the projectiles fell into the sea. Their shooting, hithertofairly accurate, became wild and spasmodic. They were learning thetruth about modern British gunnery, with British hearts of oak behindthe powerful weapons.
But, in spite of her size and superiority of armament, the _Warspite_did not come off unscathed. At a critical moment her steam steering-gearjammed, and round she circled, straight for the enemy's line. Beforethe damage could be rectified she was hit several times, losing, amongstother gear, her wireless aerials. While she was still under fire ahostile submarine let off a couple of torpedoes, both of whichfortunately missed their mark.
The action had already passed away from the battered _Warrior_. She hadplayed her part. It remained to save herself from foundering, if shecould--a truly herculean task.