With Beatty off Jutland Part 6

The s.h.i.+p upon which Sefton found himself as an unauthorized supernumerary was an armoured cruiser of 13,550 tons, built and completed at Pembroke nine years previously. She was one of a cla.s.s of four that marked a new departure in naval architecture--each of her guns being mounted singly and in a separate turret. At the time when she was laid down she was considered one of the heaviest armed cruisers of her day, mounting six 9.2-inch and four 7.5-inch guns. Of these, three 9.2's could be made to fire ahead, and a similar number astern, while on either broadside she could deliver a formidable salvo from four of the guns of heavier calibre and two of the 7.5's. With the exception of the following year's programme of the _Minotaur_ cla.s.s, the _Warrior_ and her sister s.h.i.+ps were the last armoured cruisers laid down by the British Admiralty, the all-big-gun battle-cruisers simply outcla.s.sing at one swoop the armoured cruisers of the world's navies.

Nevertheless the _Warrior_ was still a powerful unit, and calculated to be more than a match for any German vessel of her size. Her designed speed of a fraction over 22 knots--a rate that when necessity arose could be exceeded--enabled her with the rest of her cla.s.s to form a valuable, hard-hitting auxiliary to the vessels of the battle-cruiser squadrons.

While Sefton was being kitted out by an obliging brother sub-lieutenant, a wireless message had been sent to the _Calder_ announcing the safety of her sub-lieutenant and A.B. Brown.

Crosthwaite received the gratifying intelligence with undisguised delight. His feelings were shared by the whole of the s.h.i.+p's company, for, almost without exception, the destroyer's officers were voted a "sound lot", and the possibility of Sefton's death in a gallant attempt at the rescue of a lower-deck man had thrown a gloom over the s.h.i.+p.

As for the lieutenant-commander, his relief and grat.i.tude to Providence knew no bounds. Between Sefton's leap overboard and the receipt of the _Warrior's_ message he had pa.s.sed through a distressing time. Apart from his personal regard for the sub, with whom he had shared adventures and perils in the Near East, the fact that he had been compelled to abandon Sefton to the vagaries of fate hit him hard. He was even doubtful whether, with the possibilities of hostile submarines cruising around, the armoured cruisers would risk slowing down to rescue two men and at the same time present a splendid target for German torpedoes.

However, the deed of rescue was accomplished, and the next step to consider was how to get Sefton and the A.B. back on the destroyer. The former's presence was desirable, in fact essential.

In answer to the _Calder's_ lieutenant-commander's request, whether it would be possible for Sefton to be sent back to the destroyer, the rescuing s.h.i.+p replied that, should opportunity occur, the _Calder_ could close, but that, in view of present conditions, such a step was most unlikely.

"So you'll jolly well have to make yourself at home here, old bird,"

remarked one of the _Warrior's_ sub-lieutenants, who as a youngster had pa.s.sed out of Dartmouth at the same time as Sefton. "Suppose the trip will do you good. Sort of marine excursion out and home, don't you know. Nothin' doin', and never a sign of a Hun, unless it be a 'tin-fish' or two."

The _Warrior's_ sub voiced the opinion of the rest of the gun-room. He was president of the mess and a mild autocrat over the "small fry", and generally voted a rattling good sort by the handful of mids.h.i.+pmen, many of whom, alas! were to yield up their lives in undying fame before many hours were past.

Yet, although the whole of the personnel of the Grand Fleet were as keen as mustard to meet the Huns, frequent and almost unvarying disappointment had been their lot. Over and over again Beatty's squadron had swept the North Sea without coming in contact with the enemy, until it was the general conclusion that, until the High Seas Fleet was actually sighted, it was of no use speculating upon the chances of the "big sc.r.a.p".

And now, on the memorable morning of Wednesday, the 31st May, the First and Second Battle-cruiser Squadron, three light-cruiser squadrons, with attendant destroyers, were ploughing eastward across the North Sea, with the knowledge that the hard-hitting Battle Fleet, together with a formidable array of cruisers and destroyers, was some distance to the nor'ard, ready, at the first wireless call, to complete the toils thrown around the German fleet should the latter, lured into a sense of false security, dare to leave the mine-fields of Heligoland.

Shortly after noon the wind dropped and the water became almost calm, save for the undulations caused by the swiftly-moving squadron. Overhead the sun shone faintly through a thick haze, which for hours hung about with irritating persistence.

Sefton had just commenced a game of draughts with some of the officers who were off duty, when a messenger entered the gun-room and handed a "chit" to the senior sub. Not until the man had gone did the young officer break the momentous news to the others, apologizing as if the information might unduly raise their hopes.

"I don't want to be too c.o.c.k-sure, you fellows," he announced. "Looks as if they're out this time, but----"

"I vote we go on deck," suggested a mids.h.i.+pman.

"And see the whole of the German fleet," added a junior watchkeeper facetiously.

"Anyhow, there's 'General Quarters'," retorted the middy daringly as a bugle rang out, the call being quickly repeated in various parts of the s.h.i.+p, "Look alive, you fellows."

"Stick to me, Sefton," said the senior sub, s.n.a.t.c.hing his telescope from a rack and making a bolt for the door. "If there's anything to be seen of the sc.r.a.p you'll have a good chance with me. I'm fire-control, don't you know."

Jack Sefton nodded his head in acquiescence. He was sorry that he was not on board the _Calder_, since there was a greater possibility of the destroyer flotillas das.h.i.+ng in to complete the work of the battle-cruisers than of the armoured cruisers getting within range.

Gaining the quarter-deck, the _Calder's_ sub heard the unmistakable baritone hum of an aerial propeller. Overhead, at a low alt.i.tude of less than a thousand feet, a sea-plane was flying in a northeasterly direction. By the markings on her planes and fuselage--concentric red, white, and blue circles--Sefton recognized her as a British one. It afterwards transpired that Sir David Beatty had ordered the _Engadine_ to send up a sea-plane for reconnaissance work, and that wireless reports were received from the daring airmen that they had sighted four hostile light cruisers. The latter opened a hot fire with every quick-firer they could get to bear upon the indomitable sea-plane, the range being less than 3000 yards, but in spite of the hail of shrapnel the airmen gained their desired information and returned to their parent s.h.i.+p.

On board the _Warrior_, as was the case with the rest of her consorts, hands were hard at work clearing s.h.i.+p for action. Already the masts and shrouds had been "frapped", or protected, by means of wire cables wrapped round the spars and interlaced between the standing-rigging.

"A" and "B" water-tight doors were closed, armoured hatchways battened down, and hoses led along the decks in order to quell the fire that would inevitably break out should a hostile sh.e.l.l burst inside the armoured belt. Stanchions, cowls, and all gear likely to interfere with the training of the guns were uns.h.i.+pped and stowed, tons of His Majesty's property were jettisoned, the danger of their remaining on board being more than sufficient reason for their sacrifice.

Inside the turrets, tubs of water were provided to slake the burning thirst of the guns' crews, for experience had proved that the acute mental and physical strain, coupled with the acrid fumes that drift into the confined steel s.p.a.ces, produces an intense dryness of the mouth and throat. Behind the armoured protection, stretcher-bearers and fire-parties were preparing for their stern work.

Down below, far beneath the water-line, the fleet surgeon and his staff were getting ready for their grim yet humane tasks. Operations have to be performed under great disadvantages, the complexity of wounds caused by modern sh.e.l.ls adding to the difficulties under which the medical staff labours. Contrast an operation in a well-ordered hospital on sh.o.r.e--where perfect quietude reigns and everything is conducive to success--with the conditions on board a war-s.h.i.+p in action. The indifferent light, for the electric lamps are quivering under the vibration of the guns; the deafening concussion overhead as the s.h.i.+p gives and receives punishment; the jerky motion of the vessel as she twists and turns to the rapid movements of the helm and quivers under the t.i.tanic blows of hostile sh.e.l.ls; and the probability of the s.h.i.+p's bottom being shattered like an egg-sh.e.l.l by a powerful torpedo--all these form but a part of the disadvantages under which the naval medical staff labour during the progress of an action.

Literally imprisoned below the armoured deck, the grimy stokers were preparing for the coming ordeal. Hidden from the rest of the s.h.i.+p's company, they toiled like Trojans in order to raise such a terrific head of steam as would make the cruiser "foot it" at a speed far in excess of her nominal 22.33 knots. In action the lot of the "black squad" is perhaps the worst on board. Knowing nothing of what is going on, they have to work in a confined, heated steel box, shovelling coals with a dexterity that is the outcome of months of strenuous training. Besides the risk of torpedoes and sh.e.l.ls there is ever the danger of the boilers giving way under the pressure of steam, with the inevitable result--a horrible death in a pitch-black stokehold filled with scalding steam.

And yet, for easygoing joviality and good comrades.h.i.+p the naval stoker is hard to beat. He will face discomforts with a smiling face and a cheerful heart. He will be ready to risk his life for his chum--or on the altar of duty.

These thoughts flashed through Sefton's mind as he watched the rapid and methodical preparation of clearing s.h.i.+p for action. For once the sub realized that he was a mere spectator--a sort of pariah, dumped from a comparatively insignificant destroyer upon a cruiser mustering a complement of over 700 officers and men. He was aware of the fact that he was a "deadhead"--an individual having no right to take part in the forthcoming contest. The inaction seemed the worst part of the business as far as he was concerned.

Presently Sefton's thoughts were interrupted by the shrill, long-drawn-out trills of the bos'n's mates' pipes summoning the s.h.i.+p's company to muster on the quarter-deck. At the double the men romped aft--every seaman, marine, stoker, and "idler" not actually prevented by pressure of duty elsewhere.

Since the captain could not quit the fore-bridge the a.s.sembled s.h.i.+p's company was addressed by the commander. In crisp sentences of simple brevity he explained to the men the position of affairs. At length a big action was in progress, he announced, for a wireless message had just come in to the effect that the battle-cruisers were already engaging the enemy at 18,000 yards--a distance of nearly 11 land miles.

More than that, the German Battle Squadron was coming from the nor'ard, and there was a grave possibility of the British battle-cruisers being engaged between the enemy battles.h.i.+ps and their battle-cruisers. In which case, the commander hastened to explain, losses would doubtless be severe; but it was part of the Commander-in-Chief's plan to risk certain of his battle-cruisers in order to cut off and detain the German fleet until the British Main Battle Squadrons got between the enemy and their bases.

"I do not expect that we shall go into action just at present,"

concluded the commander, "but should events shape themselves all right we'll be in the thick of it before long. And I have not the faintest hesitation in expressing my firm belief that every man jack of us will do his duty to King and country, and uphold the traditions of H.M.S.

_Warrior_."

With that the men were dismissed, and, all preparations having been made, they were at liberty until the "Action Stations" sounded. That interval was perhaps the most trying of all. Many of the s.h.i.+p's company were going into action for the first time. The majority were laughing and cutting jokes; some could be seen with grey, anxious faces as they thought of their dear ones at home; but amongst the whole complement there was not the faintest trace of faint-heartedness. From the captain down to the youngest "first-cla.s.s" boy the same sentiment held sway: that the _Warrior_ would be able to acquit herself with glory and with honour.

Through the sultry air could be faintly heard the distant and constant rumble of heavy gun-firing. The naval action was developing, although the engaged portions of the rival fleets were fifty or sixty miles away.

The subdued noise made a fitting accompaniment to the stirring words of the commander.

Sefton, still remaining on the quarter-deck, could not help admiring the steadiness with which the cruisers kept station. From time to time hoists of bunting fluttered to the yard-arm of the flags.h.i.+p _Defence_, the orders they expressed being carried out with the utmost celerity and precision.

A lieutenant descending from the after-bridge pa.s.sed along the quarter-deck towards the companion on the half-deck.

"You're out of it, Sefton, I'm afraid," he remarked. "We've just had another wireless. Our destroyers are giving the Huns socks. The old _Calder_ is in the thick of it."

"Any losses?" asked Sefton, feeling ready to kick himself for being out of the sc.r.a.p.

"Don't know yet," was the reply. "I only----"

The lieutenant's words were interrupted by the blare of a bugle.

Turning on his heels he rushed forward at top speed, for at last the rousing order "Action at the Double" was given.

In an instant all was a scene of "orderly confusion", each man running with a set purpose. For the most part the crew were stripped to the waist--a crowd of muscular-armed, deep-chested, clean-shaven men in the very pink of condition. Still exchanging banter, they disappeared to their battle-stations, eager and alert to let loose a hail of sh.e.l.l upon the first hostile vessel that came within range.

"Come along, old man," exclaimed the young sub who had previously "cottoned on" to Jack Sefton. "Now's your chance if you want to see the fun."

The two junior officers made their way for'ard, past the starboard guns in their isolated and closely-sealed steel turrets, until they reached the foremast.

"Up with you," said Sefton's companion laconically.

Sefton agilely ascended to the dizzy perch known as the fire-control platform. The other sub followed quickly at his heels, squeezed through the narrow aperture in the floor of the enclosed s.p.a.ce, and slammed to the metal hinged cover.

"At last!" he exclaimed gleefully.

Sefton only nodded in complete accord. A clock on the after side of the steel wall indicated 5.45. A glance to the deck a hundred feet below showed no sign of life. There was nothing to show that confined within that double-wedge-shaped hull were close upon seven hundred human beings, all with one set purpose, as the thirteen thousand tons of dead-weight forged ahead at full speed towards a distant blurr just visible through the ever-varying haze.

Suddenly the _Defence_ opened fire with her for'ard pair of 9.2's, quickly following with her 7.5's. The ball had opened.

"Fifteen eight hundred, sir," reported one of the range-finding officers within Sefton's hearing.

Rapidly yet smoothly the _Warrior's_ bow guns rose until Sefton could see their muzzles showing like oval-shaped cavities against the dull-grey painted chases. For a second or two only the weapons hung seemingly irresolute.