Gradually now the British squadron closed in on the Gneisenau and Leipzig, spreading out in a half circle as they advanced. Both German ships had been vitally wounded, but they continued to fight back gamely. Shell after shell burst on their decks, pierced them below the waterline, or carried away their fighting tops or superstructure.
Battered almost to pieces, and their decks strewn with dead and dying, they nevertheless fought on.
There would be no surrender. This fact was apparent to the British, and they directed their fire so as to end the battle as quickly as possible.
The Gneisenau staggered, and seemed about to go under. She recovered her equilibrium in an instant, however, and renewed the battle with even greater vigor than before.
Now the two German cruisers, crippled and battered as they were, steamed as rapidly they could right toward the British fleet, making a final effort to inflict a serious blow upon the British before themselves going to the bottom.
Closer and closer they came, their guns hurling shells at all the British vessels without favor. A shell struck squarely upon the bridge of the Canopus, killing an officer; and the splintering wood that flew about accounted for two more, making the British death list now eight.
And still the German cruisers came on; and then the Gneisenau wavered, halted and staggered back. A shell had pierced through to her boilers. There was an explosion, followed by a great hissing sound.
Without steam the Gneisenau could steam neither forward nor backward. Stationary, rising and falling on the swell of the waves, she continued to pour in her fire, even as the Leipzig continued on alone.
A British shell struck the Leipzig's steering gear, rendering it useless, and the German cruiser staggered about at the mercy of the sea. Still the gunners continued to hurl shells at the British whenever the guns could be brought to bear.
But this was not often, for the fact that she could not be steered properly rendered the work of the British much easier.