The cruiser was now altering her course, and the water was piled up as she turned a few points to port, bringing her bow chasers to bear on the Swift.
“They’ll rake the Swift fore and aft; sweep her guns away,” muttered Webster, moistening his lips.
“Look! there he goes! God bless the Captain! Hurrah for our mates!”
The Swift suddenly moved ahead, and gaining way from the tremendous power of her engines, leapt towards her huge opponent. That moment the heavy guns roared, but the shells missed their prey by a few feet. As it was the two funnels were sheered off as though they had been cut, and the fragments whirled aloft. Then the catcher’s guns maintained a furious fire as she swept on, but the cruiser, completing her manoeuvre, went round to port, and from her bow to her stern her broadside guns thundered one after the other.
A shudder, a hoarse murmur of grief, ran round the group on the Irene.
Out of the smoke the Swift swept to leeward, rolling heavily. Her long gun had been torn away from its fastenings and thrown across the ship, the shields about the twelve-pounders were battered down, and the brave men who had served them were stretched motionless.
Her guns were silenced. There remained yet her torpedoes, but were there any left to work them?
The cruiser was still going round to bring her port broadside to bear, and it all depended now whether Captain Pardoe could turn the Swift, carry her under the stern of the enemy, and discharge his torpedoes.
But the Swift rolled heavily, and at the moment when she should have turned to starboard her bows went round.
“Her steering gear has been injured,” said Webster, with a groan.