“Ah—she’s got home!”
Mr. Linton’s quick exclamation came just before a shout from the bridge. One of the funnels of the German ship had tilted suddenly, and remained looking curiously helpless, like a child’s damaged toy. The Sealark had found her range. Shot after shot crashed; another funnel fell sideways, and a great black stain showed near the stern where a shell had hit its mark. The ships grew nearer together.
“The German’s having engine-trouble, I believe,” Grantham hazarded. “Her speed is falling off.”
“By Jove, she’s hit the Sealark!”
Almost simultaneously with two vicious puffs of smoke from the German guns there came a commotion on the deck of the British cruiser. Through the glasses could be seen marks of damage, and one gun spoke no more. But, as if in swift retaliation, a series of crashing shots from the Sealark shook the air—and the enemy ship seemed to shiver and pause. A gaping hole showed in her side. Again the British guns roared across the water.
“She’s done,” Mr. Linton said.
The German ship was quite done. She listed slowly, more and more of her hull becoming visible as the deck, with its litter of wreckage and broken funnels, sloped away from them. Gushes of vapour that might have been either smoke or steam poured from her; and then, as the watchers held their breath in suspense, blue wreaths of smoke curled lazily upwards. She was on fire and sinking.
“The Sealark is signalling to us,” the second officer said. “We’re wanted—it’s full steam ahead. But she won’t last until we get there.”
The guns of the British cruiser had ceased. A moment before she had been nothing but a death-dealing machine; now she suddenly became an instrument of mercy, dashing forward to save life. The Perseus was no less ready. The water foamed from her bows, as she bore down upon the sinking German.
“She’s going!” A score of voices raised the cry.