All around him the turmoil of foaming water was emitting steam and compressed air like miniature geysers, while a huge, grotesquely distorted mass seemed to rise out of the sea almost within arm's length. It was the hull of the doomed cruiser, as she turned slowly over until her keel-plates floated bottom uppermost. Various buoyant objects came bobbing to the surface with considerable velocity and added to the danger. A fragment of a shell-shattered cutter missed him by a bare yard. Had it struck, he would have been almost cut in two by the sharp, jagged edges of the woodwork.
Whirled hither and thither by the swirl of the water, Tressidar noticed that the upturned hull showed no signs of disappearing to the bottom of the ocean. The jets of steam, too, had ceased, and the sea in the vicinity of the wreck was becoming comparatively tranquil.
Some distance away the sole serviceable boats were lying off, crowded with men and with scores of less fortunate seamen clinging to the gunwales. A considerable number of the survivors were relying solely upon their swimming-collars; others were clinging, more or less in the water, to barrels, petrol-tins, oars, and mess-gear. In spite of the danger, they were exchanging banter with the utmost zest. The fact that they were a thousand miles from the nearest land never seemed to worry them in the slightest degree.
Numbers of men, finding that the upturned hull still floated, began to scramble up the sides, since the submergence of the two bilge-keels to a depth of about a foot made this a comparatively easy matter. Amongst them were several of the officers, including Assistant Paymaster Greenwood.
Eric happened to see his chum's plight, for, try as he would, the sub. had not strength to haul himself and the now unconscious midshipman into temporary safety. Practically all the ship's company had mustered aft when the "Heracles" turned turtle, and since Tressidar had been thrown out of the foremast shrouds he and young Picklecombe were apart from the rest of the survivors.
Sliding down to the bilge-keel, the A.P., heedless of his injured arm, gripped Tressidar by the shoulders.
"One minute, old bird," gasped the sub. "Give me a hand with the youngster. Be steady. He's been hit—shoulder, pretty badly."
Transferring his grasp to the canvas sling, Greenwood hauled the midshipman into comparative safety, while Tressidar, relieved of the lad's weight, quickly drew himself up the bilge-keel.
"Thanks, old man," he said simply.
"Let's hope we won't have to make another swim for it," remarked the A.P. "We're expecting the destroyers, but they haven't shown up yet. By Jove, the water is cold. Let's shift out of it. The P.M.O. is aft somewhere, I think. I vote we get hold of him and see what's wrong with young Picklecombe."