It would be no exaggeration to state frankly that the crews of the two destroyers had—to use a pithy expression—"cold feet". On board a lightly-built craft, with little or no protection—for the decks were only of three-sixteenths steel—the crews were practically helpless. All they could do was to "stick it "; for, with the exception of the three hands manning the anti-aircraft gun, they had no means of offence against the almost invisible menace from the darkened sky.
In the heat of battle, even against odds, when each man had his active part to perform, there was little or no time for thoughts of personal danger. These were men who had willingly undertaken to remain motionless for hours upon the deck of a Q-boat when shelled by a submarine; they did so in the hope that an opportunity of hitting back with interest was imminent, They had weapons wherewith to strike and strike hard, and they were eager to take up the offensive at the very earliest opportune moment.
But now the position was different, They were defenceless—or practically so—against the hostile airmen. They were ignorant of the nationality of their foes, of the strength and manoeuvring power of the attacking aircraft. Yet not a man failed to do his duty, although his greatest concern was to conceal from his "raggie" any indication of the fear that gripped him. Both destroyers were now without way. They realized that zigzagging tactics were too risky. The tell-tale phosphorescent wake that had betrayed the fugitive Cerro Algarrobo would also reveal their presence to the men controlling those swift-moving machines high above the surface of the sea.
It was now so dark that the Messines had entirely lost touch with her opposite number. Not the faintest suspicion of a light was displayed. The anti-aircraft gun of each destroyer was silent, although the respective gunlayers were itching to let rip at the reapproaching aerial squadron.
Suddenly a star-shell fired from the leading flying-boat threw the two destroyers into a pool of light. All attempt at concealment was, for the present, futile. Engine-room telegraph gongs clanged. The long, lean boats darted forward, heeling to the action of their helms put hard over. The "antis" spat viciously, the crash of the exploding shells punctuating the roar of the aerial propellers.
One of the attacking aircraft, caught by a six-pounder, was literally pulverized. Apparently the detonation of the projectile had exploded her cargo of powerful bombs.
In the flash of the explosion, the rest of the attackers could be seen staggering under the effect of the air-blast; but, admirably handled, they recovered and resumed formation, closing up the gap where the luckless flying-boat had been.
The British crews cheered ironically at the destruction of one of their foes, but their triumph was short-lived. Almost before the shouting had subsided, a bomb struck the Armentières between the stern and the after torpedo tubes. So terrific was the force of the resulting explosion that the after part of the destroyer was completely shattered. Deprived of her propellers and rudder, she still carried way, though her deck as far for'ard as the aftermast funnel was awash. Knee-deep in water, her shell-shocked anti-aircraft gun's crew were still firing blindly.
"She's gone!" ejaculated Carfax, who with Cavendish and another officer, was on the Messines' bridge.
"No fear," replied Cavendish, catching a glimpse of the Armentières' outlines in the flash of the gun. "Watertight bulkheads are holding."