For a few moments it seemed as if the old ship would swing athwart the channel, but it soon became apparent that she was hard and fast aground. Nothing more could be done but to sink her as she lay.
The while the Vindictive was subjected to a terrifically hot fire. The after-control had been completely demolished, killing every man in it. The upper works were literally shattered, while the decks were littered with debris and the bodies of slain and wounded men.
"Don't move, old man!" exclaimed Branscombe, who had returned to his chum. "The order's given to abandon ship. I'll stand by you right enough."
"You've been hit," said Seton, as he caught sight of a dark, gradually-increasing stain on the right side of Branscombe's jumper.
"Machine-gun bullet copped me," replied Branscombe. "Nothing much. Heavens! We've had a hammering, but we're here this time."
"Any sign of the M.-L.'s?" asked Alec after a pause.
"They'll be here in a brace of shakes," replied Branscombe confidently.
The Vindictive had now settled on the bottom of the harbour with a slight list to starboard. The Huns were still maintaining a hot fire merely out of sheer rage. They knew perfectly well that the ship was sunk, and that no military advantage could be obtained by continuing to shell her. They were determined to prevent the rescue of her crew. Massacring survivors of sunken ships is one of the gentle pastimes of the "Kultured" Hun, and he now was doing his best to keep up his reputation.
Meanwhile, on board the water-logged cruiser the utmost order was maintained. In spite of the galling fire, men were coolly searching for their wounded messmates and removing them to the safest possible places until the expected rescue craft arrived.
"Here they are!" shouted a score of voices, as a dazzle-painted M.-L. emerged from the pall of smoke and headed straight for the stranded ship.