Turning back, the battered remnants of the Hun flotilla fled for the shelter of their battle-cruisers. The path was now clear for the furtherance of the British destroyers' attack upon the larger vessels of the hostile fleet; but the difficulties had increased tenfold owing to the injury of some of the boats, which were compelled to slacken speed and drop astern.
Yet undaunted, the black-hulled hornets reformed into some semblance of order, and, under a galling fire, hurled themselves upon the formidable array of German battle-cruisers.
[CHAPTER VIII--The "Calder's" Second Scoop]
Of the mad, desperate, and, above all, glorious race into the gates of a maritime hell Crosthwaite saw but little beyond his immediate front. Since the British destroyers were under the fire of projectiles ranging from 11-inch downwards, it was evident that the Calder's light-armoured conning-tower would afford little protection, and if it were hit by a heavy shell the fate of all within would be sealed. So, standing on the starboard extremity of the bridge, the lieutenant-commander took his craft into the second phase of the destroyer attack.
Up to the present not a single British destroyer had been sunk, although some had been compelled to retire owing to damage received during their scrap with the hostile torpedo flotilla; but the good start in this direction was no longer maintained.
A large destroyer, subsequently identified as the Nomad, was struck by a huge projectile almost amidships. A rush of scalding steam, followed by clouds of smoke, announced that the engine-room was wrecked, and that the vessel was no longer under control.
Porting helm, the Calder ran past the lee of the crippled destroyer, the smoke from which undoubtedly saved Crosthwaite's command from severe punishment.
For nearly half a mile the Nomad carried way, until she came to a stop between the lines. The last Crosthwaite saw of her was the destroyer, still afloat, maintaining a desultory fire, although a stationary target for an overwhelming number of hostile guns.
Suddenly Crosthwaite staggered, hurled sideways by an invisible force. The guard-rail, which he was still gripping, was no longer supported by the stanchions. Falling heavily upon the bridge, he was within an ace of dropping overboard when a signalman gripped him by the ankles.
The lieutenant-commander regained his feet in an instant, barely conscious of his narrow escape, for a 4-inch shell had passed so close to him that the windage had capsized him. Crashing aft, the projectile demolished the short mast supporting the wireless, hurling the fragments upon the deck. The White Ensign, which had fluttered from this masthead during the action, had blown against the mounting of the after 4-inch gun. Although little more than a riddled piece of bunting, it was secured by one of the men and lashed to the stump of the mast.