A sudden and a totally unexpected swerve of the ship prevented Crosthwaite from observing the result of his single-handed efforts. Instinctively he realized that his presence was again required on the bridge. As he hastened for'ard he almost collided with Surgeon Stirling, who, in his shirt-sleeves, had come up from below to aid the sufferers.
Seeing Crosthwaite stagger along with his features contorted and his complexion showing a sickly yellow in spite of the tan, the doctor hurried after him.
"Not this time, Doc," protested the lieutenant-commander with a wan smile, as he lurched forward. His brain was whirling under the strain of the awful ordeal, yet he was dimly conscious that something was amiss, and that at all costs he must return to his post.
He was barely in time. The quartermaster was huddled in a heap at the base of the steam steering-gear column with a ghastly wound in his thigh. The destroyer, left to her own devices, once more was bearing down upon one of her helpless consorts.
Thrusting the wheel hard over, Crosthwaite found that the vessel was still under control. Almost by a hairbreadth she scraped the port quarter of the crippled destroyer, whose decks were literally swept by the enemy's fire, and resembled a charnel-house. Nothing could be done to save her, for she was already on the point of foundering. Of her crew not one visible remained alive. She had fought to the death--a typical example of British pluck and endurance against overwhelming odds.
Her last torpedoes fired, the Calder was free to make good her escape--if she could. Receiving a couple of glancing hits as she sped towards the shelter, she slid past the foremost of the British battle-cruisers, receiving three hearty cheers from the crew.
The second phase of the destroyer operations was over. Although not so successful as had been expected, owing to the formation having been disturbed by the encounter with the German torpedo flotillas, the dash was not without definite material gains. Nomad and Nestor had not returned, and were presumed to be sunk, a surmise that subsequently proved to be correct, since a portion of their crews were rescued by the German torpedo-craft.
Having brought the Calder safely out of the inferno, Crosthwaite's next step was to take stock of damages and report to the commander of his flotilla.
The wireless was by this time again made serviceable, several of the crew having worked while under fire on setting up the aerials which had been carried away with the demolition of the after-mast.
Others were busily engaged in putting patches on the gaping rents in the funnel casings and stopping the shell-holes in the thin plating. Fortunately the engine-room had escaped serious damage, only two casualties occurring owing to an auxiliary steam-pipe being severed by a sliver of shell.