Passive spectators, for their work aloft was done, they awaited the end, their eyes fixed upon the German battle-cruisers as at intervals they became visible through the drifting cloud of smoke and steam.
Only two guns of the Warrior were now replying to the hostile fire, barking slowly, yet resolutely, as they sent their projectiles hurtling through the air at the nearmost of the assailants, now but 3500 yards distant.
"By Jove, look!" exclaimed Sefton's chum, pointing with a bandaged hand at a large object looming through the smoke close under the Warrior's stern.
It was the gigantic battleship Warspite.
Tearing along at well over her contract speed, the 27,500-ton leviathan meant business. Receiving a salvo of heavy shells that were intended to administer a coup de grâce to the crippled Warrior, and which for the most part rebounded harmlessly from her armour, the Warspite let rip with her splendid 15-inch guns. At the second salvo a German battle-cruiser simply crumpled up and vanished in a cloud of smoke.
Pitted for the first time in this particular engagement against guns of more than their own calibre, the Germans began to fire most erratically. Many of the projectiles fell into the sea. Their shooting, hitherto fairly accurate, became wild and spasmodic. They were learning the truth about modern British gunnery, with British hearts of oak behind the powerful weapons.
But, in spite of her size and superiority of armament, the Warspite did not come off unscathed. At a critical moment her steam steering-gear jammed, and round she circled, straight for the enemy's line. Before the damage could be rectified she was hit several times, losing, amongst other gear, her wireless aerials. While she was still under fire a hostile submarine let off a couple of torpedoes, both of which fortunately missed their mark.
The action had already passed away from the battered Warrior. She had played her part. It remained to save herself from foundering, if she could--a truly herculean task.
[CHAPTER X--Battered but Unconquered]
Almost as in a dream Sefton realized that he was still alive. His hearing was practically done for, owing to the terrific detonation of the guns. His eyes were red and smarting from the effects of numerous particles of soot and dust that had drifted in through the sighting apertures of the fire-control station. He could scarcely speak, his throat was parched and gripped by a terrible thirst. His borrowed uniform was rent in several places, while the right leg of his trousers was warm and moist. Unknown to him, a splinter of metal had cut a clean gash just above the knee. In the excitement of the action he had not felt the wound. Now it was beginning to throb painfully.