Already the dead had been identified and given a hasty, yet impressive, burial, while--an ominous sign--the wounded had been brought up from below and laid in rows upon the upper deck. It was a necessary precaution, and clearly indicated the grave possibility of the old Warrior being unable to battle much longer against the ever-increasing leaks.
There was now plenty of work for Sefton to do. Placed in charge of one of the fire-parties he was soon strenuously engaged in fighting the conflagration. With the flooding of the after magazine all danger of an explosion was now at an end, but, unless the flames were speedily quelled, the possibility of foundering would be materially increased, since several shell-holes betwixt wind and water had occurred in that part of the ship still dominated by the outbreak.
Although no doubt existed in the minds of the Warrior's crew as to the outcome of the general engagement, they were in suspense owing to a total lack of news. Without wireless they were debarred from communication with the rest of the squadron. As helpless as a log, the battered vessel was floating in the vast expanse of the North Sea without a single vessel in sight. The roar of the battle had rolled on far to the nor'ard, and although the incessant rumble of the terrific cannonade was distinctly audible, the Warrior was as ignorant of the course of events as if she had been a hundred miles away.
The almost flat calm had given place to sullen undulations rippled by a steady breeze that threatened before long to develop into a hard blow. There was every indication of an angry sea before nightfall.
An hour had elapsed since the Warrior had ceased firing--sixty minutes of strenuous exertion on the part of all hands--when a vessel was sighted apparently steaming in the crippled cruiser's direction.
For some moments suspense ran high, for whether the strange craft were friend or foe no one on board could give a definite decision.
"What do you make of her?" enquired Sefton's chum as the two young officers stood under the lee of a partly demolished gun-turret.
"Precious little," replied Sefton. "Can't say that I am able to recognize her. But in these times, with a new vessel being added to the navy every day, one can hardly be expected to tell every ship by the cut of her jib."
"She might be a Hun," said the Warrior's sub. "One that has got out of her bearings and is just sniffing round to see what damage she can do. Hallo! There's 'Action Stations'."
The Warrior was taking no unnecessary risks. She was still in a position to bite, although at a terrible disadvantage if opposed to an active and mobile foe. Gamely her war-worn men doubled off to the light quick-firers, three rousing cheers announcing the fact that, although badly battered, the gallant British seamen knew not the meaning of the word surrender.