Thrusting both levers of the engine-room telegraph to "Full Speed Astern" and afterwards to "Stop", the sub brought the Calder to a standstill within easy hailing distance of her disabled consort. Here was a case in which assistance could be rendered without detriment to the interests of the Service. The Calder, until she could replenish her store of torpedoes, was practically useless as a fighting unit. With her engines undamaged she could tow the Yealm into comparative safety, provided she was not intercepted by a straggling hostile ship.
"Stand by to receive a hawser!" continued Sefton. "We'll give you a pluck out of this."
"No; thanks all the same, sir," shouted a deep voice. "We're sound below the water-line, and we can get under way again in a few minutes. We'll take our chances of getting out of it. We gave the swine an almighty punching before they swept our decks. Carry on, sir, and give them another half a dozen for us."
It was the Yealm's torpedo gunner who spoke, the only surviving executive officer of the gallant destroyer.
"Can you spare us any torpedoes?" shouted Sefton, an inspiration flashing across his mind.
"Aye, aye, sir," was the reply. "Four."
"Very good; we'll come alongside," rejoined the sub, who thereupon ordered two wire "springs" to be made ready, so as to establish communication between the two destroyers.
"Well done, Sefton!" exclaimed his lieutenant-commander.
The sub turned and found that Crosthwaite had regained his feet, and was standing beside him upon the partly demolished bridge.
"You're----", began Sefton, but the lieutenant-commander shut him up.