Farther and farther she heeled, the rush of water into her hull and the hiss of escaping air being distinctly audible above the howling of the wind. Her crew--or, rather, the survivors--could be heard as they leapt from the steeply inclined decks. There was no need for a torpedo to administer the coup de grâce.
Five minutes later only the battleship's keel-plates and the tips of the four propellers remained above the surface, by which time the Calder had left her well astern and was approaching the double lines of hostile light cruisers, whose indistinct shapes were just beginning to be visible against the patch of starlight that penetrated a gap in the inky mist.
A sudden blinding glare enveloped the Calder, causing her lieutenant-commander, quartermaster, and helmsman to blink helplessly. Fairly caught by the rays of half a dozen search-lights, they were temporarily blinded as effectually as if their eyes had been bandaged with opaque scarves.
Fortunately Sefton's back was turned from the direction in which the destroyer was proceeding. The unmasking of the concentrated rays warned him. Shielding his eyes, he turned and made a dash for the steam steering-gear, the wheel of which the helmsman was still grasping automatically.
"Hard-a-port!" shouted the sub.
The man made no attempt to carry out the order, but, slowly bending forward, collapsed upon the bridge. A fragment of shell had pierced his brain.
Pushing the body aside, Sefton put the helm hard over, and the destroyer, screened by an intervening vessel that fortunately did not make use of her search-lights, entered a darkened patch between the brilliantly lighted areas on either side.
With her remaining guns spitting defiance at the hostile light cruisers, and launching her torpedoes immediately a target presented itself, the destroyer continued her devoted dash. Projectiles, large and small, hurtled overhead, while, rapidly hit again and again, she was soon reduced to a mere wreck.
The German cruisers had a fair and easy mark. Had their gun-layers been equal to the British, the Calder would have been blown clean out of the water; but the terrible night had told upon their nerves. A wholesome dread of the British destroyers with their deadly torpedoes was present in their minds. Not knowing whether the solitary destroyer was supported by others of the flotilla, they were under the impression that the Calder was leading a line of swift vessels, and the surmise was not comforting to the Huns.
In the midst of the tornado of shell one of the Calder's torpedoes "got home", ripping open the bottom of a light cruiser and causing an internal explosion that tore her to pieces. So close was the destroyer that the terrific rush of displaced air was distinctly felt, while a dense cloud of smoke from the sinking cruiser, driving to leeward across the foam-flecked and shell-sprayed waves, completely enveloped the little craft that had dealt the successful blow.