"Take her out of action if you can," exclaimed a voice which Sefton recognized as that of his commanding officer. "I'm done in, I'm afraid."
The cloud of smoke saved the Calder from destruction, for, turning while still in the midst of the impenetrable pall of vapour, the destroyer slipped away from the rays of search-lights, and, doubling, literally staggered in an opposite direction to the one she had been keeping a minute before.
In vain the German search-lights swept the sea in the supposed position of the daring destroyer, until, convinced that she had shared the fate of their lost light cruiser, they screened lights and re-formed line.
Once more, in the pitch-black darkness of the night, Sefton began to realize the responsibility of his position. Crosthwaite was now lying motionless--either he had fainted from loss of blood or else he was already dead. In spite of his anxiety on his skipper's behalf, Sefton was unable to lift a finger to help him. The sub was the only one left standing on the bridge, and whether the bridge was part of a sinking vessel he knew not. A strange silence brooded over the Calder, broken occasionally by the moans and groans of wounded men who littered her deck.
Yet Sefton's instructions were clear up to a certain point. He had to take the destroyer out of action. To all intents this part of his duty had been carried out. The Calder, in a damaged, perhaps foundering, condition, was alone on the wild North Sea.
The dark form of a bluejacket clambered up the twisted bridge-ladder, and, crossing to where Sefton stood, touched his shoulder.
"Where's the sub-lootenant, mate?" he asked.
"I'm here, Brown," replied the young officer.
"Beg pardon, sir," replied the A.B. "Couldn't recognize you in the darkness. Thought I'd see if you was all right."
"Thanks," replied Sefton, touched by the man's devotion. "How goes it on deck?"