A rousing cheer--it is wonderful how much sound men can give vent to even when almost dead through exhaustion--hailed this unexpected deliverance from one of many perils, and the seamen settled themselves to resume their prolonged discomforts, buoyed up by the unshaken hope that a British vessel would bear down to their assistance.
It was indeed remarkable how quickly most of the Velocity's men regained their spirits after being received on board the Calder.
One, in particular, was displaying acute anxiety as to the condition of a bundle of one-pound notes, which, sodden with sea-water, he had carefully removed from the pouch of his solitary garment--a body-belt. Amidst a fire of good-natured chaff, the man spread his precious belongings out to dry--an almost impossible task owing to the showers of spray--until, taken compassion upon by a sympathetic stoker, he went below to the stokehold and successfully completed the delicate operation.
Another survivor stuck gamely to a wooden tobacco-box. His messmates knew the secret, but, when questioned by the Calder's men, he cautiously opened the lid, displaying a couple of white rats. Before going into action, the man, having doubts as to the safety of his pets in the fo'c'sle, had stealthily removed them aft, placing the box in the officers' pantry. When the Velocity was rammed he did not forget his dumb friends. At the risk of his life, he went below and secured the box. Throughout the long night he kept the animals dry, only surrendering them to his chums when his turn came to leap overboard and lighten the already overcrowded life-buoy.
The rest of the day passed almost without incident. Food was running short, for, in spite of the sadly depleted number of the Calder's crew, there was barely another day's provisions left on board that had not been spoiled by fire and water. In addition, the augmentation of the ship's company by the rescued crew made the shortage still more acute.
Just as night was coming on a petty officer approached Sefton and saluted.
"For'ard bulkhead's giving, sir," he reported, as coolly as if he were announcing a most trivial occurrence. "There's four feet of water in the for'ard stokehold."
The safety of the Calder and her crew depended upon that transverse wall of steel. Once this bulkhead yielded to the terrific pressure of water, no human ingenuity and resource could save the battered destroyer from plunging to the bed of the North Sea.
[CHAPTER XV--A Day of Suspense]
"Confound the wretched thing, Sefton!" exclaimed Major-General Crosthwaite explosively.