The remaining Hun, finding that his automatic weapon was likewise empty, and mindful of Leslie's brandished air-pistol, was chary of closing with the lad. Incautiously, young Sefton levelled the pistol and fired, the pellet merely penetrating the German's coat and waistcoat, and inflicting a slight scratch on his chest.
In a trice, the Hun guessed the comparatively feeble nature of the British lad's weapon. He knew that seconds would have to elapse before the air-pistol could be reloaded. Mentally comparing his size with that of the fifteen-year-old youth, he came to the conclusion that it was safe to close.
Leslie, far from declining the unspoken challenge, threw himself at his opponent, and two pairs of desperately earnest antagonists were locked in deadly combat. It was long odds, for, with Crosthwaite Senior helpless with a bullet through his arm, and the admiral imprisoned beneath the overturned car, no help seemed likely to be forthcoming from that direction. To make matters worse, Hans, the leader of the gang, having quieted down after the first acute pain, had seen how things stood, and, recovering his pistol, had cautiously approached, seeking a favourable opportunity to turn the already-wavering scale.
[CHAPTER XVII--Safe in Port]
Throughout the long-drawn night the survivors of the Calder's crew battled manfully against increasing difficulties in their efforts to save the destroyer from foundering. The faulty bulkhead, shored and barricaded with tightly-packed hammocks and other canvas gear, required constant watching. The pumps were working continuously, relays of men undertaking the arduous task in the high-spirited manner that pervades the navy, especially when confronted with danger and peril.
Not once during the hours of darkness did Sefton quit the remnants of the bridge. Without the aid of navigating instruments, save the inadequate compass, the destroyer's course could not be maintained with the customary precision. Variation and deviation--factors carefully guarded against in ordinary circumstances--were affecting the boat's liquid compass, but to what extent Sefton knew not. With a vague idea that he would "fetch" the Firth of Forth, the sub held on, the grinding revolutions of the remaining propeller dinning into his ears the knowledge that the old Calder was momentarily, but slowly, approaching the shores of Britain.
A cup of unfragrant tea, sweetened with condensed milk, and a biscuit which was strongly scented with a peculiarly acrid smell, were gratefully accepted by the wellnigh exhausted sub. The man who brought the refreshments to the bridge had not thought it necessary to explain that he had scraped the sodden tea from the floor of the shell-wrecked officers'-pantry, or that he had been compelled to wash the salt water from the biscuits and toast them in the stokehold.
Once more the waves had subsided, and an almost flat calm prevailed. Overhead a few stars shone dimly through the haze. Not a light was visible; all around, sea and sky blended in a dark, ill-defined murk.
At four bells the helmsman was relieved. He was the seventh consecutive man whom Sefton had seen taking his trick at the wheel, but still the sub stuck gamely at his post. He would have given almost anything to throw himself at full length upon the dewy deck and sleep like a log, even for a couple of hours, but such a privilege was denied him. His wounds, too, although slight, were beginning to feel painfully stiff. The sea-water, penetrating his ragged uniform, irritated the abrasions almost beyond endurance. He yearned in vain for a hot bath and a change of clothing.
"How goes it now?" enquired a tired voice, hardly recognizable as that of Dr. Stirling. "Where are we?"