Crosthwaite smiled enigmatically. He knew as much as captains of ships were supposed to know, which wasn't very much, but more than their subordinates were told.

"Patience!" he replied. "Can't say more at present. You might see how repairs to that 4-inch gun are progressing."

Sefton descended the bridge ladder and made his way aft. Slight defects in the mounting of the stern-chaser quick-firer had appeared almost as soon as the destroyer left the Firth of Forth, and the armourer's crew were hard at work rectifying the damage.

Gripping the stanchion rail surrounding the gun platform, for the _Calder_ was rolling considerably in the "wash" of her preceding consorts, and exposed to a stiff beam wind, the sub watched the operation. He had no need to ask any questions; there was little about the mechanism of a 4-inch and its mountings that he did not know. He could see that the repairs were almost completed, only a few finishing touches requiring to be done.

"Man overboard!"

The sub rushed to the side just in time to see the outstretched arms of a bluejacket emerging from the following wave of the swiftly moving craft. It was indeed fortunate that the man was still alive, not only had he escaped having his back broken on striking the water, but he had missed the rapidly revolving starboard propeller. Clad in a "duffel"

suit and wearing sea-boots, his position was precarious in the extreme.

Without hesitation Sefton made a flying leap over the guard-rails. Once clear of the side he drew up his legs and hunched his shoulders, striking the water with tremendous force. Well it was that he had taken this precaution instead of making a dive in the ordinary sense of the word, for, carried onward at the rate of a mile every three minutes, he ran a serious risk of dislocated limbs or a broken back had he not rolled himself into the nearest resemblance to a ball.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WITHOUT HESITATION SEFTON MADE A FLYING LEAP OVER THE GUARD RAILS"]

He sank deeply, and was swept irresistibly by the back-wash; it seemed as if he were fathoms down. Before he emerged he could distinctly hear the whirr of the triple propellers. Rising to the surface he refilled his lungs with the salt-laden air, for the concussion had wellnigh deprived him of breath. Then he gave a hurried glance around him.

The _Calder_ was already a couple of cables' lengths away, while the destroyer next astern was almost on top of him. As she swept by, a lifebuoy was hurled towards the sub, luckily missing him by a bare yard.

The second and last destroyer astern saw the swimmer, and by porting helm avoided him easily, and saved him from the great discomfort of being flung about in her wake like a pea in a saucepan of boiling water.

Without making any attempt to slow down and send a boat, the destroyer flotilla held on.

Sefton soon realized the necessity for this apparently inexplicable act.

It was impossible without grave risk to the flotilla to break up the formation, while the danger was still further increased by the fact that the First Cruiser Squadron was pelting along somewhere three or four miles astern, and these vessels, being of a considerable tonnage, carried a tremendous amount of way. Above all, it was war-time, and individuals do not count when greater issues are at stake.

Presently the sub descried the head and shoulders of the missing man as he rose on the crest of the broken waves. He, too, had succeeded in reaching a lifebuoy thrown by the nearmost destroyer. Short as had been the time between the man's tumble overboard and Sefton's deliberate leap, owing to the speed of the flotilla nearly a quarter of a mile separated the would-be rescuer from the object of his gallant attempt.

"No use hanging on here," thought Sefton, as he clung to the buoy.

"Must get to the man somehow."

Then it was that he realized that he had gone overboard in a thick pilot coat and india-rubber sea-boots. These he sacrificed regretfully, since there was no chance of replenishing his kit until the _Calder_ returned to port--that is, if he had the good fortune to survive his adventure "in the ditch". The operation of discarding the boots gave him a tussle, during which he swallowed more salt water than desirable; then, relaxing his grip on the lifebuoy, Sefton struck out towards the man.

The sub was a good swimmer. At Dartmouth he had been "runner-up" for the 440 yards championship, but now he realized the vast difference between swimming that length in regulation costume and an equal distance almost fully clothed in the choppy North Sea.

By the time the sub came within hailing distance of the seaman his limbs felt as heavy as lead, while, do what he would, he was unable to raise his voice above a whisper, much less "a.s.sure the drowning man in a loud, firm voice that he is safe", according to the official regulations.

Sefton was by no means certain that he himself was in anything but a most precarious position.

Sefton found that the man he had risked his life to save was not half so exhausted as he was. The seaman had come off lightly in his fall, and he had had no occasion to tire himself with a long swim to the lifebuoy, since the crew of the pa.s.sing destroyer had all but brained him with the cork "Kisbie".

The A.B. regarded his rescuer with a look that betokened pained disapproval. He was one of those men who are ever "up against discipline". To him the gold band and curl on a uniform meant something more than authority: it roused a spirit of sullen aggression.

And yet Thomas Brown had joined the Royal Navy with the best intentions.

Fate, in the shape of a short-tempered recruiting-officer, had marred his career from the very start; for, on joining the training-school at Shotley, one of the questions asked of him was the name of his birthplace.

"Ashby-de-la-Zouch, sir," replied young Brown, giving the name with the accepted Leicestershire accent.

"Where did you say?" enquired the lieutenant.

The recruit repeated the words.

"Zoo, did you say?" snapped the officer.

"Yes, sir," rejoined Thomas Brown without a moment's hesitation. "The next cage to yours."

The repartee came absolutely on the spur of the moment. A second's reflection might have made all the difference. It was a bad start, and the newly-entered boy suffered for it. That was some years ago, but in the Royal Navy the old adage of giving a dog a bad name holds good longer than anywhere else.

Sefton recognized the man as one who figured frequently in the "Captain's Report". Young as he was, the sub had a keen insight into human nature, and although he knew nothing of the first slip that had marred the A.B.'s career he was certain that there were good points in the man, and that underneath his rugged, surly exterior there was something of true worth.

"No need for you to tumble into the ditch after me, sir," said the man.

"I can shift for myself."

He spoke gruffly, but underlying the remonstrance was an unmistakable tone of grat.i.tude. In the circ.u.mstances he was glad of company. He would have welcomed his "raggie", or chum, in preference to an officer, but at such times the difference of rank gives place to the equality of human peril.

"They'll pick us both up," declared Sefton, although in his mind he had grave doubts as to the matter.

"Not they," rejoined A.B. Brown, indicating the direction of the now invisible flotilla with a jerk of his closely-cropped head. "The cruisers might. But take hold of this, sir," he added, pushing the buoy to within reach of the sub. "You looks as if you want it a long sight more'n me."

Both men relapsed into silence. Further conversation meant a waste of precious breath. At intervals, as the buoy rose on the billows, Sefton "hiked" his head and shoulders well clear of the water in the hope of sighting the armoured-cruiser squadron.

"They're a precious long time in coming up," he soliloquized. "Seven minutes ought to have done the trick."

As a matter of fact, the First Cruiser Squadron had received a wireless message from the _Calder_ within ninety seconds of Sefton's leap overboard, requesting the vessels to keep a sharp look-out for the two men.

On receipt of the intelligence the armoured cruisers' speed was reduced to 10 knots, and this accounted for the seemingly endless time that elapsed before the vessels came within sight of the two well-nigh exhausted men as they clung to the lifebuoy.

At length, through the light haze that prevailed throughout the morning, could be discerned the grey outlines of the First Cruiser Squadron.

The ships were steaming in double column, line ahead, the _Defence_, flying the Rear-Admiral's flag, leading the starboard and the _Warrior_ the port line. With faultless precision they came on, three cables'

distance separating the units of each division, and twice that interval betwixt the columns.

"They've spotted us, sir," exclaimed Able Seaman Brown, as the alteration of position of the red flag and green cone displayed from the cruiser's mainmast yard-arm told the two men that the _Warrior's_ helm was being ported. Simultaneously the "steaming cones" were reversed, showing that the ship's engines were going astern--a manoeuvre followed by the rest of the squadron.

Almost before way was taken off the ship the _Warrior's_ sea-boat was rapidly lowered from the davits. Sefton could hear the dull thud of the lower blocks as the releasing-gear came into action and the falls surged against the ship's side, and the treble-voiced midshipman urging his boat's crew to "give way there, my lads, for all you're worth."

Although only a minute and a half elapsed between the time the sea-boat got away from the ship and her arrival at the scene of the rescue, the interval seemed interminable to Sub-lieutenant Sefton.

With feelings of indescribable relief he realized that he was being gripped by two pairs of h.o.r.n.y powerful hands and lifted over the dipping gunwale into the stern-sheets, while others performed a like office for the saturated A.B.

Smartly the sea-boat was brought alongside the cruiser. Deftly the hoisting-gear was engaged, and with a hundred-and-twenty men tailing on the falls the boat and her occupants were whisked up to a level with the vessel's quarter-deck.

And thus Acting Sub-lieutenant John Sefton found himself on board H.M.S.

_Warrior_, in blissful ignorance of the gallant part the armoured cruiser was about to bear in the glorious battle off the Jutland Bank.

CHAPTER VI--Action at the Double