The cruiser was slewing round, her bilge rising to blot out the chaos and torment on her decks as she started to roll over. More explosions echoed across the water, and even at such a distance Lindsay heard heavy machinery and weapons tearing adrift to add to the horror below decks.
There was no hope of saving any lives. Benbecula was devoid of boats, and most of her rafts were either lost or destroyed in the savage battle.
Steam rose high above the cruiser’s bows as very slowly they lifted from the water, a black arrowhead against the’ horizon and clear sky.. Then she dived, the turbulence and spreading oil-slick marking her last moment of life.
Dancy asked thickly, ‘Shall I get our people off, sir?’ He seemed stunned. ‘We could build rafts.’
Fraser, without orders, had already cut the speed to dead slow, and Lindsay’ guessed that many of his men would have thought their end had come when Maxwell’s gun had been smashed, to say nothing of the German’s violent ending.
‘Yes.’ He touched his arm. ‘And thank you.’
But Dancy did not move. He looked as if he was doubting his own reason. ‘Sir! Listen!’
Feebly at first. Little more than a murmur above the hiss of flames, the occasional crackle of bursting ammunition, Lindsay heard the sounds of Fraser’s pumps.
He took the handset. ‘Chief?’
Fraser was chuckling. ‘The old cow! I told you, didn’t I?’ He sounded near to tears. ‘Bloody old cow judged it right to the last bloody moment- ‘ His voice broke completely.
Lindsay said quietly, ‘If we can get these fires out and hold the intake we might keep her afloat.’ He lowered the handset very gently.
Then he walked out on to the remaining wing and gripped the screen with both hands. Slowly he looked down and along his command. The death and the terrible damage, even the leaping fires on the well deck could not disguise the old ship’s familiar outline. Hoses which had been lying smouldering came to life again, and more men emerged like rats from their holes to control them. He saw a stoker, his head bandaged, carrying the ship’s cat and standing it down by a cup full of water. Then he stood back to watch the cat’s reactions, as if witnessing the greatest miracle in the world.
Three hours later, as the ship struggled forward at a dead slow speed, her hull cloaked in smoke and escaping steam, a lookout reported another vessel on the horizon. It was the Canopus, hurrying back in the vain hope of saving some of the convoy.
The sight of the riddled, fire-blackened ship with some unfamiliar flag still flapping jauntily above the destruction made her captain believe the worst had happened.
Ritchie lowered his telescope and reported, “E wants to know, sir. What ship are you?’
Goss, bare-headed and black with filth from top to toe, was sipping tea at the rear of the bridge. He looked at Lindsay’s tired face and winked.
Then he said to Ritchie, ‘Make to Canopus. This is H.M.S. Benbecula.’ He turned away in case Lindsay should see his eyes. ‘The finest ship in the company.’