"Aye, aye, sir!" replied the disguised sub-lieutenant. He was in the act of descending the ladder when a heavy shell hit the conning-tower. A hot blast literally blew Alec from the ladder and hurled him violently against one of the ventilating shafts. Deafened by the concussion, he strove to regain his feet, but his limbs seemed devoid of feeling. Wisps of burning woodwork were lying all around. His canvas jumper was smouldering, yet he lacked the strength to smother the smoking fabric. The next impression was that of being lifted from the deck. Branscombe, seeing his chum's plight, had hurried to the rescue. "Captain's orders: hard-a-starboard!" exclaimed Seton. "Leave me, old man, and pass the word." Branscombe, waiting only to divest Alec of his smouldering jumper--it was a work of a few seconds only--tore off to the steering-flat. Promptly the hand-wheel party obeyed, and the cruiser swung round to port. It was the last order that the gallant Godsal gave. The shell that had hurled Seton like a feather in a gale had literally blown the _Vindictive's_ skipper to atoms. Lieutenant Sir John Alleyne, the navigating officer, was rendered unconscious by the concussion, which also gave the occupants of the conning-tower a bad shaking. Immediately Lieutenant Victor Crutchley assumed command. Everything depended upon his orders during the next few seconds, for the ship was still swinging to port and, if her course was not altered, she would probably ground in a useless position. Ordering the port engine to full-speed astern, Lieutenant Crutchley tried to get the ship to swing across the narrow channel between the piers. Unfortunately the port propeller, which had been badly damaged at Zeebrugge, refused its allotted task, and the ship's bows grounded against the eastern pier. For a few moments it seemed as if the old ship would swing athwart the channel, but it soon became apparent that she was hard and fast aground. Nothing more could be done but to sink her as she lay. The while the _Vindictive_ was subjected to a terrifically hot fire. The after-control had been completely demolished, killing every man in it. The upper works were literally shattered, while the decks were littered with debris and the bodies of slain and wounded men. "Don't move, old man!" exclaimed Branscombe, who had returned to his chum. "The order's given to abandon ship. I'll stand by you right enough." "You've been hit," said Seton, as he caught sight of a dark, gradually-increasing stain on the right side of Branscombe's jumper. "Machine-gun bullet copped me," replied Branscombe. "Nothing much. Heavens! We've had a hammering, but we're here this time." "Any sign of the M.-L.'s?" asked Alec after a pause. "They'll be here in a brace of shakes," replied Branscombe confidently.