The _Vindictive_ had now settled on the bottom of the harbour with a slight list to starboard. The Huns were still maintaining a hot fire merely out of sheer rage. They knew perfectly well that the ship was sunk, and that no military advantage could be obtained by continuing to shell her. They were determined to prevent the rescue of her crew. Massacring survivors of sunken ships is one of the gentle pastimes of the "Kultured" Hun, and he now was doing his best to keep up his reputation. Meanwhile, on board the water-logged cruiser the utmost order was maintained. In spite of the galling fire, men were coolly searching for their wounded messmates and removing them to the safest possible places until the expected rescue craft arrived. "Here they are!" shouted a score of voices, as a dazzle-painted M.-L. emerged from the pall of smoke and headed straight for the stranded ship. Through the shell-torn water M.-L. 254 raced. Her cool and calculating R.N.V.R. commander knew his job. He came alongside, selecting the _Vindictive's_ port side--that nearest the eastern pier--in which he showed admirable judgment, for in the narrow space between the ship and the pier the little M.-L. was temporarily sheltered from direct fire. "Now, then!" exclaimed Branscombe. "Up with you, old man!" Assisted by his wounded chum, Seton regained his feet. Desperately weak, he was able, with Branscombe's assistance, to make his way along the inclined deck to where the M.-L. lay grinding in the tidal swell. Wounded men were being assisted on board the little craft with the utmost celerity, yet with due care to their desperate condition, until, with close on forty undaunted survivors of the _Vindictive's_ crew, M.-L. 254, heavily laden and deep in the water, cast off and backed astern. Great though her task had been to dash into the harbour, the difficulties that awaited her on her return run were far greater. Coolness, good judgment, and a special dispensation of Providence were needed to enable her to escape from the fiery jaws of the deadly trap. CHAPTER XVIII Out of the jaws of Death Lying at full length upon the deck of the M.-L., Alec Seton underwent one of the most nerve-racking periods of his life. He could feel the wooden hull quivering under the pulsations of the powerful twin-engines, and the jarring thuds as missiles large and small struck the frail craft. By all the laws of naval warfare, M.-L. 254 ought to have been out of action long ago, for the Huns, finding their prey slipping through their fingers, redoubled their efforts to send the little boat to the bottom of the sea.