One of the survivors rescued by the _Cornwall_ was a naval reservist, who in time of peace had occupied the post of German interpreter to the Law Courts at Sydney, in Australia. When hauled into the boat the first words he used as soon as he had recovered his breath were: "It's bloody cold" in a perfect English accent. It is a well-known fact that sailors rarely make use of bad language, and the bowman who had hauled him out of the water is said to have fainted! Evidently the language of the Law leaves much to be desired. The torpedo lieutenant of the _Leipzig_ was amongst those saved by the _Cornwall_. When brought alongside he was too exhausted to clamber up the ship's side unaided, but when he reached the upper deck he pulled himself together and stood to attention, saluting our officers at the gangway. When he came into the wardroom later on he explained that he had been on board before as a guest at dinner at the time that the ship paid a visit to Kiel for the regatta in 1909, adding that he little expected then that his next visit would take place under such tragic circumstances. This officer surprised us all by suddenly asking when the _Cornwall_ had had bigger guns put into her, and went on to say that when we fired our "big guns"--meaning when we started to use lyddite shell--the damage was appalling, arms and legs were to be seen all along the decks, and each shell that burst started a fire. He went on to say that the _Cornwall's_ firing was very effective and accurate, but doubtless most of the prisoners told their captors the same thing. We explained that the armament had not been changed since the ship was originally built. He also told us that the German captain had assembled all the ship's company when their 1,800 rounds of ammunition were expended, and said, "There is the ensign, and any man who wishes may go and haul it down, but I will not do so." Not a soul moved to carry out the suggestion, but about fifty men, having obtained permission, jumped overboard and must have perished from the cold. There were only eighteen left alive on board at the end, so far as he could judge, and of these sixteen were saved. All the officers carried whistles, which accounted for their being located in the water so easily. The prisoners naturally wished to glorify themselves, their captain, and their shipmates in the eyes of their fellow-countrymen, before whom they knew that these stories would eventually be repeated. Therefore these yarns about the ensign, the men jumping overboard, and the opening of the Kingston valves must be taken with a grain of salt.