Our aircraft had opened the ball. The booming of guns was heard quite plainly and the glare of the flashes was distinctly visible. Zeebrugge then joined in the game. In a little while we could make out the trail of the "flaming onions," rushing heavenwards, hanging stationary for a few seconds, and then slowly falling in their curiously serpentine manner, for all the world like colossal snakes writhing in their death agony. The firing became more intense and we were more anxious than ever to get to work. It was obvious enough that our aircraft--the 65th Wing of the Royal Air Force from Dunkerque--were setting about the enemy in determined fashion. Our turn was to come shortly, according to plan. Alas, "the best laid {147} schemes of mice and men gang aft agley." We had stopped to disembark the surplus blockship crews--_if they could be found_, and to slip the small craft from their towing hawsers in readiness to penetrate the danger zone. The wind seemed to have died away for a moment and then commenced to blow from a _southerly_ direction. Seldom has an admiral been faced with such a difficult situation. A decision had to be given, and quickly. The nature of the operation admitted of no delay. The wind at the moment was hopelessly unfavourable for our use of artificial fog. The latter was essential. It would mean sheer slaughter if there were no cover from the shore batteries during the approach. On the other hand, the wind might change again. Here was the whole expedition within a short distance of our objectives. The major part of the passage had been completed in spite of all the difficulties and practically without incident. The aerial attack had commenced. The monitors were shortly to send their messages of destruction hurtling on their way to the enemy. We had been seen by all sorts of neutral vessels. Most of the conditions were favourable--the wind alone was seriously against us. Another chance might never come. He who risks nothing attains nothing. Discretion is the better part of valour. What was it to be? In all the pages of naval history I cannot remember having come across any occasion where a more difficult decision had to be made. After Teneriffe Nelson had realised his mistake of allowing impetuosity to influence sound reasoning to the extent of attacking when the conditions were unfavourable. Not only {148} was that first attack a failure, but it had foredoomed the second attempt to failure also. The Vice-Admiral avoided the same mistake--he ordered the operation to be cancelled for that night. Much has been written of the attack which eventually took place. References to the Nelson touch have not been unknown. But this latter comparison, as I have shown, was curiously inapt if intended to cover the whole direction of the enterprise.