On approaching Heligoland, that German Gibraltar with which we so foolishly parted some years ago, the sea-planes were hoisted out and sped away on their errand of destruction. It was a misty morning, and on arrival at Cuxhaven the aviators were much hampered by a fog which lay in shallow patches over the town and harbour, but it is thought that they succeeded in destroying a Parseval air-ship in its shed and in badly knocking about some of the Zeppelin sheds. According to the German account they also dropped bombs on a gasometer and on some men-of-war lying in the river, of course "without doing any damage". The fog was, however, much closer and thicker over the Elbe than over the town, so that ships were in any case difficult targets. But while our aviators were carrying out their mission, under fire from guns of all sorts and kinds, there was a most remarkable fight going on outside--a battle unprecedented in the annals of warfare. The aviators left the flotilla sharp at daybreak, and it would seem that neither they nor their escort were seen. But as the light grew, the British ships were picked up by the look-outs on Heligoland, and an instant attack was made upon them by submarines, sea-planes, and a couple of the redoubtable Zeppelins. But the high speed of the British vessels and the consummate seamanship and gunnery of their crews defeated every attempt made to injure them. For three hours they fought while waiting the return of the aviators. The white flash made by the German torpedoes in the water was detected by sharp eyes, ships and boats dodged and turned and cleared the "lurking death" by the "skin of their teeth". The sea-planes whirred overhead and dropped their deadly bombs, which exploded in fire, smoke, and fountains of water; but though they often fell close alongside, none of the flotilla was touched. The big bluffing Zeppelins also dropped a few, but they soon felt "they could no longer stay", since the 100-pound shells from the _Arethusa_ and _Undaunted_ were coming closer and closer, and their crews knew--none better--that one fair hit would mean annihilation. So, as the official report stated, they "were easily put to flight". None of the German surface vessels dared to show their noses outside, or, perhaps, were able to disentangle themselves from their elaborate defences in time, and after three of the daring raiders had been safely re-embarked with their machines, the flotilla stood out to sea again, leaving a detachment of submarines to look out for the remainder. Three of the four remaining airmen were rescued by this means, though their machines had to be sunk. The seventh--Flight-Commander Hewlett, son of the famous novelist--after dropping bombs on some of the German ships, one of which, at any rate, he felt certain he had hit, lost his way in the fog, missed the flotilla, and, having trouble with his engine, descended to the sea not far from Heligoland. Here he was picked up by a Dutch trawler.