The _Monmouth_ had been heavily hit, and was rapidly becoming unmanageable; the fore turret of the _Good Hope_ was burning fiercely, and she began to fall away out of line towards the enemy. Suddenly, at about a quarter to eight, there was a roar louder than that of the booming guns; the flames had reached the magazine of the _Good Hope_, and a terrific explosion took place. A column of fire shot up 200 feet, and the sea was strewn with _débris_. The _Good Hope_ never fired her guns again. Down she went headlong into the stormy deep, with gallant Sir Christopher Cradock and his crew of nearly 900 officers and men. [Illustration: The Good Hope going down with her last Guns firing. (_From the picture by Norman Wilkinson. By permission of the Illustrated London News._)] The _Monmouth_, too, was in dire distress. She was so badly damaged by the terrific cannonade that she could no longer fire. She was down by the head, and was obliged to turn away to get her stern to the sea. The little unarmoured _Glasgow_ was now left alone, and on her the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ concentrated their fire. Again and again she was hit, but fortunately not dangerously. The sea was now running higher than ever; rain and mist came on, though the moon was rising. The _Glasgow_ could render no aid to the _Monmouth_; she could not rescue her crew in the raging sea, and she could not contend with the heavily-armoured vessels of the enemy. There was nothing for it but to abandon the _Monmouth_ and seek safety in flight. If she stayed to the end she would be needlessly sacrificing herself and her crew; and the _Canopus_, now coming up from the south, could not be warned of the destruction that awaited her. So with a heavy heart Captain Luce swung his vessel to the north-west, and steamed off at full speed. As he did so the doomed men on the _Monmouth_ gave her a pealing cheer. Before the sinking vessel was lost to sight another and another cheer was heard. At twenty minutes past nine o'clock Captain Luce counted seventy-five flashes of fire stabbing the darkness. The _Nürnberg_ had come up, and was dealing the _Monmouth_ its death-blows. It is said that the British ship in her final throes made a gallant attempt to ram the enemy. For a few seconds the watching men on the _Glasgow_ saw the play of her searchlight. It disappeared, and all was over; the _Monmouth_ had gone down with her flag flying. "Toll for the brave--the brave that are no more." The sole survivor, the _Glasgow_, sped away at 24 knots an hour, and as she gained on her pursuers she bore round gradually to the south. Her wireless was working in the hope of picking up the _Canopus_; but the enemy again jammed her messages, and only after several hours did she get in touch with her sister ship. At length they fell in with each other, and steamed in company southward, threaded the wild, glacier-fringed Strait of Magellan, and in due time reached Stanley Harbour, in the wind-swept Falkland Isles.