The remaining ships, in their terribly crippled condition, would, the Russians anticipated, soon fall an easy prey. Nevertheless, with their crews decimated, their guns disabled, and their machinery damaged, the British vessels still continued firing, the men resolved to go down at their quarters. They knew that escape was hopeless, and every moment they saw their comrades being swept away by the great exploding projectiles of the Tsar's heavy guns. But they were not dismayed. To do their utmost for the defence of Britain, to keep afloat as long as possible, and to die like Britons with faces towards the foe, was their duty. Pale and desperate, they were fighting for their country and their Queen, knowing that only a grave in the deep and the honour of those at home would be the reward of their bravery--that at any moment they might be launched into the unknown. Suddenly there was a loud shouting on board the _Jupiter_, and signals were, a moment later, run up to her half-wrecked top. The captain of the _Dido_, noticing this, looked to ascertain the cause, and saw away on the horizon to the north, whence the dark night clouds were rising, a number of strange craft. Snatching up his glass, he directed it on the strangers, and discovered that they were Italian warships, and were exchanging rapid signals with the captain. They were promising assistance! Cheers rang loudly through the British vessels, when, a few minutes later, the truth became known, and the guns' crews worked with redoubled energy, while the Russians, noticing the approaching ships, were apparently undecided how to act. They were given but little time for reflection, however, for within half an hour the first of the great Italian ironclads, the _Lepanto_, opened fire upon the _Petropavlovsk_, and was quickly followed by others, until the action became general all round.