"Then my name's Johnny Walker, sir," said the gunnery officer whimsically, as he hurried off to his post to superintend the firing of the long-distance salvoes. A signal was hoisted to the signal-yard arm of the flagship. Hardly had it appeared ere a similar hoist appeared "at the dip" on every ship of the squadron--there to pause for a brief instant before being hauled "close up." It was a signal well understood, although the opportunities for its use were few and far between. It signified "Enemy in sight; prepare to open fire." "Enemy torpedo boats beating east by north, sir," came the welcome news. "Heavy firing from the leading boats." Then, fifty seconds later: "One blown up, sir.... Another on fire." Moments of suspense followed. Would the Huns, intent upon battering the vessel that the approaching flotillas were bent upon rescuing, spot the presence of the British light cruisers and destroyers before they drew within effective range? Up in the fire-control station the range-finding officer was calling out the range, much like an intonation: "Twelve thousand yards... eleven thousand yards... ten thousand----" A flash, immediately followed by a loud report, gave very audible warning that the flagship had opened the ball. The officers and men on the bridge could follow the flight of the spinning projectile, until it was lost to sight in the blue atmosphere. But they knew it was hurtling and climbing to an immense height, thence to drop, still with terrific speed, until it burst where, according to the highest efforts of ballistic science, and when it was intended to do--to the detriment, physical and moral, of the King's enemies. Simultaneously the leading light cruiser of the port division opened fire, the following vessel executing an echelon manoeuvre in order that they too could join in the grim carnival of battle and sudden death. The hitherto flanking destroyers were now, with two exceptions, far ahead, one division steering east by south in order to cut off, if possible, the enemy's retreat behind the Heligoland batteries; the other was pelting east-north-east to frustrate Fritz's flight round the northernmost point of Denmark. The exceptions were the T.B.D.'s _Pylos_ and _Polyxo_, on board of which their officers fumed in impatient and excusable wrath while sweating engine-room artificers were desperately striving to effect repairs to defective condensers. So at a modest fifteen, soon afterwards increased to twenty-two, knots, the _Pylos_ and _Polyxo_ followed their more fortunate competitors in the "Fritz Stakes." To all appearances they were "out of it" and numbered amongst the "Also Rans." Yet they held on, hoping like Mr. Wilkins Micawber that something might turn up.