At the English Bank, off the River Plate, the _Glasgow_ had joined up with the _Carnarvon_, _Defence_, and _Cornwall_, and her company were greatly refreshed in spirit by the kindly understanding and sympathy of their brothers of the sea. The officers and men of the _Glasgow_, who had by now worked together for more than two years, had come through their shattering experiences with extraordinarily little loss of morale. They had suffered a material defeat, but their courage and confidence in the ultimate issue burned as brightly as ever. Even upon the night of the disaster, when they were seeking a safe road to the Straits, uncertain whether the Germans would arrive there first, they were much more concerned for the safety of the _Canopus_ than worried about their own skins. Their captain and navigating lieutenant had thrust upon them difficulties and anxieties of which the others were at first ignorant. The ship’s compasses were found to be gravely disturbed by the shocks of the action, their magnetism had been upset, and not until star sights could be taken were they able to correct the error of fully twenty degrees. The speed at which the cruiser travelled buried the stern deeply, and the water entering by the big hole blown in the port quarter threatened to flood a whole compartment and make it impossible for full speed to be maintained. The voyage to the Straits was, for those responsible, a period of grave anxiety. Yet through it all the officers and men did their work and maintained a cheerful countenance, as if to pass almost scatheless through a tremendous torrent of shell, and to get away with waggling compasses and a great hole between wind and water, was an experience which custom had made of little moment. No one could have judged from their demeanour that never before November 1st had the _Glasgow_ been in action, and that not until November 6th, when she had beside her the support of the _Canopus’s_ great guns, did she reach comparative safety.