There are no braver men on land and sea than the officers and crews of the French Navy, but when the giant bulk of the _Britain_ loomed up out of the westward in the growing light, gradually gathering way with her stately train of nineteen-knot battleships behind her, and swept down in front of the French line, many a heart stood still for the moment, and many a man asked himself what the possibilities of such a Colossus of the ocean might be. They had not long to wait. As the British battleships came on from the left with ever-increasing speed, the whole French line burst into a tornado of thunder and flame, but not a shot was fired from the English lines. Shells hurtled and screamed through the air, topworks were smashed into scrap-iron, funnels riddled, and military masts demolished; but until the _Britain_ reached the centre of the French line not a British gun spoke. Then the giant swung suddenly to starboard, and headed for the space between the _Patrie_ and the _Republique_. The _Canada_, _Newfoundland_, _New Zealand_ and _Hindustan_ put on speed, passed under her stern, and headed in between the _Suffren_, _Liberte_, _Verite_ and _Patrie_, while the _Edward VII._, _Dominion_ and _Commonwealth_ turned between the _Justice_, _Democratie_, the _Aube_ and _Marseillaise_. Within a thousand yards the British battleships opened fire. The first gun from the _Britain_ was a signal which turned them all into so many floating volcanoes. The _Britain_ herself ran between the _Patrie_ and the _Republique_, vomiting storms of shell, first ahead, then on the broadside and then astern. Her topworks were of course crumpled out of all shape--that was expected, for the range was now only about five hundred yards--but the incessant storm of thousand-pound shells from the fourteen-inch guns, followed by an unceasing hail of three hundred and fifty pound projectiles from the 9.2 quick-firers, reduced the two French battleships to little better than wrecks. The _Britain_ steamed through and turned, and again the awful hurricane burst out from her sides and bow and stern. She swung round again, but now only a few dropping shots greeted her from the crippled Frenchmen. "I don't think those chaps have much more fight left in them," said the Admiral to the Captain as they passed through the line for the third time. "We'll just give them one more dose, and then see how the other fellows are getting on." Once more the monster swept in between the doomed ships; once more her terrible artillery roared. Two torpedo boats, five hundred yards ahead, were rushing towards her. A grey shape rose out of the water, flinging up clouds of spray and foam, and in a moment they were ground down into the water and sunk. The hastily-fired torpedoes diverged and struck the two French battleships instead of the _Britain_. Two mountains of foam rose up under their sterns, their bows went down and rose again, and with a sternward lurch they slid down into the depths.