“We were all stunned on the upper deck, surrounded with flame and smoke. Then we saw our captain come. His arms were burnt, and his hair; he spoke very nice. ‘Cheer up, men, and be brave; we shall all get saved.’ Of course that cheered up everyone. No excitement at all. The biggest part of us stripped off to swim for it, but no one left that ship until the captain gave the order to go, and, thank God, we were all saved that was alive.” You notice that gallant Captain Fox struck first a noble note, “Be brave!” he cried; and then, as an afterthought, “We shall all get saved.” A day or two later it was shown that the British Navy knows how to honour a brave foe. Four members of the crew of the Amphion and four of the German mine-layer’s crew died in hospital at Harwich. Each son of the sea, Briton and German, was provided with the same kind of coffin, and the same service was performed for each of the eight separately. The funerals were most reverently conducted, each coffin being hoisted on the shoulders of seamen. The dead Britons had a Union Jack for pall, the Germans the ensign of their Fatherland. They were all lowered into one grave. Volleys were fired, and the Last Post sounded. To show you the kind of risk our sailors run without a thought of self, hearken to the amazing adventures of Stationmaster Stapleton, of Hykeham, who is a Naval Reserve man. He received his call, joined his ship, the Amphion, found himself in action, was sunk, and was rescued—all within forty-eight hours of leaving his little wayside station! III It was on August 28 that Sir John Jellicoe first tried his hand at the surprise game of the Germans. It was a brilliant success. Out of the morning mist our ships crept and caught a German cruiser squadron lying in supposed safety under the guns of Heligoland. We sank the German protected cruiser Mainz and another cruiser of the same class, while a third cruiser “disappeared” in the mist, heavily on fire, and in a sinking condition. We also badly damaged some smaller craft, while our own ships got off very lightly. But we had to mourn the loss of sixty-nine men killed and wounded, including Lieut.-Commander Nigel Barttelot and Lieut. Eric Westmacott among the killed. All the ships which took part in this action had the words “Heligoland, August 28, 1914,” painted in gold letters in a conspicuous place aboard them. But special honour was paid to the light cruiser Arethusa. This gallant little ship showed herself worthy of her name, which is one of the most glorious in the Navy. In recognition of the notable part she played in the fight, the Admiralty ordered the famous old song of “The Saucy Arethusa” to be engraved upon a brass plate and set up in a prominent place on board the ship. The first verse runs: