“Come all ye sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould, While English glory I unfold, Huzza for the Arethusa! Her men are staunch To their favourite launch, And when the foe shall meet our fire, Sooner than strike we’ll all expire On board of the Arethusa.” The Arethusa, which flew the broad pennant of Commodore Tyrwhitt (this is the special flag always flown by commodores), was chosen for the honour of leading the attack. At the head of a line of destroyers, which are small but very fast vessels, she sallied forth, intending to cut off the German ships and drive them into the open sea, there to fight them at leisure. But two German cruisers attacked her first at a distance of nearly two miles. This seems a long way, but naval guns can shoot much further than that. The Germans did her some damage, but she drove them off, and one of them she seriously injured. Later on in the morning she fought two other German ships, and helped to sink the Mainz. In these actions she suffered so much that many of her guns were made useless and her speed was lessened to ten knots, which of course is very slow. About one o’clock the gallant Arethusa was discovered in her crippled condition by two German cruisers, and they would certainly have sunk her if British ships had not come to the rescue. These ships turned the tables with a vengeance, for they chased and sank the Germans in their turn. The Arethusa had done splendidly, all the more splendidly you will agree when you hear that she had only been commissioned a few days before. “Commissioned” means got ready for service, with crew, guns, stores, and everything necessary for going to sea. Thus, her officers and crew were new to one another and the ship was new to them, and yet they could not have fought better. The whole Empire felt a thrill of pride in the exploit of the Arethusa. In far-off Johannesburg 2081 miners clubbed together, paying a penny each to send a telegram congratulating Commodore Tyrwhitt and his whole ship’s company on their victory. Fighting at sea is, I think, in some ways more dreadful than fighting on land. There is the same terrible distance from the enemy, and the shells make the same fearful screaming noise in the air. But if your ship is struck a mortal blow, you seem to have less chance than you would have in land fighting, especially if your ship blows up before sinking. But that is a landsman’s feeling. You may be sure that our gallant tars do not trouble their heads whether the danger is more or less. Indeed, this Heligoland action showed most vividly that the modern Navy is worthy of all her glorious traditions.