Told in gallant deeds

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

II

The Germans may be said to have drawn first blood at sea.

Very early in the war, in fact on the very day that most people knew our country was at war, on August 5, 1914, H.M.S. Amphion, while searching for the mine-layer Königin Luise, was blown up, whether by a mine or a torpedo will probably never be known.

Here I must explain that a mine at sea is a large rounded metal box full of stuff that blows up when a ship bumps against it. These mines are laid a little under the surface of the water. As for a torpedo, it is a long thing shaped like a fish, with a motor in its tail. It is also loaded with stuff to blow up, and it can be fired at an enemy’s ship from a submarine or from a torpedo boat. The motor in its tail makes it travel very fast under water, and if it hits a ship it is almost certain to destroy her.

When the Amphion bumped on a mine, or was hit by a torpedo, a sheet of flame enveloped the bridge and rendered her commander, Captain Fox, insensible. Soon he recovered consciousness and he ran instantly to the engine-room to stop the engines. But the good ship’s back was broken, and she was already settling down by the bows. At once efforts were made to place the wounded in safety, but by the time some destroyers came up the Amphion had to be abandoned.

The crew lined up in perfect discipline, everything was done without any confusion, and twenty minutes after the blow was first struck, all the men and most of the officers had left the ship. It was well they did so, for three minutes afterwards came another explosion, blowing up the whole forepart.

Discipline is one of the finest words in our language, and it is one we share with our French Allies, for although the word is pronounced a little differently in French, it is written exactly the same.

What is discipline? Discipline is composed of two human qualities which, if they appear to have very little to do with one another, are yet often allied. These qualities are obedience and courage.

The finest example of discipline in the history of the British Navy is the story of the sinking of the Birkenhead. She was a troopship and she struck on a rock. Instantly, the boats were lowered and filled with the women and children. Then, the soldiers and marines were formed up on deck, and they faced their death in perfect order as if on parade while the ship slowly sank.

The then King of Prussia, Frederick IV, was so impressed by the behaviour of the doomed crew on the Birkenhead that he caused this story of “iron discipline and perfect duty” to be read aloud at the head of every regiment in his kingdom.

Mr. Rudyard Kipling has referred to the cool courage of the marines, or “Jollies” as they are called, in a famous poem:

“To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with the firing all about,

Is none so bad when you’ve cover to ’and, and leave and liking to shout,

But to stand stock still to the Birken’ead drill is a dam tough bullet to chew;

An’ they done it, the Jollies, ’er Majesty’s Jollies, soldier and sailor, too!”

But to return to the Amphion. The story I like best is one that was told in a bluejacket’s letter to his parents:

“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!