Mr. Whittall was with him after he was wounded and while the allied forces were retiring on Tientsin. What Jellicoe must have suffered then no one will ever know. He was first of all placed for safety in a native house and later on moved into a small native boat. His wound must have pained him terribly. His case was considered hopeless, as the bullet had reached one of his lungs and recovery seemed impossible. Moreover, he knew that now Pekin would not be relieved; the mission had failed.
But his superb vitality pulled him through. He would not go under.
Mr. Whittall describes how he sent for him and asked to be told how things were progressing. “Foolishly perhaps,” says Mr. Whittall, “I tried to make the best of affairs and said that I thought we should cut our way back to Tientsin or even to the coast if the foreign settlements had fallen.
“I don’t think I shall ever forget the contemptuous flash of the eyes he turned on me, or the impatient remark:
“‘Tell me the truth. Don’t lie.’
“I had thought to lessen the anxiety I knew he must have been feeling, but if I had known him as I learnt to do later on, I should have told him the plain truth straight out. He thanked me and, indicating his wounded shoulder with his eyes, remarked:
“‘Hard luck just now!’”
Captain Jellicoe, as all the world knows, completely recovered and has, we believe, lived to fight the battle of his life, the battle of the world. Nevertheless the doctors told him at the time that he would never regain the use of his left arm.
It would have been rather remarkable if this false prophecy had come true; it could scarcely have made any difference to his career—for Jellicoe was the man and he was bound to reach his present position no matter the obstacles in his way—but the loss of his arm would have added yet another remarkable point of resemblance to the hero of Trafalgar.
And it may not be out of place here to give a story, which is almost a creed with many sailors and their folk in the South of England: the story so beautifully told by Alfred Noyes in his poem “The Admiral’s Ghost.”