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!
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.