rejoicing! Especially for “they that go down to the sea in ships and
do business in great waters” do we rejoice that the “David” of the
Grand Fleet,--high-souled, brave-hearted DAVID BEATTY,--commands the
Sling and Stone of our straight-hitting Naval Power! What better man
than he to take the place of Nelson?--to carry out with zealous
ardour Nelson’s one wish, Nelson’s last desire that “every man should
do his duty!” Look at the strong face,--the keen, clear “eyes of the
sea,”--the resolute yet tender lines of the mouth,--the whole bearing
of this bold and dauntless commander, and then think of the lofty and
devout spirit of him expressed in his recent “message” to the nation:--
“Until religious revival takes place at home, just so long will the war
continue. When England can look out on the future with humbler eyes and
a prayer on her lips, then we can begin to count the days towards the
end!”
There’s a challenge for you! Flung out unhesitatingly and manfully in
the very face of a swarm of atheists in Church and State, who for the
past decade at least, have copied Germany in mockery of all things holy
and divine, and have spread their “literary” blasphemies throughout
the land, assisted in their work of “tearing down” Christianity by a
corrupt section of society and a decadent Press! It’s a challenge we
are bound to hear,--given in simple, manly words which echo the high
faith of him who won the Battle of Trafalgar, and who, on the eve of
the fight retired to his cabin and wrote this prayer:--
“May the great God Whom I worship grant to my country, and for the
benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory; and may no
misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after victory be the
predominant feature in the British Fleet! For myself individually, I
commit my life to Him that made me, and may His blessing alight on my
endeavours for serving my country faithfully! To Him I resign myself
and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen!”
Without such faith, such humility and resignation as this, few great
victories are won. Even pagan heroes sought the favour of their gods in
every high enterprise; but in our time the nations of Europe, assuming
an “advancement” beyond either pagans or Christians, have been seeking
to ignore the Higher Power Almighty altogether; with what dire results
is now witnessed by desolated peoples drenched in blood and tears!
Of Nelson it is written: “All men knew that his heart was as humane
as it was fearless, and that there was not in his nature an alloy of
selfishness or cupidity, but that he served his country with a perfect
and entire devotion, therefore they loved him as truly and fervently as
he loved England.”
Cannot each word of this be said with equal truth of David Beatty?
Every man of the Fleet will answer “Yes!” And every man of the Fleet
will endeavour to be a copy of him in all the grand essentials of
honour and duty. And here comes in a little story.
Only the other day I received a letter from a lad on board one of our
mine-sweepers,--a stranger to me personally, but one who evidently felt
sure (as he might) of my interest in his difficult and dangerous work.
In that letter he writes:--
“I am in his Majesty’s Navy and I am just twenty. My last ship was
Admiral Beatty’s Flagship, the _Lion_, on board of which I had the
honour of being a little over three years under _an Admiral whose
qualities are magnificent_. I want to say this, because people are apt
to take doubtful views through articles in the papers about our truly
Great Leaders.”
Yes,--“articles in the papers,” written by caterers for mere
sensational gabble, are apt to influence the majority of fools; and
“doubtful views” are generally entertained by persons who in themselves
are more than doubtful. But if a boy of twenty, after serving for
three years under Admiral Beatty, can write, “_His qualities are
magnificent_,” it means a very great deal. Young fellows of that age
are not always easily impressed by their superiors,--they are more
critical than complimentary; and the rules of naval discipline go hard
with them unless administered by a kindly as well as just hand. “Eyes
of the Sea” must be everywhere vigilant,--watching men’s minds equally
with God’s stormy waters,--ever on the look-out for enemies of the
soul as well as enemies of the country; and so well and truly do they
watch,--so faithfully have they always watched, that sailors’ eyes have
grown to be quite different to all other eyes in the world! We know
them at once by their far-off steady gaze--by their look of mingled
pathos, persistency, and cheerfulness,--by the sparkle of the waves and
the light of stars which are somehow commingled in their keen glances,
suggesting the wonderful power and indomitable energy of “one life, one
flag, one fleet!” The strong lines of Alfred Tennyson, the last worthy
Laureate of Great Britain, may well ring in our ears to-day:--
“You, _you_, if you shall fail to understand
What England is, and what her all-in-all,
On you will come the curse of all the land
Should this old England fall
Which Nelson left so great.
His isle, the mightiest ocean-power on earth,
Our own fair isle, the Lord of every sea,
Her fuller franchise--what would that be worth,
Her ancient fame of ‘Free,’
Were she--a fallen State?
Her dauntless Army scattered and so small--
Her island myriads fed from alien lands,
The Fleet of England is her all-in-all;
Her Fleet is in your hands,
And in her Fleet her Fate.
You, you that have the ordering of her Fleet,
_If_ you should only compass her disgrace,
When all men starve, the wild mob’s million feet
Will kick you from your place,
But then too late, too late!”
But Great Britain “is no longer an island,” we hear. Who says so?
Merely brazen Goliath with his big mouth of Brag. “No longer safe from
invasion.” Who says so? Goliath again! Our “supremacy of the seas is
gone for ever!” Good old Goliath! Submarines and Zeppelins are to bring
the invaders along as surely as weeds swept on the sand by the tide!
Easier said than done! What says the old song?
“Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing
’Tis clear they consider we’ve something worth sharing,
And for that, mean to visit our shore;
It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet ’em,
And though ’twill be nothing uncommon to beat ’em
We must try how they’ll take it once more!
So be this the toast given,
England for ever, the land, boys, we live in,
England for ever, huzza!
Here’s health to our tars, on the wide ocean ranging,
Perhaps even now some broadsides they’re exchanging,
We’ll on shipboard and join in the fight!
And when with the foe we are firmly engaging,
Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,
On our country we’ll think with delight--
So be this the word given,
England for ever, the land, boys, we live in,
England for ever, huzza!”
True enough, we have to deal nowadays with pirates,--not true
naval men,--with burglars, not warriors,--and inhumanity being the
characteristic of all such folk, the international laws of Imperial
Britain and her Allies, regulating the conduct of warfare, have no
hold on them. We are not at war with an educated people,--for they
have shown themselves openly as savages. But though the wholesome air
may be poisoned by the breath of the Hun, and murderous bombs may
be flung through those spaces of heavenly blue, once most blessedly
free from the presence of humanity, we have already proved equal to
tackling the Zeppelins, and shall tackle them yet again. And we shall
“manage” the submarines in a way of our own, if only the garrulous
and indiscreet Press will leave us alone to do it, and refrain from
giving elaborate details of all our newest machinery in their columns
for the benefit and instruction of the enemy! We would not “tell it
in Gath” to Goliath, how many of his under-sea “sneak” boats have
already been “bagged” by our sportive captains--that’s a “secret of
the Admiralty.” But it is just possible that even Huns may be weary
of the certainty of death by fire in the air, and death by “ramming
down” to the bottom of the sea! Neither way is a pleasant exit from
the world of living men. Both are the result of inventive science
put to wrong uses,--namely to injure, instead of to benefit. The old
ways of combat were more open and honourable. Better the sword and
shield than the gas and the bomb,--better the fair fight between ships
confronting each other boldly on the ocean, than the floating mine or
the sly torpedo, sneaking like a low thief beneath the waves. There is
something cowardly about the new “scientific” weapons of war,--they
manifest the assassin’s spirit rather than that of the honest soldier.
The long-distance gun, the poison-vapours, the “dum-dum” bullet--all
show the inventive faculty of murderers in training, not the sane
education of civilised and honourable men. There has been much talk of
“advancement”--but if human progress takes the form of “scientific”
torture, barbarity, and outrage on our fellow-creatures, it is not
progress at all, but terrible retrogression and back-sliding which must
be checked before it is too late. No man can do better than see to it
that what has been written of Nelson may also be said of him:--
“All men knew that his heart was as humane as it was fearless.”
We _say_ this, _think_ this, and _feel_ this of David Beatty,--and by
the Almighty’s grace and power, we want to say, think, and feel the
same of every man and boy under his command! And so the Fleet will be
as it always has been,--the star of victory in the crown of Empire.
On the memorable occasion when Mr. Lloyd George rose to make his first
address to the House as Prime Minister, Admiral Sir H. Meux, Member for
Portsmouth, asked:--
“Will the right hon. gentleman say a word about the Navy before he sits
down?”
And the new Premier replied at once:--
“My hon. and gallant friend knows that the achievements of the Navy
speak for themselves. I do not think that anything I can say would
be in the least adequate to recognise the enormous and incalculable
services that the great Navy of Britain has rendered, not merely to the
Empire but to the whole Allied cause. Not merely would victory have
been impossible, but the war could not have been kept on for two and a
half years had it not been for the services of the Navy.”
These words called forth ringing cheers. For it is We,--we Britons--who
sweep the seas! It is our heritage to do so. A rumour is about that one
of the “peace terms” foolishly proposed by Germany is, that we should
“abandon our supremacy of the sea!” As well ask the sun to abandon its
supremacy of the skies! It would be an evil day for _all_ nations, not
only our own, when Britannia ceased to rule the waves! Her just, wise
laws of freedom and fairness would soon be replaced by ruthless piracy,
and there would be no security for any coast. It is a good thing for
America and Europe likewise that this
“Precious stone, set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands”
should be the guardian of the girdling ocean, maintaining its highest
rights and liberties in the face of all foes. And so may it ever remain!
What stories I could tell, had I the time and space, of heroic deeds
“unwritten and unsung” performed by the men of the Fleet, not only
in the past, but now!--now, in these actual present days, when great
London, plunged to the neck in a flood of gold, poured in for the help,
healing, and comfort of our fighting men on land and sea, is striving,
like a giant caught in a net, to disentangle its sacred duties from
its selfish pleasures,--trying to realise in its vague way that War is
really War! Of “Tommy” one hears much; but of “Jack Tar” less,--though
they are close comrades in the one spirit of devotion to duty, and
each has his own burden of difficulties to bear,--his own sphere of
danger to surmount and to master. The story of brave Jack Cornwell
thrilled every heart,--putting well into the shade the similar exploit
of “Casabianca,” of whom, when we were children, we all learned, in the
verse of Felicia Hemans:--
“The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle’s wreck
Shone round him o’er the dead.”
and
“The noblest thing that perished there
Was that young, faithful heart.”
Only there is no poet among us worthy of the name to “sing the memory”
of Jack Cornwell, thanks to the swarm of atheists, pessimists,
decadents, and anti-idealists who have been encouraged to darken and
disgrace the literary annals of Great Britain. “Casabianca” was a boy
about thirteen years of age, son to the Admiral of the _Orient_, who
remained at his post in the Battle of the Nile after the ship had taken
fire and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion
of the vessel when the flames had reached the powder. All who have
read the enthralling pages of our sea-history will remember that the
_Orient_ was the French Admiral’s ship, carrying a hundred and twenty
guns, and that he himself died on her quarter-deck, his little son
remaining at the post where his father had placed him, all unconscious
of his father’s end. “Soon after nine o’clock,” says the historian,
“the _Orient_ appeared in flames, which spread with astonishing
rapidity, and by their prodigious light the situation of the hostile
fleets could be seen at a distance of fifteen miles. The _Orient’s_
crew, however, continued to fire from her lower-deck to the very last,
and at about ten o’clock she blew up with an explosion which was felt
by every vessel to the bottom of its keel. To this succeeded a silence
not less awful,--the sanguinary conflict ceased on both sides,--and
the first sound that broke that portentous stillness was the splash of
shattered masts and yards falling into the sea.”
So “Casabianca” perished gallantly--but not more gallantly than Jack
Cornwell. Both boys, the one French, the other English, were made of
the same heroic stuff that gives worth and honour to the nations that
breed it.
Very quaint and poetic it is to read at this time of day, the
picturesque record of William Camden, Clarencieux King-at-Arms to Queen
Elizabeth, concerning the entrance of the Spanish Armada into English
waters:--
“The next day the English discovered the Spanish Fleet with lofty
Turrets, like Castles, in front like a Half-Moon, the wings thereof
spreading out about the length of seven miles, sailing very slowly,
though with full sails, the Winds being, as it were, tired with
carrying them, and the Ocean groaning under the weight of them....
But so far was it from terrifying the seacoasts with its name of
‘Invincible’ or with its dreadful Show, that the young Gentry of
England, with incredible Cheerfulness and Alacrity (leaving their
parents, children, wives, and friends at home) out of their hearty
Love to their Country, hired ships from all parts at their own private
charges and joined with the Fleet in great numbers.”
I think we, in our present days, have had the word “invincible” thrown
at us a good deal from the braggart mouth of the “Hun”--but “so far
from terrifying us”--it has had the same effect on our manhood as it
had in Tudor days so far as “incredible Cheerfulness and Alacrity” are
concerned! And Queen Elizabeth apparently found a prototype of Nelson
and David Beatty, for, says Camden, “The command of the whole Fleet she
gave to Charles, Lord Howard of Effingham, Lord Admiral of England, of
whose fortunate Conduct she had a very great Persuasion, and whom she
knew by his moderate and noble carriage, to be skilful in sea-matters,
wary and provident, valiant and courageous, industrious and active, and
of great authority and esteem among the seamen of her Navy. Drake,
whom she appointed Vice-Admiral, joined with him.”
Queen Bess evidently knew how to select the best men! And we may justly
claim to have kept up the breed. For there is not a word written of
Admiral Lord Howard in those old days that cannot be equally written
now of Admiral Sir David Beatty. Every man of the Fleet knows it; and
is proud and glad to serve under his command. “Skilful in sea-matters,
wary and provident, valiant and courageous, industrious and active, and
of great authority and esteem among the seamen of the Navy!”
And we shall do well to remember that on the outbreak of war, the
country was assured that the Mercantile Marine accepted the risks
incurred in maintaining the supplies of food so indispensable to the
existence of the people, and in ensuring a path of safety for commerce,
and the transport of troops and war material. And British shipmasters,
officers, and seamen alike expressed their resolve to keep the seas
open at all costs. The result of this inflexible determination is that
throughout continuous struggle, exposed to daily and nightly peril
from mine and submarine, British ships continue to arrive in British
ports and sail again with a splendid disregard of all the difficulties
and dangers which beset them in maintaining the overseas trade of the
nation. It is time such priceless valour was more absolutely defended
and held dear by the Empire which owes it so much. Our merchantmen
should be armed. The expenditure would be less than the loss of
heroic lives! Merchant seamen should be given every possible means of
protecting their own existence and securing the safety of their ships
and cargoes. Their foes are ruthless,--they should be given ample
means of retaliation and defence. For--
“We sing the British seamen’s praise,
A theme renowned in story,
It well deserves more polished lays,
For ’tis your boast and glory,--
When mad-brain’d war spreads death around,
By them you are protected,
But oft when peace again is found,
Your bulwarks are neglected!
Then oh! protect the hardy tar!
Be mindful of his merit,
And when you’re plung’d anew in war
He’ll show his dauntless spirit!”
And no man of any class needs a “dauntless spirit” more. Courage alone
makes him what he is. For though I love the sea with an intense love
beyond all world-expression, I know how cruel it can be, although so
beautiful--and while I rejoice and revel in the splendour of terrific
waves breaking in pillars of foam up against rocks a hundred or more
feet high, I cannot but hear in my soul the wild and despairing cries
of drowning men, and the noise of breaking ships--I see the horror of
drifting dead forms and faces swirling on the blackness of the deep,
and with my whole heart I join in the prayer:--
“God, Who alone spreadest out the heavens, and rulest the raging of
the sea, be pleased to receive into Thy most gracious protection the
persons of Thy servants and the Fleet in which they serve! Preserve
them from the dangers of the sea and from the violence of the enemy,
that they may be a safeguard!--and that the inhabitants of our Island
may in peace and quietness serve Thee, our God!”
* * * * *
Amen, and many times Amen! And it is possible that Admiral Sir David
Beatty, like his great prototype, Admiral Lord Nelson, may have sent
the same message to the Fleet on the day of the German surrender which
Nelson sent after the Battle of the Nile, thus:--
“Almighty God having blessed his Majesty’s arms with Victory, the
Admiral intends returning Public Thanksgiving for the same at two
o’clock this day, and he recommends every ship doing the same as soon
as convenient.--Signed, HORATIO NELSON. August 2, 1798.”
* * * * *
A similar devotional spirit inspires our “David” of the sea, when
he says that England must look to the future “with a prayer on her
lips.” This great War, the greatest in all history, will, with all its
wickedness and bloodshed, prove a blessing, if the cloud of Atheism
which has swept over us through perverted and decadent German ideals,
is rolled away,--leaving a clear and wholesome heaven of faith and hope
for a nation brought back to God through humility, self-sacrifice and
splendid heroism!
Eyes of the Sea!
Steadfast and clear as the light of a midsummer morning,
Sure in your vigilance, swift in the flash of your warning,
Pledges of safety for us and our land of the free.
Slumberless Eyes of the Sea!
Eyes of the Sea!
Watchful at midnight, companioning stars in their courses,
Fronting the storm or the fire of the foe in his forces;
Yours be the honour of all that we are or shall be!
Glorious Eyes of the Sea!
IS ALL WELL WITH ENGLAND?
A QUESTION OF THE MOMENT
Yes, all is well!
Or, rather, let us say all _will_ be well! And in our steady progress
towards future good we may confidently aver that all is well even now.
Even now! though the great “spring-cleaning” of the Empire’s house is
scarcely half-way through. Our home is topsy-turvy, familiar objects
are thrust aside, our goods and chattels are disarranged and turned
out to be swept or beaten or otherwise relieved of their accumulated
dust and cobwebs, and the clatter of brooms and pails and general
hurry-scurry, with many irreparable breakages, make comfort and quiet
impossible. Yet there is a freshness in the air, the windows have been
cleaned, and one can see the sky through their lately begrimed and
sooty panes, the floors are swept and the furniture polished; deft
hands are arranging flowers for the rooms--we may breathe in health and
hope if we will.
There is much yet to be done, for the cleansing of a nation is God’s
work more than ours, and He leaves no corner unvisited. He has not done
with England yet, no, not by any means! The festering mass of diseased
moral fibre resulting from a long worship of Self, the canker in the
body social and politic, has to be cut out ruthlessly, despite bleeding
veins and torn sinews, and God will not spare the remedial knife.
But even so, it is well for England! Well, and more than well! For no
greater ill could chance to her than her condition prior to the war.
Far more injurious to her fair fame than the murderous attacks of
the most dishonourable and unscrupulous enemy she has ever known was
the stealthy undermining of her people’s ideals through the slow but
sure rot which had begun to set in at the very core of her civilian
life. That rot was eating its way through commerce and crumbling
down every bulwark of society. Its ravaging microbes swarmed through
every channel--the pulpit, the stage, and all forms of art. Through
its influence the abominable crimes of Sodom and Gomorrah were
re-enacted and condoned, both in the political and social world. By
gradual and subtle process, step by step on the downward grade, the
unthinking public were led by certain writers of the Press who are
special pleaders for vice, to accept sensuality as the only meaning of
love, and every town possessing a bookseller’s shop was flooded with
published outpourings of sickly and degrading sexuality, insulting to
the self-respect of men and women, old and young alike. Girls and boys
hardly in their teens carried these vile books in their hands, and read
and discussed them without shame. Their poisonous trail is over many
a young mind, and the mischief they have wrought will take years of
undoing.
This kind of pernicious literature, coupled with a “sensational” Press,
by which I mean that side of the Press which truckles to the baser
inclinations of mankind, and flaunts pictorial representations of
semi-nude women of the stage and of the demoralised portion of Society
in the eyes of decent folk whether they will or no, is in a great
measure responsible for the recklessness, extravagance, sloth, and
selfishness which have disfigured social England for the past decade.
Things were getting worse and worse; men who truckled to vice were
paid with baronetcies as “hush-money,” women passing for “ladies,”
lower than the lowest of street sinners, because they had education
and opportunities which the street sinner has not, were praised as
embodiments of all the beauties and all the virtues, and “home,” that
dear possession of the faithful soul, was voted “dull” by the younger
folk, because of its wholesome restrictions on harmful impulses and
runaway passions.