Jellicoe’s life on H.M.S. Britannia was an interesting and varied one. Probably he looks back on the years spent in what has been aptly called “The Cradle of our Sea Kings” as the best years of his life. He joined at a very interesting period, too, just when the Franco-Prussian War was raging most fiercely.

For a healthy lad life on the Britannia must have been an ideal existence. Of course there were hardships, doubtless greater ones forty years ago than there are now. Hardships find out the weak spots in humanity—mental as well as physical. Hardships make men.

Discipline is strict in the Navy, stricter than in the sister Service, but it is of a different kind. Sailors see life from a quite different standpoint from that from which soldiers look at it. In the old days there was a great deal of brutality in the Navy, but with it, at the same time, a great comradeship—a deep understanding of human nature. To-day brutality has practically disappeared, but the deep understanding of human nature remains, and with it brotherly love.

A sailor’s ship becomes his home, and happy as was young Jellicoe in his father’s house in Southampton, his heart was soon centred in the Britannia and the ever-varying round of work and play which used to keep the cadets busy from morning to night.

Captain W. Graham was in command of the Britannia during the greater part of the period Jellicoe served his apprenticeship to the sea—from 1874 to 1877.

Turning-out at sunrise and turning-in soon after sunset; parade, swim, drill, preparation; classes, ranging from Latin to Algebra, from gunnery to rope-splicing—this is a rough idea of a day on the training ship in the early ’eighties.

An old musty boat may not have been the healthiest place for a growing boy from a fond mother’s and a modern physician’s point of view, but the breeze which swept up the silvery Dart from the English Channel and whistled through her rigging and portholes was stimulating and life-giving.

The Britannia still lies at her old moorings, between the little village of Dittisham and Dartmouth town, with Kingswear, the terminus of the Great Western Railway, on the left. The Dart is one of the most beautiful and romantic of English rivers. It rises only about a score of miles away from Dartmouth, right on the moorland, in a wilderness of gorse and heather.

It rushes through the granite-strewn valleys, past the glorious wooded banks of Holne Chase, roaring and tumbling until it reaches Totnes. Here its wild course is stopped with startling abruptness; from a foaming shallow trout stream it is turned into a stately river—broad, deep and calm. But the waters still carry the colour of the peat and the scent of the heather; the hills still rise from the mossy banks carpeted with daffodils and primroses in spring. And right down to the sea itself, thatch-roofed cottages, stately houses and ruined castles peer through the foliage.

Dartmouth is noted for three things—its cockles and plums from Dittisham, its orchards and its annual Regatta, which in Jellicoe’s day was famous throughout the world.

The author has it from the best authority that young Jellicoe joined in some of the successful raids on the aforesaid orchards, that he tasted and approved of Dittisham plums and cockles, and it is more than likely that he attended the Regatta, which, from a boy’s point of view, as well as that of many grown-ups, was most attractive as a Fair.

At the end of Jack Jellicoe’s first year on the Britannia he showed his instructor and his fellow-cadets the kind of stuff of which he was made. He was quiet, unassuming, yet always ready for work, and equally ready to take his place in the cricket eleven, or to put in a little practice in the field between the goal-posts. When he came out at the head of his rivals in the examinations, and got first for every examination that it was possible for him to pass, he must have occasioned no inconsiderable surprise.

Next year much the same thing happened, though, at the same time, Jellicoe began to develop a penchant for left-hand bowling. He was useful with an oar, too. On the Britannia every kind of game was encouraged among the cadets. Of course swimming, shooting, rowing, sculling and the “gym” came under part of the curriculum. A cadet need not play cricket or football, but he would probably have a bad time if he did not. If he wished, he got his chance at tennis and racquets and bowls; athletic sports were, of course, held regularly.

Besides the time-honoured paper chase, the Britannia had a pack of beagles, of which the lieutenant was generally master; the pack is still in existence to-day. The hounds met, during the season, once or twice a week, hunting the hillsides, and along the open country from the cliffs beyond Kingswear, inland, for several miles. Only the master is mounted, and sometimes he dispenses with his horse; everyone else is on foot, and, as a cadet remarked, “You have to be pretty nippy if you want to be in at the death.”

Amidst such surroundings, on one of the oldest ships belonging to His Majesty on the bosom of England’s most beautiful river, John Rushton Jellicoe’s character was developed. At the age of thirteen he found himself afloat—and he has kept afloat ever since. His ship has in very truth been his home, for he has always been actively engaged, and never known—perhaps never wanted—a real rest or a proper holiday.

Of course Jellicoe passed out of the Britannia just as he had passed into her—first of his year by over a hundred marks. During the period he was on board as midshipman he took nearly all the prizes—though he was only allowed to keep a selection. But the future Admiral of the Fleet was not after prizes. He possessed what an old boatswain aptly described as a hungry brain. It is rather surprising that he never suffered from mental dyspepsia, since in his desire for knowledge he was absolutely avaricious. In his examination as sub-lieutenant a few years later, he took no fewer than three “firsts.”

It was not very long before Jellicoe saw active service. He was appointed to H.M.S. Agincourt in 1881, and was present at the bombardment of Alexandria. This was in July of 1882, just after the attacks made on the Europeans in Alexandria, for which Ahmed Arabi was held responsible. Arabi was then Prime Minister and leader of the Rebellion against the English. It was he who had heavy guns mounted on the forts and ordered earthworks to be thrown up for their protection.

It is interesting to remember that Kitchener was in Egypt at this time, on furlough. He, of course, saw that a conflict was inevitable; and when the great exodus of foreigners from the town took place he remained behind.

But his furlough expired and he was due to return home. He applied for an extension, and obtained it. Meanwhile, the British battleships waited outside beyond the harbour, among them the Agincourt, with young Jellicoe on board. Arabi continued to strengthen the defences of Alexandria and to pour troops into the town.

On July the 10th Arabi received the British Ultimatum; the guns of the Fleet were trained on the fortifications, and steamers crowded with people crept out of the harbour, Kitchener on one of them. A few hours later the first shot was fired by one of the English boats—and Jellicoe received his baptism of fire.

The enemy’s guns were soon silenced, and Arabi withdrew his forces inland. But a terrible massacre took place in Alexandria; houses were pillaged and burnt. Eventually a force of bluejackets and Marines was landed from the Fleet and order was restored.

Of course Arabi and his followers retreated. It was realized a big force would be required to suppress him, and an expedition was fitted out under the command of Sir Garnet Wolseley, and Kitchener (whose extension of furlough had again expired, and who ought to have returned to England) got his chance.

So it happened that thus early in their careers the two men, Lieutenant Kitchener, R.E., and Lieutenant Jellicoe, R.N., in whose hands, jointly, now rests the safety of the British Empire and the welfare of the world, saw War for the first time and fought for the first time together.

For Jellicoe, after taking part in the bombardment of Alexandria, was fortunate enough to accompany the Naval Brigade which was landed and marched with Wolseley’s troops on Cairo, and fought at Tel-el-Kebir, where Arabi had strongly entrenched his men.

The odds against the British forces were about two to one, but early in September a decisive victory was gained by us, and Arabi’s army routed. For his share in this action Lieutenant Jellicoe was awarded the Egyptian Medal and the Khedive’s Bronze Star.

It is not recorded whether Jellicoe and Kitchener ever met on the battlefield, or, if they did, whether they ever spoke. For then, as now, both were men of few words.

“He is great,” Colonel Taylor said afterwards of Kitchener, “and he is clever.”

“He don’t waste words,” was a bluejacket’s criticism of Jellicoe, “but when he does speak, he hits the mark every time.”

Kitchener remained in Egypt—where he was fated to accomplish the first portion of his life’s work for the Empire. Jellicoe returned to England, and we next hear of him at the Royal Naval College at Greenwich, where he showed that his “mental appetite” was far from satiated. He won the £80 special prize for Gunnery Lieutenants; this was a significant moment in his career. As the world knows, British Naval Gunnery is unrivalled. It was Jellicoe who helped to place it in the enviable position it now holds.

After leaving Greenwich, Jellicoe served on H.M.S. Monarch. It was in May, 1886, while still a lieutenant on this ship, that he nearly lost his life. Sir John Jellicoe has had three very narrow escapes, and this was the first.

The Monarch, which had been lying off Gibraltar, went out for target practice. A stiff breeze was blowing and dirty weather was experienced. Soon a heavy sea got up, and presently the Monarch sighted a ship in difficulties; she turned out to be a cargo steamer from Glasgow, the Ettrickdale, and was fast on the rocks, with the waves breaking over her and threatening to knock her to pieces. The Monarch had only taken one cutter out with her, her smallest; but her Commander asked for volunteers to man it, so that an attempt should be made to rescue the crew of the shipwrecked boat.

There did not seem to be much chance of the small cutter living in such an angry sea; but this was the kind of job which appealed to Lieutenant Jellicoe, who was one of the first to volunteer, and he was given command of the crew.

With seven seamen he started on his desperate—almost hopeless—enterprise. Though the cutter was splendidly managed, she capsized before the Ettrickdale could be reached, and Jellicoe was struggling with his men in the boiling waters.

Marvellous to relate, not a life was lost. More dead than alive, they all managed to reach the shore. For this attempt at saving life Jellicoe received a medal. It was given him by the Board of Trade. But he was not allowed to keep it very long, for he lost it when, in 1887, he went down with the Victoria. Fortunately for England and her Empire, Jellicoe came up again—but his silver medal did not.

Presumably the Board of Trade must have heard of the terrible accident which cost England so many valuable lives and horrified the whole world; but the officials did not offer to replace Jellicoe’s lost medal, and when he wrote and asked if they could obligingly supply him with a duplicate, he received a formal reply that he could have one if he chose to pay for it.

Up to the present we believe that he has not “paid,” and so probably he is without the silver medal he first won for gallantry. Perhaps the Board of Trade is still debating whether it would be justified in going to the expense of providing the Admiral of the British Fleet with another.

Mrs. Jellicoe, Sir John’s mother, possesses an interesting little souvenir in the telegram which Jellicoe sent after he had been rescued, announcing that he was safe—

“Quite safe terrible affair love Jack”.

This simple message naturally brought great joy and relief to his father’s and mother’s hearts. And now the Nation confidently awaits, with Sir John Jellicoe’s family, the receipt at any moment of another telegram almost similarly worded—

“Quite safe splendid affair love Jack!”