DRAKE'S DRUM
Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,
Strike et when your powder's runnin low;
If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven,
An drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.
We wake sometimes from dreams uttering strange phrases, murmuring incredible things. At the moment of waking, for some ineffable instant of time, the words we speak, or perhaps think we speak, seem to us full of illumination. To every one who speculates at all as to the heights and depths of the soul, there comes at very rare moments—there are not, perhaps, more than half-a-dozen such experiences given to any man's lifetime—the sense of the true world which lies beyond this dark place of images and shadows; a world that is full of light and glory, a world where all our dim desires are interpreted and fulfilled. It is as if we stood among shadows before a black curtain, as if for one moment a fold were caught back and we saw that which we can never utter: but never deny.
In dreams and waking and in waking dreams most of us, I suppose, penetrate into this other world, the world beyond the black curtain. But we are not suffered to make any report of it; the secret, it seems, must be kept fast. And that is one of the reasons why I am usually inclined to disbelieve most stories of the communicating spirits of the dead. Their messages are, to my judgment, altogether too lucid, too comfortably and easily and clearly set forth. There is no obscurity in the interpretation of their sentences, no impression as of a great gulf of the spirit which has been traversed with the utmost difficulty. And if we, still in the flesh, cannot utter to ourselves our own visions, it scarcely seems likely that those who have passed beyond the flaming ramparts of the world should be able to chatter to us so easily and colloquially of the regions of their dwelling.
The speech of that far land, if any speech there be, will, I think, be delivered rather in sensible images than in logical and grammatical utterance. And it is only the unspiritual who can discern nothing of the spirit in things audibly or visibly presented to our senses.
Here is the true story of such a presentation.
On the eleventh of last November the armistice between the Allies and the German Empire was signed. This meant that the incredible had happened. A few months before all the world had been in terror of a power that seemed capable of fighting all the world. Now, in a moment, as if by enchantment, that power had ceased to exist. The armistice terms were, most justly and wisely, rigorous, and on November 21st it was appointed that practically the whole German Fleet should surrender to the British. I said that the whole event was incredible, and so true is this that the British Navy could scarcely believe that the surrender would be accomplished peacefully. Sailors are generous men to all, but more especially to other sailors. There is a brotherhood of the deep, which surpasses the bounds of nations, and our navy could not believe that the German sailors would give up their ships without fighting; even though the fight might be a hopeless one for them. Consequently, on the morning of November 21st, 1918, the British Navy awaited the enemy in a state of mind that is hard to describe. The surrender of the German fleet, they all knew, had been demanded and granted; but at the last moment, our men thought, the unutterable disgrace must boil in the veins of those German sailors, and the guns of their great ships must speak their final word of fire before they sank beneath the water. Every preparation was made for the fight. The ships were cleared. The men were at "action stations." Naval discipline was at its strictest. Every man on board every ship knew his place to an inch, his duty to the most minute detail. The King’s ships had made them ready for battle; it is hard for a landsman to realise the awful and inexorable import of such an array.
The Fleet steamed to the appointed rendezvous, waited, and looked eastward. It was a misty morning with a gentle breeze.
One of the ships was the Royal Oak, chiefly manned by sailors of Devonshire. She was flying on that day a magnificent silk ensign, made for her by Devonshire ladies. On her bridge, sixty feet above the top deck, was a group of officers: Admiral Grant, Captain Maclachlan, of the Royal Oak, the Commander, and others. It was soon after nine o'clock in the morning when the German fleet appeared, looming through the mist. Admiral Grant saw them and waited; he could scarcely believe, he says, that they would not instantly open fire.
Then the drum began to beat on the Royal Oak. The sound was unmistakable; it was that of a small drum being beaten "in rolls." At first, the officers on the bridge paid little attention, if any, to the sound; so intent were they on the approaching enemy. But when it became evident that the Germans were not to show fight, Admiral Grant turned to the Captain of the Royal Oak, and remarked on the beating of the drum. The Captain said that he heard it, but could not understand it, since the ship was cleared for action, and every man on board was at his battle station. The Commander also heard, but could not understand, and sent messengers all over the ship to investigate. Twice the messengers were sent about the ship, about all the decks. They reported that every man was at his station. Yet the drum continued to beat. Then the Commander himself made a special tour of investigation through the Royal Oak. He, too, found that every man was at his station.
It must be noted, by the way, that if someone, playing a practical joke, had been beating a drum between decks, the sound would have been inaudible to the officers on the bridge. Secondly, when a ship is cleared for action, the members of the band have specially important duties in connection with fire control apparatus assigned to them. The band instruments are all stored away in the band room, right aft, and below decks.
All the while the British fleet was closing round the German fleet, coming to anchor in a square about it so that the German ships were hemmed in. And all the while that this was being done, the noise of the drum was heard at intervals, beating in rolls. All who heard it are convinced that it was no sound of flapping stays or any such accident. The ear of the naval officer is attuned to all the noises of his ship in fair weather and in foul; it makes no mistakes. All who heard knew that they heard the rolling of a drum.
At about 2 o'clock in the afternoon the German fleet was enclosed and helpless, and the British ships dropped anchor, some fifteen miles off the Firth of Forth. The utter, irrevocable ruin and disgrace of the German Navy were consummated. And at that moment the drum stopped beating and was no more heard.
But those who had heard it, Admiral, Captain, Commander, other officers and men of all ratings held then and hold now one belief as to that rolling music. They believe that the sound they heard was that of "Drake’s Drum"; the audible manifestation of the spirit of the great sea captain, present at this hour of the tremendous triumph of Britain on the seas. This is the firm belief of them all.
It may be so. It may be that Drake did quit the port of Heaven in a ship of fire, and driving the Huns across the sea with the flame of his spirit, drummed them down to their pitiful and shameful doom.