1867–71--ALDERSHOT
Sporting Essex farmers--An eccentric groom--Drunk and incapable
in the street--Ill-health induces me to think of joining the
Bar--A fine example on parade--Sir James Yorke Scarlett--A
student of the Middle Temple--School feasts--A Low Church
Colonel--An audacious order--Sir Hope Grant, his lovable nature.
The winter of 1867–68 was for many years the best season’s hunting
I enjoyed, although I was occasionally suffering from ill-health.
General Napier had lent me a hunter, and besides “Vagabond,” already
described, I bought a bay mare named “Fractious.” When I was sent over
to Dublin at Christmas 1866, my friend Mr. Leonard Morrogh wrote me a
note, saying that, owing to a week’s frost a horse bought by a Colonel
in the Indian Army had been kept in its stable at Sewell’s Yard, and
having refused to leave the yard, had given stablemen heavy falls. The
mare was known to be very clever over a banking country, and Morrogh,
hearing its owner who gave £70 before the frost would accept £20,
advised me to go and look at her. The frost was breaking up when I
drove down and had the mare out. She was nearly as broad as she was
long, with straight shoulders, but with great power over the loins,
and with good hocks, although they were much disfigured, having been
fired with something like a fire-shovel. I liked the appearance of the
mare, and seeing that she “used” her shoulders well, asked the foreman
to put a saddle on her and trot her up and down. He saddled her, but
absolutely declined to mount, as did everyone else in the yard. I
said to a lad, “It will be worth 5s. for you to trot her up and down
on the straw;” but he said, “No, my life is worth more than 5s.” This
compelled me to mount the mare. She stood still until I _asked_ her
to move, when she went straight up on her hind legs, narrowly missing
falling back. This she repeated twice, the third time walking on her
hind legs so as to bring my knee against the wall as her fore feet came
to the ground. I realised the mare’s intention, and instead of pulling
her away from the wall, pulled the inside rein sharply, which brought
her down with her jaw on the wall, the jar being so great as to almost
stun her. Taking advantage of the horse’s bewildered state, I applied
both spurs, and she trotted quietly out of the yard. Although her
shoulder was short and badly put on, she never fell until I shot her,
six years afterwards, except twice--once in a rabbit hole, and once
when a bank broke under her.
I had a small pack of drag hounds, the farmers living round Rivenhall,
where my mother lived, allowing me to take the Drag anywhere I liked,
out of love of my father’s memory. One farmer in reply to my request
to cross his fields, sent me a message, “Tell Muster Evelyn if there
be any one field where he can do most damage, I hope he will go
there.” Some of the younger ones assisted me by taking on the drag
occasionally, so I hunted under favourable conditions, “Vagabond” and
“Fractious” carrying me, or my sister, fifteen times in twenty-three
successive days. I generally rode “Vagabond” with the Drag the day
before I hunted him with the Stag Hounds, and saved him all I could by
putting the horse in the train whenever it was possible; but as the
kennels were five-and-twenty miles off, I could seldom get a short
day. One day I rode him 19 miles to the meet, had a good run of two
hours, and then 29 miles home, after taking the deer north of Bishop’s
Stortford, and without putting him off his feed.
I had a groom, excellent when he was sober; he came into my service
in December 1865, and up to the end of 1866, when I was at Aldershot,
had not given way to his besetting vice; but there the attractions
of the canteens were too great, and he became troublesome. He should
have arrived at my mother’s house with the horses some hours before I
did on the 14th of February 1868, but did not appear till nightfall.
When I went to the stable just before dinner, I found that the
horses had apparently been fed and watered, but the man was drunk.
Seeing his condition, I endeavoured to avoid him, especially as my
mother’s coachman was also under the influence of liquor although not
intoxicated; but the groom approached me rapidly, and as I thought
with the intention of hitting me over the head with a lantern, so,
knocking him down, I held him by the throat while I called the coachman
to bring a halter and lash his legs. The groom had a keen sense of
humour, and after the trembling coachman had tied his feet he pulled
one out, observing, “Oh, you’re a blessed fool, to tie up a man!” and
in drunken tones he apostrophised me and all my family, finishing up
with the expression, “And you’re about the best of a d----d bad lot.”
I was nervous of leaving the man over the stable for fear he might
set fire to it, so putting him into a dog-cart my brother and I drove
over to the Petty Sessions House at Witham, where we saw the Inspector
of Police, who declined to take charge of him because he was not
“drunk and incapable in the street.” I asked, “If you saw him drunk
and incapable in the street would you then take charge of him for the
night?” “Yes, certainly, but not while he is in your carriage.” I cast
off the undergirth, and having tilted up the shafts, shot the groom
into the roadway, calling to the Inspector, “Now you can properly take
him up.” He reappeared next day, contrite, and remained with me two or
three years, until he became so troublesome I was obliged to part with
him. He was engaged by the Adjutant-General of the Army, without any
references to me, and eventually having challenged him to fight, was
knocked down, and dismissed.
My eldest child, born at Brighton in the summer, was for some time
delicate, the nurse and I watching her at night by turns for two
months. I had never been really well since I left the Staff College,
and this night-watching rendered me altogether incapable of work. I
was endeavouring to carry out my official duties while spending two or
three hours every evening at Brighton; this necessitated my spending
the night in a luggage train between Brighton, Redhill, and Aldershot,
with the result that at the end of August I broke down, and was obliged
to go away for a change of air. Towards the middle of the next month I
fainted five times one afternoon from the intensity of the pain in the
nerves of the stomach. All through 1868 I was suffering from it, and
it was not until a year later that Doctor Porter, attached to the 97th
Regiment, in the North Camp, cured me. When he had done so, he asked to
see me alone, and said, “Now I have cured you of neuralgia, but I fear
I have made you an opium-eater for life.” I laughed, saying, “I think
not.” “But you must feel a craving for it, don’t you?” “Only when the
pain is on.” “But haven’t you got to like it?” “No; I have never got
rid of the feeling that it is exactly like soapsuds.” I remained ill
so long, however, that I had to face the contingency of being obliged
to leave the Service, and having some taste for Military law elected
to qualify for the Bar. During my service at Aldershot I had made an
epitome of every important decision given by Judges Advocate-General
relative to Courts Martial in the United Kingdom, and some years later
Colonel Colley[101] asked permission of the War Office to have my
notes printed, for the guidance of his class at the Staff College. The
application was refused, with the quaint answer: “Permission cannot be
given on account of the many conflicting decisions.” It is only right
I should add the office being then Political, the holders changed with
the Government.
The Heads of the Army inculcate uniformity of punishment, but they
do not always succeed. In the spring of the year, Frank Markham, Sir
Alfred Horsford’s Aide-de-Camp, Cricket Club Secretary, asked me for
a fatigue party to roll the officers’ ground in anticipation of the
match. I said, “No, you can have a working party.” “Oh, but I have got
no funds.” “Then go over to the ---- and get some defaulters to roll
your ground.” “I have been there already, and the Adjutant says if I go
after Monday I can have as many as I want; but that is too late, for we
play on Monday, and so I cannot wait.” “What does he mean by saying he
has got no defaulters now?” “I asked him that, and he explained that
the Colonel being away there were no defaulters, but he is coming back
on Monday, and then there will be as many as I can want.”
There came to Aldershot in the early summer a battalion distinguished
for the best Barrack-room discipline in the Army. At that time it was
commanded by a courteous gentleman, typical of the old school. A
delightful host in his Mess, on matters of duty he was accurate to the
verge of pedantry. Captain ----, a pillar of the Regiment, being not
only a good Company commander, but having business attributes which
enabled him to manage successfully all the Regimental institutions,
was courting his cousin, whom he afterwards married. He had obtained
leave from noon to go to London on “urgent private affairs,” which were
to meet the young lady in the Botanical Gardens, and just as he was
starting for the one o’clock train at Farnborough,[102] an orderly came
to him, saying, “The Colonel wants you in the orderly-room, sir.”
Captain ---- got back into uniform, and, putting on his sword, for in
the “Wait-a-Bits”[103] officers attending orderly-room always wore
swords, knocked at the door, and entered. The Commanding officer was
writing, and nodding pleasantly, said, “Yes, wait a bit, please,” and
proceeded to finish what was apparently a carefully worded official
document; at all events, it so seemed to the Captain, who stood
fidgeting with his watch and calculating whether he could catch his
train. At last, his patience being exhausted, he said, “I beg your
pardon, sir, but you wished to see me. May I know for what purpose, as
I want to catch a train?” “I wish, Captain ----,” replied the Colonel,
“to impress on you the necessity of being accurate in any documents you
send in to this office for my approval.” “I am not aware,” the Captain
said, “that I have sent any in, sir, for I have had no prisoners for
some time.” The Colonel then handed to him two passes, which the
Captain scanned carefully, without finding out what was wrong. It was
indeed difficult to make a mistake, as everything except the dates and
the signature was printed. After close perusal, he handed them back,
saying, “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot see anything wrong.” The Chief
replied slowly, “You have applied for leave for two privates in your
Company to be absent from the 25 to the 27 of July, and if you look,
you will see, in each case, there is a ‘th’ and two dots wanting.”
This was too much for the Captain’s temper, and he said with much
heat, “Have you sent for me, sir, and caused me to lose my train, and
thus fail to keep a most important engagement in London, to tell me
to put a ‘th’ and two dots?” “Yes, Captain ----, I have. And I hope
when you have the honour of commanding this Regiment, like me you will
appreciate and teach the advantages of accuracy. Good-morning.” During
the operations then practised in and about the Long Valley he was a
trial to excited Aides-de-Camp, who galloping up would exclaim, “The
General wants you to advance immediately and attack.” To which the
Colonel would reply, “Kindly say that again--I am rather deaf.” And
after still more excited repetition would say calmly, “Let us wait a
bit, and see exactly what is required.” This peculiarity had no doubt
become known, and was partly the result of an explosion of anger,
and subsequent regret, on the part of the Commander-in-Chief, who
one day with his Staff was sitting on Eelmoor Hill South, practising
eleven battalions in a new formation imported from Germany, as many
movements have been since that time. The idea was to advance in a
line of columns, and by filling up the interval from the Rear of each
column to lull the enemy into the belief that there was only a line
advancing towards him. Five times in succession the battalions advanced
and retired, each column being formed of double companies--that is,
two companies in the front line. The Chief now said, “I am going to
try the same thing, but forming the battalions in double columns of
subdivisions.”[104] When the Chief gave the order to half a dozen
Gallopers, he said, “Advance in a double column of companies, filling
up the intervals from the Rear companies.” Five of us took the order
as we knew the Chief intended, but not as he said, for we had all
heard he intended to change the formation; but the sixth Galloper
gave the “Wait-a-Bit” battalion the literal order, and thus, after
the Colonel had begun the formation, looking to his right and left he
saw that the others were forming double columns of subdivisions, and
he proceeded to conform. This involved delay, and the Chief galloping
down shouted at him with an oath, “You are the slowest man, Colonel,
in the British Army.” He had been wounded in the Crimea, and did not
therefore carry a sword. Sitting erect on his horse, with his eyes
straight to the front, he threw up his maimed hand and saluted, and the
Chief rode back, vexed with himself and all the world, at having lost
his temper. Before we got to Eelmoor Hill again, I told the officer
who had taken the message that he ought to explain what had happened;
but as he absolutely declined, I told the Chief, who turning his horse
cantered back to the battalion, and made in a loud voice a generous
apology. I do not know that I admired the Colonel particularly for his
self-restraint in the first instance, but he gave me a lasting lesson
on hearing the apology, for his face did not relax in the slightest
degree nor did his eyes move. When the Chief had ceased speaking, up
again went the maimed hand with a grave, punctilious salute--a grand
example to his battalion of young soldiers. When the troops were going
home, the apology was repeated; and then the Colonel, holding out his
hand, said pleasantly, “Pray, sir, say no more about it; I am fully
satisfied.”
A few months later a Cavalry Colonel was called during a manœuvre a
“d----d fool,” for which at the Conference a full apology was made. The
Colonel, a most lovable character, although a high-class gentleman in
essentials, habitually used words as did our soldiers in Flanders two
hundred years ago. He was an excellent Cavalry leader, although not by
any means a finished horseman, and had a habit of heaving his body up
and down in the saddle when excited. When the Chief had finished his
apology, the Colonel blurted out, “I do not mind, sir, being called a
‘d----d fool,’ but I do mind being called a ‘d----d fool’ before all
these ‘d----d fools’ of your Staff.”[105]
Bad language was then used constantly on every parade, until Sir Hope
Grant assumed command two years later. He resolutely setting his face
against the practice, did much to stamp it out.
In the sixties our Generals delighted in practising complicated
movements in lines of columns, especially one which was the terror of
many Commanding officers, and which consisted in turning one or more
battalions about, and then having moved to a flank, in fours, to wheel
the column while in fours. The result was often ludicrous; indeed, I
have seen five Captains standing in the leading company of a battalion,
which had been ordered suddenly to “Halt,” “Front.” A line of thirteen
battalions changing front forwards and backwards, on a named company,
of a named battalion, was often practised three times a week, when I
went to Aldershot in 1866, and the Lieutenant-General nearly always
placed the Base points for the new alignment, to the mathematical
accuracy of which both time and energy were devoted, and which induced
much bad language.
Those at Aldershot now, who may see this book, will be interested to
read that I met Captain Tufnell of the 34th coming in one evening
in October with eleven and a half couple of snipe, shot between the
Queen’s Hotel and the bathing pond on Cove Common.
I was more intimate with that Regiment than any other, my brother
having served in it for some years. I admired greatly the Colonel, of
whose gallantry I had been a witness on the 18th June 1855, and thus it
came about that, although I dined once a week with each battalion in
the North Camp, I generally spent any other free evening in the 34th
Mess. In May 1869 two French officers came to the camp bringing an
introduction from Lord Southwell, and asked to see an officers’ Mess.
I sent an orderly over to the 34th to say we were coming, and just as
we approached the hut one of the officers came out, saying, “Will you
delay them a moment till we throw a rug over our drums?” I could not
stop the officers without giving an explanation, and so walked on,
thinking it best to chance their noticing the drums. It was difficult
to avoid seeing them, however, as there were five on each side of the
very narrow entrance to the anteroom, and the senior French officer
asked me their history. I told him frankly, expressing regret that I
had inadvertently shown them something of an unpleasant nature, and
he replied politely, “Pray do not let it disturb you; it is only the
fortune of war.”[106]
In July we sent a flying column from Aldershot to Wimbledon, and
officers who know the present state of the Mobilisation Stores which
are sufficient for an Army Corps, may be interested to read that in
1869 we had not enough “line gear” at Aldershot for one Squadron of
Cavalry. An officer of the Control Department went to Woolwich on
the Saturday, and bringing it across London in cabs, had it sent out
in waggons at the trot to overtake the column at Chobham, which had
marched two hours earlier.
I moved over to the South Camp at the end of the year, becoming Deputy
Assistant Adjutant-General, and although I was sorry to leave Sir
Alfred Horsford, I learned more in the Divisional office, especially as
my Senior officer being in delicate health, I was often left in charge.
To serve directly under Sir James Yorke Scarlett was a great privilege.
He was a gentleman in the highest sense of the word, and although not
an educated soldier, yet the tone he imparted to all under his command
was to elevate the sense of duty and discipline.
When I had been under his command for some time, I thought it my duty
to point out the result of one of his many charities, for both he and
Lady Yorke Scarlett, who had fortunes, were never tired of doing good
to others around them. Sir James used to pay for a cab for every woman
leaving the Maternity hospital, and I told him that the moment his cab
put the woman down at her hut on the eighth day after her baby was
born, she took up her basket and walked into the town to make good
the week’s marketing. Said he, “What a capital thing to save her one
journey!” During his absence in London I arranged a visit of the Inns
of Court Volunteers, many of the Rank and File in those days being
Queen’s Counsel, or Barristers of high standing, and provided lunch at
the conclusion of the operations. When the General returned, I told
him what I had done, and that I had taken what was in those days the
unusual step of debiting the Staff with the expenses according to our
pay. He asked, “Well, and how does it work out?” “Oh, sir, the result
is that you will pay four or five times more than what I do.” “Quite
right,” he said aloud; and then dropping his voice, in a low tone, to
me, “And mind you, Wood, if there is any shortage, let me pay it.”
In the following year Sir James was as usual leading a line of
skirmishers of one Force against another many yards in front,[107] as
he had led the Heavy Brigade at Balaklava against three times its
numbers. This was the habit of our Generals,[108] as I have shown in
another book. Sir James was leading an attack up the Fox Hills, near
Mitchet Lake, and with cocked hat in hand was cheering on the troops.
Three times I respectfully pointed out that he was very far forward, to
be rebuffed only with a curt expression beginning with an oath. On the
third occasion he turned round and said, “Young man, have I not ordered
you twice to hold your tongue? If I like to lead my skirmishers, what
the ---- is that to you?” Said I most respectfully, “Ten thousand
pardons, sir, but it is the enemy’s line in retreat you have been
leading for the last ten minutes.” He was short-sighted, and did not
wear glasses, so was unable to see the distinguishing mark, a sprig of
heather worn in the shakos of the troops he was attacking.
At the end of April, having passed my examination, paying £140 for the
fees, I entered as a Law student in the Middle Temple, my Examiner
being kind enough to say that my papers were very satisfactory. The
questions in History, although requiring an effort of memory, were
not beyond me, except in one instance. I was fully equal to the first
question, which was: “Give a list of the Sovereigns of England from
William the Conqueror to Queen Victoria, showing how, when, and in what
particular there was any departure from strict hereditary succession.”
Girls, no doubt, are generally taught History better than our
schoolboys, for my wife laughed at me when I returned in the evening
stating I had failed entirely to answer the question--“State what you
know of the Pilgrimage of Grace.” A charming Queen’s Counsel examined
me, and being in the room a few minutes before the hour stated, I had
picked up a Virgil, and was reading it, when passing up the room, he
looked over my shoulder. He said pleasantly, “Is that your favourite
author?” To which I replied, “Yes, it is the only one I know.” Taking
the book out of my hand, and seeing I was in the Eleventh Book of the
_Æneid_, he opened it at random at the passage in the Second Book--
“Et Jam Argiva Phalanx instructis navibus ibat
A Tenedo tacitæ per amica silentia lunæ.”
Showing me the passage, he said, “Write out that page.” This I found
easy, and when he had looked it over he said, “Well, it is a very good
translation; but your rendering, ‘tacitæ per arnica silentia lunæ,’ ‘in
the favouring obscurity of a moon in its first quarter,’ is somewhat
free.” I said, “Yes, but I am a soldier, and over thirty years of age,
and Virgil, who knew a good deal about campaigns, must have meant what
I have written.” “Can you quote me any authority for ‘Lunæ tacitæ’
being a moon in its first quarter?” “Yes, Ainsworth’s Dictionary, which
if everyone will not admit, is good enough for me, and I looked it out
only three weeks ago.” He laughingly said, “Well, if you will tell me
that you looked it out only three weeks ago, I also shall accept it.”
Then he observed, “After your very frank remark about your limited
knowledge, I must put you on in something else;” and to my relief he
took up a “Cæsar,” which although I have not read always appears to
me to be the easiest of all Latin authors, and I had no difficulty in
satisfying him.
I took the opportunity of being in the Headquarters Office of striking
out a new line of management in the Divisional School Feast. I had
mooted the question when I was a Brigade-Major that the feast as
arranged, assembling the children in the largest riding school for tea
and cake, was not making most of the holiday, and I suggested that the
children should be taken out to one of the parks around Aldershot. I
was met by the usual objections: it had never been done before, the
owners of the neighbouring parks would be unwilling to receive 1500
children, and moreover it would be impossible to transport them,
besides the risk of accidents. I found no difficulty, the Bishop of
Winchester gladly placing his park at my disposal. T. White & Co., the
Outfitters, and all the Brewers employed, lent me waggons, with the
result that some 1500 children spent a most enjoyable afternoon, the
ride backwards and forwards being perhaps the greatest pleasure, and
for many years my plan was followed.
At the end of 1869 the Agent on my brother-in-law’s estate died of
scarlatina, and it became necessary to appoint a successor. Sir Thomas
Lennard desired me to make the appointment, and after advertising
I selected three names representing what appeared to be the most
desirable candidates, and to these I wrote, asking them to come and
stay with me for at least forty-eight hours, my object being to find
out which was most likely to suit an agency where the agent must fully
represent the landlord, who very seldom visited the estate. My second
child was but a few weeks old, and as the accommodation in our hut was
limited, and a person with normal hearing must know nearly everything
said in the hut, the opportunities of finding out the guests’ nature
were favourable.
My choice fell on Frederick Wrench,[109] who had not long left the
University. He had never been an agent, but had worked for six months
in the office of Mr. John Vernon, an agent of high standing in Ireland,
who strongly recommended the young man, and undertook to give him, or
me, any advice as long as we required it. Wrench and I worked together
for twenty-one years, during which time we never had a difference of
opinion. Five years after he had taken over the Clones agency, he
telegraphed to me to come to Dublin, and meeting me, said, “If you will
tell the Trustees of an estate that you think well of me, I shall get
another agency worth £800 a year; but they want a personal interview,
not a written opinion.” He held it until he took over the management of
the Colebrooke estate for his brother-in-law, Sir Victor Brooke, and
was eventually selected by the Secretary for Ireland[110] for the Irish
Land Commission, where I believe he has given as much satisfaction to
those who know what his work has been, as he did to my brother-in-law
and to me.
In the summer I obtained a half-pay Majority by purchase. This was
convenient, because the battalion to which I had been transferred
against my will in 1866 (after paying £500 to exchange to the battalion
which was due to remain in England) was ordered for Foreign Service,
and I must have paid another £500, or embarked with it. Shortly
afterwards, a Colonel of Cavalry I had known since 1856, when we were
quartered for a short time together at Scutari, before I was sent
to Hospital, tried to persuade me to exchange with a Major of his
Regiment, offering to lend me £3000 on my personal security at 3½
per cent. He was very fond of his Regiment, and foreseeing that he
must soon retire, was anxious that I should succeed him. I explained,
however, that my private income was not sufficient to enable me to
do justice to a Cavalry regiment, and so, although very grateful, I
declined his offer.
My friend the Colonel was very Low Church, and one day, as we came
out of All Saints’, at the conclusion of the Cavalry Brigade Divine
service, he said, “Are you Churchwarden?” “Yes, sir.” “Very well, I am
going to report you for the way you go on in church.” “What do I do?”
“Why, you say ‘A-a-a-men’ in three motions. Why the devil don’t you say
‘Amen,’ and have done with it?” “Does it hurt you, sir?” “Yes.” “Stop
your saying prayers?” “Yes.” “Do you try?” “Well, as well as a wicked
old man can; but I ask you plainly--will you stop it?” “No, I will make
no change.”
Within a week I received a rebuke from the Secretary of State for
War, addressed to me personally as Churchwarden, for having permitted
intoning at a Parade service, which (quoting an Army circular, dated
before I was born) was against Regulations. Two Sundays later, I turned
the tables on my friend, when at the conclusion of the service I
asked, “I beg your pardon, sir, but are you in command of the Cavalry
Brigade?” “Yes--why?” “Because I am going to report you for allowing
the opening sentences, ‘I will arise and go to my Father’ to be sung.”
“Well, why can’t it be sung?” “Because by the canons of the Church we
are forbidden to sing or chant until we have confessed our sins to
Almighty God.” “Is that really the case?” “Yes.” “Well, I say, old
fellow, you like it, don’t you?” and I admitted I did.
I believe I gave the most audacious order ever issued in peace-time
on the 9th July. Her Majesty the Queen had reviewed the troops
between Long Hill and the Steeple Chase brook. The arrangements were
thoughtlessly made; for the Cavalry, which had the shortest distance
afterwards to get into position, came past before the Infantry, which
had to go nearly a mile farther. The scheme arranged was that the
Division should concentrate behind Miles Hill and Eelmore Hill close to
the Canal, and should then advance past Her Majesty’s carriage, placed
on Eelmore Hill South, and attack Cæsar’s Camp. I was detailed as guide
to Her Majesty. I went as slowly as possible, but it was impossible to
take longer than ten minutes to drive from Long Hill to Eelmore Hill
South, and thus the Queen’s carriage was in position before even the
head of the column of Infantry had reached the spot where it was to
wheel about. Her Majesty sat with evident impatience for over half an
hour, when General Sir Henry Ponsonby beckoned me to come on one side,
and warned me as follows: “Unless something is done immediately, the
Queen will go back to the Pavilion.” Picking up my writing-tablet, I
wrote as follows: “Lieutenant-General Sir James Yorke Scarlett. The
Cavalry will attack immediately up the Long Valley, and reversing the
front attack back again, by which time it is hoped that the Infantry
will be ready to advance. By Command.--Evelyn Wood, Major.” I sent
an orderly at speed to the Lieutenant-General, who was then under
Miles Hill, and within a few minutes, he himself leading, the Cavalry
galloped up the valley and down again, to Her Majesty’s evident
gratification. The moving and exciting scene occupied her attention
for the best part of a quarter of an hour, and then the Infantry came
on. At the conclusion of the Review, after the Queen had thanked the
Lieutenant-General, I told him, as we rode home together, of my action,
of which he quite approved.
Next month, to my regret, I vexed him a little by declining to tell him
where I was going with a Squadron of the 12th Lancers, being determined
that nobody should know whence we intended to start. I had made a
scheme that we should bivouac out over night, and march from westward
into Aldershot next day, somewhere between the Canal and the Aldershot
and Farnham Road, the Cavalry Brigade watching for us in any position
that the General might select. I rode round the previous day and looked
at various spots, and as I was leaving Dogmersfield Park, which I had
given up as unsuitable, I called at the house, saw Sir Henry Mildmay,
and told him that although I did not intend to request his permission
to use his park, I wished to tell him what I had intended to ask, if
satisfied with the water supply.
Next morning I got a note from him saying he considered it his duty to
help the Army in every way, and he would supply as many barrels of
fresh water as the men of the Squadron required, and hoped that all the
officers and I would dine with him, when he would give us something
better than water. We dined with him, and early next morning went away
towards Woolmer, lying up in Alice Holt wood. The Cavalry Brigade came
out to the valley of the Wey, but instead of leaving a standing patrol
to watch the avenues of approach from the south, sent small parties
patrolling up and down the Farnham-Bentley Road. We watched until a
patrol had passed westwards, and then proceeded at a slow trot,[111]
crossed the road, which was the only danger point, got inside the line
of outposts, and had no difficulty in reaching the men’s Barracks at
twelve o’clock. The Cavalry Brigade did not hear till the afternoon
that their line had been pierced, and returned between four and five
o’clock in an unhappy frame of mind.
Early in August I got a lesson from a Major in an Infantry regiment
who had asked leave “on private affairs.” I returned the letter to the
General commanding the Brigade, calling attention to the Divisional
Order requiring a special reason to be given in an application for
leave in the Drill Season, and the answer was “Sea bathing at Margate,”
to which I sent back the usual formula, “The Lieutenant-General
regrets he cannot sanction leave during the Drill season for the
purpose alleged.” This evoked a humorous protest. The Major, who was
in temporary command, replied that he had only three days previously
received the Lieutenant-General’s approval to an application he put
forward for three of his Subalterns to shoot grouse in Scotland; that
he himself, when young and unmarried, used to shoot grouse; now that
he was elderly and poor, his solitary surviving pleasure was to see
his children playing on the sands at a bathing-place, but he could not
see why that should make a difference in obtaining a privilege. I knew
that my General would, if told, refuse the leave, but felt so strongly
the absurdity of our official position that I wrote “Leave granted.
By Order,” and never since have I asked an officer his reasons for
desiring leave of absence.
My General was going away, and although I was not the officer of his
choice, he having recommended one of my most intimate friends, Major
William Goodenough, for the post, yet I had been most kindly treated
by him, and every day I worked with him I got to like him better. We
knew he was to be succeeded by General Sir Hope Grant, who had the
reputation of being very Low Church, and I seriously contemplated
resigning my appointment, but was deterred by the wiser counsels of my
wife, who urged me to wait and see whether her religion would in any
way interfere with the smoothness of my relations with the General. She
was right, for both he and his wife became two of our most intimate
friends, as kind as any we ever had, and we enjoyed their friendship
till they died.
In the spring of 1871 I negotiated with three different Majors,
arranging to pay various sums, from £1500 to £2000, for an exchange. I
had settled with one Highland Regiment, but a Captain who had been a
Colour-Sergeant at the Alma wrote me a manly letter, appealing to my
feelings as a soldier not to stop his advancement by coming into the
Regiment. Ultimately, in the autumn of 1871, shortly before purchase
was abolished, I paid £2000 to exchange into the 90th Light Infantry.
All through the spring and summer months I was employed by Sir Hope
Grant in prospecting ground for camps for the manœuvres, which were
eventually held the following year. I saw a great deal of my General,
and of his Aide-de-Camp, Robert Barton, Coldstream Guards. They were
well matched in nobility of soul and in their high sense of duty. I
have heard of many noble traits of Hope Grant, and of his indomitable
courage, moral and physical. My General, with all his lovable
qualities, had not much sense of humour, and one day when we were
riding from his office back to Farnborough Grange, where he resided, we
passed the ----, a smart Militia battalion. When Sir Hope came opposite
the Guard tent, the Guard turned out, but it was obvious that the
sentry was not quite certain how to “Present Arms.” A man lying down in
a Company tent in his shirt sleeves, ran out, disarmed the sentry, and
presented arms very smartly, and then looked up in the General’s face
with a grin, for approval of his smartness. My General, however, saw
only the enormity of a sentry being disarmed.
In September H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge came down to handle the Army
Corps, the larger proposed manœuvres having been countermanded. He
left the Adjutant-General and Quartermaster-General in the War Office,
bringing down only the Deputy Adjutant-General, who was very ill, and
indeed never once went on parade.
My General, Sir Hope Grant, had taken over temporarily with the Staff
the command of an Infantry Division, and I was left as the Duke’s Staff
officer, and was thus brought into daily relations with him. Although
he had not been educated in the higher sense of a General’s duties, his
natural ability made it pleasant to serve under him. I had difficulty,
however, in getting him to understand that when he gave me instructions
at six o’clock in the evening and invited me to dine at eight, it was
utterly impossible for me to obey both commands, for to get the Orders
out I was obliged to remain in my office till a very late hour of the
night. Indeed, for one week I was not in bed till three in the morning.
The Aldershot printing-press establishment was then in its infancy, and
I generally had to check three revises of Orders.
At the end of October, Sir Hope Grant’s application for an extension
of my appointment having been refused, I left Aldershot, and shortly
afterwards visited the battlefields to the east of and around Paris
with General Arthur Herbert, Majors Home and Leahy of the Royal
Engineers. We had an enjoyable trip, slightly marred by the necessity
of saving money; for after spending seven or eight hours in studying
a battlefield it is unpleasant to travel all night in a second-class
railway carriage, in order to save the price of a bed.
[Illustration: MAJOR WOOD’S QUARTERS, ALDERSHOT, 1869–70–71]