THE DARDANELLES IN 1878
Shortly after my arrival at Malta, the _Sultan_ came in for a refit
and to give leave, and I was appointed to her for the time being,
my own ship, the _Agincourt_, being in Eastern waters, and in the
_Sultan_ I remained for nearly six months. She was then commanded by
Captain H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh, one of the smartest of our young
captains afloat, and on board of her I first made the acquaintance of
comrades who were, in the future, amongst my best friends, and who
also, incidentally, became some of the most distinguished officers
in the Navy. Nearly all of them made their mark in later days. Among
the lieutenants were the subsequent Admiral of the Fleet, the late
Sir Assheton Curzon Howe, and Prince Louis of Battenberg, now Admiral
the Marquis of Milford Haven; whilst amongst the midshipmen were
Admirals Sir Stanley Colville and Sir Colin Keppel, both well-known
and distinguished officers. There were a good many also who did not
persevere long in the Navy. One of the sub-lieutenants, a great friend
of mine, was Mr. Frank Alexander, the well-known racing man who left
the Service as soon as he was promoted; he followed in the footsteps
of his father, Mr. Caledon Alexander, and raced up to the end of his
life. Another great friend of mine was Charles le Strange, then a
lieutenant. I was destined to serve under him in later years, and
through him I had the good fortune of spending some pleasant evenings
in the company of that very brilliant man and amusing writer, Laurence
Oliphant, his brother-in-law.
Not long after I had taken up my abode in the _Sultan_, she received
orders to join the Flag at Vourlah Bay, and, after a short cruise in
Grecian waters, the whole Mediterranean Fleet settled down at Besika
Bay, as we thought for the winter. Admiral Sir Geoffrey Hornby was
then flying his flag on board the _Alexandra_, with Captain Fitzroy
as Flag-Captain, Lieutenant Winsloe (subsequently Commander-in-Chief
in the China Station) as Flag-Lieutenant, and the Honourable Hedworth
Lambton (now Admiral of the Fleet Sir Hedworth Meux) as his Flag-Mate.
Ever since the commencement of the Russo-Turkish War, our Mediterranean
Fleet, subsequently reinforced by the _Agincourt_ and the _Achilles_,
had been in Eastern waters, making Besika Bay, which is situated close
to the Dardanelles entrance, their headquarters; and a very trying time
it had been to officers and men,--unspeakably so to the latter. The
only communication with the outer world, except the mails which were
generally about a fortnight old, was the daily Reuter telegram received
by the flagship and signalled round the Fleet. It would probably occur
to the ordinary mind that the Admiralty might have remembered that the
officers and men of a large Fleet, possibly on the verge of a European
war, were deserving of some consideration in the way of news from day
to day. But apparently such an idea never struck them, so the officers
duly subscribed for their telegram, which, like most other blessings
in this world, had to be paid for. Bets were taken and laid almost
daily, as to whether we would, or would not, go up the Dardanelles,
and also as to whether we would, or would not, go to war with Russia,
and, apparently, the Cabinet of the day were as uncertain as we were.
I remember a telegram received only a few days before we actually
started,--the alliteration, I suppose, kept it in my memory:--"Cabinet
said to be almost unanimous on necessity of proceeding up Dardanelles.
Derby doubtful." As may be remembered, the present Lord Derby's
great-uncle was then Foreign Secretary, and was always supposed to
possess what is called "the cross-bench" mind.
It was bad enough for the officers; but they could occasionally get a
day's shooting or hunting, though the shooting was generally spoilt by
the number of guns, as what would have provided really good sport and
amusement for one ship was not likely to suffice for a large Fleet.
But as far as the men were concerned, they had literally nothing to
do in the way of amusement. The best sport at Besika was the hunting.
The Commander-in-Chief, remembering, I suppose, the great Duke of
Wellington's pack of hounds in the Peninsula, instituted a pack at
Besika. Kennels and stables were run up by the ships' carpenters.
The Admiral and many of the senior officers had their own horses,
and we small fry used to hire from the Beef Contractor. That
functionary,--who probably died a millionaire,--managed to provide
almost everything in life, and could always get hold of horses with
a fair proportion of legs among them. Captain Hunt Grubbe was the
Master, one of the Chaplains in the Fleet, the Reverend H. Gilbert, was
Huntsman, and very good fun it all was. There were plenty of foxes, a
fine open grass country, and many was the good gallop we had.
The date of the last time I was out with the hounds, February 9th,
1878, became almost a landmark in history. We had had a good run and
were a longish way from home, when, the hounds being checked, and the
field pulled up, we suddenly heard in the distance the repeated strains
of the Officers' Call. Mounted buglers had been sent to the top of the
neighbouring hills to sound the Call, and in a few moments hounds were
whipped off and we were all on our way back to the landing place at
Besika. On our return to our ship we speedily learnt the reason. Orders
had been received from the Admiralty that the Fleet was to proceed up
the Dardanelles, so we found our comrades busy preparing for sea, and
clearing away for action. Of course, we were the Turk's best friends;
but the Pasha in command of the forts had the reputation of not being
over-trustworthy, and it was thought extremely possible that Russian
"baksheesh" might induce him to make it very unpleasant for us in the
Narrows; so we were taking no chances.
The Fleet sailed the same evening from Besika, but the firman from the
Sultan, giving permission to pass the forts, not having arrived, our
ships anchored later at the mouth of the Straits. The Government then
had to be communicated with to ask,--in the case of the firman never
arriving,--whether the Fleet was to force a passage. Eventually, the
Members of the Government succeeded in making up their minds, and the
Fleet was ordered up, _coûte que coûte_; so, on the morning of February
the 13th the Fleet weighed and steamed up the Dardanelles in the teeth
of a northerly gale, and one of the thickest snowstorms I ever saw
at sea. My station being at the forecastle guns, I received the full
benefit of the snow; even there, in the eyes of the ship, it was only
just possible to see "one's next ahead." In the 'seventies ten knots
was about the highest speed at which a squadron could be manœuvred,
so what with the gale and the snowstorm, to say nothing of the strong
current that runs through the Dardanelles, it was no great wonder that
the _Alexandra_ took the shore. The spot she selected was just opposite
the great fort at Chanak, and my ship being the next astern of her was
detailed to tow her off. It was an exceedingly difficult job; but the
Duke of Edinburgh, who, in the opinion of the Commander-in-Chief, was,
of all his Captains, about the best handler of a big ship, succeeded in
doing what was necessary, so, after four hours' hard work, we rejoined
the rest of the Fleet close to the entrance of the Sea of Marmora. It
was just as well for us that the before-mentioned Pasha had not been
"squared," for, as the mischance above described took place immediately
opposite the most heavily armed fort at Chanak in the very narrowest
part of the Narrows, I need hardly emphasise the fact that both the
ship ashore and the consort trying to tow her off, would have been
reduced to matchwood in a very short time by a heavily armed fort
firing at a range of a few hundred yards.
Shortly after our arrival in the Sea of Marmora, the Commander-in-Chief
divided his forces. The larger portion of the Fleet, including the most
powerful units he possessed, were under his own immediate command,
and remained in the neighbourhood of Constantinople. What might be
termed the Second Division, under Sir John Commerell, was ordered to
Gallipoli. The Fleet being thus broken up, resulted so far as I was
concerned in my leaving the _Sultan_ and joining the ship to which I
had been appointed many months before.
Whilst in the Marmora I made the personal acquaintance of a man whose
sensational career excited a great deal of attention a few years
afterwards. I allude to the then Prince Alexander of Battenberg, who
was at that time serving on the Staff of General Gourko, commanding
the Russian Army Corps that, after hard fighting and still greater
hardships, had succeeded in crossing the Balkans. The Prince managed
to get a few days' leave, and came on board the _Sultan_ for a short
visit to his relative, the Duke of Edinburgh, and his brother, Prince
Louis, then a lieutenant on board the _Sultan_. There was nothing very
remarkable about this incident, except for the shameful abuse that
was hurled at the Duke of Edinburgh by an obscure London newspaper
(long since dead!) on account of this very harmless visit. The Duke
having married a Russian Grand Duchess, was accused of every sort of
villainy--"owing to his well-known (?) Russian proclivities he was
capable of allowing a Russian Staff Officer to penetrate the secrets
of the British Fleet"; "he was harbouring Russian spies,"--and in fact
a very venomous and lying series of imaginative articles appeared,
and, as always, a certain amount of the mud thrown stuck. The most
ludicrous part of the business was that this most important Russian
Staff Officer and reputed spy was, in those days, extremely young, and
came on board the _Sultan_ with the full knowledge and consent of the
Commander-in-Chief, who, like any other reasonable man, had not the
slightest objection to permitting a young officer to have a few days'
rest, in comfort, with a bed to sleep in, and a chance of seeing his
relatives. Prince Alexander made himself very agreeable during his
short stay on board; perhaps the best-looking member of a very handsome
family, he looked absolutely fitted for the romantic career to which
Fate later destined him.
It was a long and trying time that we spent at the anchorage off
the town of Gallipoli. The map of that part of the world must be
so indelibly stamped on the memories of our countrymen by recent
hostilities that no topographical description is necessary. The
general situation in the winter of 1877-78 was this: There was a
small but well-equipped Turkish Army of a strength of between 20,000
and 30,000 men, which, after a successful retreat, had fallen back
on the old Bulair lines which date back to Crimean days. The lines
cross the neck of the Peninsula, just to the Eastern end of the town
of Gallipoli, at the very narrowest part of the neck. Indeed, it
is only about eight miles as the crow flies, from sea to sea. The
Commander-in-Chief being in the Marmora, the Second Division, under Sir
John Commerell, was left at Gallipoli, at the moment a very important
strategic position. In case of war with Russia it was thought that
the Turkish Army at Bulair, assisted by that portion of the British
Fleet, could, at any rate, make certain of holding the all-important
Peninsula pending later developments. Sir John Commerell's Division was
disposed as follows:--Half of his Fleet, including his own flagship,
the _Agincourt_, lay at Gallipoli, and the other half at Imbros, on
the northern side of the peninsula; and there for months we lay, with
slips on our cables and steam up, ready to proceed on the shortest
notice to the two extreme flanks of the Bulair line, and thus be in a
position to enfilade any advancing troops attempting to attack those
lines. Signals were pre-arranged with the Pasha in command at Bulair,
and once again the usual bets as to whether war would be declared or
not were taken almost daily. During the day, when not on duty, leave
was given to officers, but our only amusement was to gallop about the
country inside the lines, or ride over to Imbros and play cricket with
the Imbros Squadron, where the officers had managed to find quite a
decently flat field. At Gallipoli there was nothing of the same kind,
but as a set-off we had the joys of town life, as exemplified by a
squalid Turkish village, adorned by the illustrious presence of the
British Vice-Consul and his family, to say nothing of the inevitable
beef contractor and his belongings.
A very short time after we took up our station at Gallipoli we received
information to the effect that, before war was actually declared, the
Russians would make an attempt to attack the Fleet with torpedoes.
Torpedo warfare was then in its earliest infancy, but something could
be done with spar torpedoes by an enterprising enemy, and, as a matter
of fact, earlier in the war the Russians had succeeded in blowing
up and sinking a couple of small Turkish monitors on the Danube. A
steamboat patrol was therefore organised, as an additional protection
to the Fleet, which otherwise had only its ordinary armament on which
to rely. In those days, nets and quick-firing guns were non-existent,
and the ordinary armament of our iron-clads was extremely unsuitable
for the repelling of night attacks, if delivered by a swarm of
steamboats, great and small. In the 'seventies our allowance of
steamboats for ships of all sizes was very limited, so between us I
doubt whether we, on the Gallipoli side, could have mustered more
than half a dozen all told, and as the nights were very long, and the
weather nearly always abominable, sometimes two were as many as we
could manage to produce on patrol at a time. Though steam-pinnaces
were scarce, sub-lieutenants were fairly numerous, and I never could
understand why it fell to my lot to be away on patrol duty every night
of my life, while my messmates were, in their turn, snoring in their
hammocks. But so it was.
Our largest steam-pinnace at that time was very little over thirty
feet long, no shelter was provided for the engineer and crew--except
tarpaulin screens, for the only part that was decked over was the
forecastle where the gun was mounted. The cold was bitter, and in
those days neither officers nor men possessed such a thing as a great
coat, so the only way to keep comparatively warm was to put on as
many garments as one conveniently could, and retain what caloric one
could collect inside, by enveloping the whole fabric in oilskins. I
contrived to keep going until the end, which was naturally a great deal
more than the pinnaces could manage to do without reinforcements being
sent from England, and these reinforcements deserve mention. Directly
the patrol was started it was pointed out to the Admiralty that more
steamboats were urgently needed, and it would be a great advantage
that they should be decked nearly all over. The Admiralty behaved
with commendable promptitude, and soon afterwards a steamer arrived
at Gallipoli with a consignment of boats. We were all agog to see the
latest thing in patrol-boats just arriving from England, and no one
was more personally interested than I myself, with the hopeful vision
of keeping dry in the future. It is hardly believable, but it is none
the less true, that our new patrol-boats turned out to be a consignment
of Thames pleasure-boats! Their scantling was so thin that one bump
against a ladder would certainly have stove them in, and so absolutely
unseaworthy were they that they could only be used in the very finest
weather,--a very rare commodity in Gallipoli. I suppose that, although
England was still at peace, the probabilities of war were near enough
to give the profiteer (a breed we now know so fatally well!) his
chance, and these boats were the result. Anyhow, they were slightly
better than none at all, as they could run about in the daytime, if
the weather were fine enough, and thus save our pinnaces. The trouble
was to name these curious hybrids, for a boat has to be given some
sort of a name for the purpose of manning her. This difficulty was
temporarily overcome by endowing them with Christian names, which we
were led to believe were those of the female relatives of the Admiral
and his Staff. However, this nomenclature did not last long. Even the
most hard-hearted and cynical of parents could not endure the knowledge
that, owing to the inherent defects of these craft, the familiar names
of his daughters were being coupled hourly with all the most abusive
epithets in the sailor's vocabulary.
Though the Armistice was signed at San Stephano between Russia and
Turkey in the month of March, relations between England and Russia
remained so strained that no relaxation took place in the patrol until
many months had passed. In June, on the strength of all the boat work
which I had done down to that time, I managed to coax a fortnight's
leave out of the Authorities, and I and another sub-lieutenant went
to Constantinople for a holiday. Of course, it was a most interesting
moment to be there. Constantinople was swarming with Russian Officers,
who had also arranged to get leave from the Front. They mainly
consisted of officers of that favoured Corps, the Imperial Guard,
and we Britishers were much impressed by the magnificence of their
turn-out. They all appeared to be in brand-new and very smart uniforms,
and there was nothing about them to show that they had just fought
their way through a very trying campaign. The other memory I have of
Constantinople is of a very different nature. I went to visit the great
mosque of Ste. Sophia, and never shall I forget the horror of it.
Thousands of refugees, who had fled before the advance of the Russian
troops, were camped out on the floor of the great mosque in every stage
of suffering, disease and filth. Wretched women and children were
there, without any sort of comfort; smallpox was obviously raging, and
the stench, from the lack of all sanitary arrangements, was enough to
turn even the strongest stomach. I was not particularly squeamish in
those days, but the experience remained in my memory, as a nightmare,
for months afterwards.
The leave was all too short, and very soon I was back aboard the ship
again, to learn, a few weeks afterwards, that I was promoted to the
rank of Lieutenant. There being no available man-of-war going home just
then, I, and two more newly promoted Lieutenants, were allowed to take
a passage in a steamer and find our way home via Marseilles and Paris.
Paris was then in the throes of the 1878 Exhibition, and consequently
was very full and rather uncomfortable. However, we did our duty by
spending a couple of days in visiting the Exhibition, and presently I
found myself back in England and temporarily my own master, for, from
the moment I set foot in my native country I became a Lieutenant on
half-pay whilst waiting for further employment.
I may as well mention that the half-pay in question amounted to the
munificent sum of four shillings per diem,--less than half the daily
stipend of the present-day police constable.
Of course I was delighted to be promoted and to get home; but it was
with very real regret that I had said good-bye to many of my brother
officers in the _Agincourt_, and most of all was I sorry to be no
longer serving under the flag of Sir Edmund Commerell. Surely there
never could have been a Flag-Officer more beloved than was Sir Edmund.
Literally one of the bravest of the brave, he had won his Victoria
Cross in the Crimea. Later, when Commodore of the South African
Station, he was very dangerously wounded whilst leading a boat attack
up one of the West African rivers. His popularity in the Fleet was
unbounded, his officers and men really loved him, and what was more
remarkable still, was the hold he had established over the Turk. In
the ranks of the Bulair Army they all knew that the British Admiral
was an old Crimean Veteran, on the strength of which they spoke of him
as Ghazi Commerell Pasha. As an instance of his never-failing courage,
I well remember his behaviour on an occasion when his galley had been
capsized. The Admiral was passionately fond of boat sailing, and,
moreover, was a great expert; so one of his amusements was to take
his galley for a spin round the Fleet. On this particular occasion at
Gallipoli it was hardly a galley's day, for it was blowing a strong
breeze with nasty squalls. However, away he went. When an Admiral is
sailing his boat a very sharp look-out is always kept by the officer of
the watch, and so when, after a very heavy squall, his boat was seen to
capsize, there was no delay in sending a steamboat away post-haste to
pick him up. When the sub-lieutenant in charge of the boat arrived, he
naturally selected the Admiral as being the proper person to be rescued
first; but nothing would induce him to be touched until every member of
the boat's crew was on board the pinnace. Meanwhile, encumbered as he
was with a heavy boat cloak, the dear old gentleman had swallowed such
a quantity of salt water, that he was in measurable distance of being
drowned.
He was always most anxious to try and do something to alleviate the
terrible monotony of the men's lives at that time. Leave was out of
the question, so everything had to be done on board. The _Agincourt_
had a splendidly clear upper deck, so there was no difficulty in
laying out a racing track of ten laps to the mile, and many were the
exciting contests that took place upon it. The most popular of all
was a ten-mile go-as-you-please race between selected candidates from
the marines and bluejackets respectively, the conditions being heavy
marching order, the bluejackets to be dressed like the marines in busby
and tunic, so as to make the conditions absolutely equal.
Another amusement was what the sailors used to call a sing-song. The
upper deck being covered in, the Admiral and his Staff and officers
not on duty being present, all the available talent on the ship was
mobilised for a so-called musical entertainment. The most successful
turn was given by one of the sub-lieutenants, who had some sort of a
voice that had been partially trained during his time at Greenwich, and
he used to give us the classic song, "We don't want to fight." This
song, as rendered by the "great McDermott," was the rage of the London
Music Halls during the Russo-Turkish War. It was all very well for the
peace party, who are always with us under all circumstances, to jeer
at the vulgarity of the song and decry the so-called jingoism that was
derived from it; but when sung by a thousand men, who were expecting
every moment to be actively employed in taking measures to make it a
certainty that "The Russians shall not have Constantinople," it became
rather more than a comic music-hall song. There was a grim earnestness
about it as then sung on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war, that made it
almost impressive, and eliminated its vulgarity.
Many years afterwards, when Sir Edmund stood as Conservative Candidate
for Southampton, with these incidents in my memory, the cleanliness
(?) of English electioneering practices was brought intimately home
to me. He lost whatever chance he may have had of being elected in a
constituency full of seafaring men, on account of a poster that was
displayed all over Southampton by the agents of his opponent. The
Admiral, one of the kindest and most chivalrous of gentlemen, was
portrayed to the electors of Southampton as a prize specimen of the old
flogging captain of the early part of the century. The poster actually
depicted him, in cocked hat and epaulets, flourishing an enormous
cat-o'-nine tails over the bare back, streaming with blood, of a
bluejacket seized up to the breech of a gun.
Later on, he was Commander-in-Chief of the North American and West
Indian Stations, Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, and afterwards for
many years a Groom-in-Waiting to Queen Victoria.