FROM GALATZ TO SOUAKIM VIA LONDON
Shortly after the return of the Fleet to Malta, Sir Beauchamp Seymour,
who had been created Lord Alcester for his services in Egypt, returned
to England, Vice-Admiral Lord John Hay having arrived to take over the
Mediterranean Station as Commander-in-Chief, hoisting his flag in the
_Alexandra_, with Captain Harry Rawson for his Flag-Captain and the
Honourable Hugh Tyrrwhitt as Flag-Lieutenant. Hugh Tyrrwhitt, who had
been in the _Britannia_ during my time there, was one of my greatest
friends. Alas! he died in 1907, and his death brought an untimely
end to what was already a distinguished career in the Navy. Shortly
before his death, when still only of the rank of Captain, he had been
offered the Indian Command; ill-health compelled him to decline it,
and he died shortly afterwards on board a steamer on his way to Egypt,
to which country he had been ordered by his doctors. As a Captain he
had held some very important posts, having been in turn Flag-Captain
to Sir John Fisher, when Commander-in-Chief in the Mediterranean; had
commanded the _Renown_ when the present King paid a visit to India as
Prince of Wales, and was subsequently Naval Private Secretary to Lord
Cawdor when First Lord of the Admiralty. Lord Cawdor brought his great
experience of business (he had been a most successful Chairman of the
Board of the Great Western Railway) to the service of his country, and
was generally acknowledged, at any rate by the Navy, to have been one
of the very best First Lords of his generation. He was far from being
an advertising politician; but with his sound judgment and his great
administrative capacity, his death was none the less a great loss to
England. During his reign at the Admiralty it was several times my
good fortune to meet him at little dinners given by Hugh Tyrrwhitt, at
which Sir John Fisher and I were the other guests, and the amount of
naval "shop" that was discussed in the course of one of these pleasant
evenings is more easily imagined than described.
The rest of my time in the _Superb_ was uneventful enough, and we were
all beginning to look forward to paying off and a little leave in
England, when my personal plans were completely changed by the arrival
of a very small craft, the _Cockatrice_ by name, at Malta. This curious
little river vessel had left her station up the Danube for a refit at
Malta, and her first and only lieutenant having been invalided, the
vacancy thus occurring was offered to me. I was rather curious to see
something of the Balkan States, and anyhow it meant a very pleasant
winter at Malta with only a tiny river craft to look after, instead of
being a hard-worked watch-keeper on board an iron-clad. I was quite
right about the winter at Malta; it was a very pleasant one. There
happened to be some particularly nice visitors at Valetta, any work
connected with the repairs that were being executed by the Dockyard
was easily got over in the forenoon, after which time I was as free as
air, and ready to take part in anything going on that was likely to be
amusing, whether ashore or afloat, for, having hired a little cutter
yacht, I could take small parties round by sail to picnic at some of
the interesting places outside the harbour, and, moreover, during that
particular winter, the Opera Company was well above the average.
In the spring the _Cockatrice_ had to get round to her headquarters
on the Danube where she represented Great Britain on the Danube
Commission. This Commission was a legacy from the Treaty of Paris,
all the Signatory Powers having agreed to be represented by a
_stationnaire_ of some sort up the river, their main object being to
see that the Russians did not divert the course of the stream, so that
large steamers would be compelled to use the St. George's mouths which
emptied themselves into the Black Sea in Russian territory, instead of
the Kilia mouths which debouched at Sulina.
A voyage from Malta to Constantinople was quite a serious undertaking
for the little _Cockatrice_. So near the water were our scuttles (as
the small windows which give light and air are called on board a
man-of-war) that even up a river it was generally necessary to keep
them closed, as the smallest ripple would splash water into them.
This is only mentioned to give an idea of how unseaworthy a craft she
was, and no blame to any one, as she was entirely designed for river
service. The elements were kind, and we never encountered anything more
serious than a fresh breeze, and arrived at our first port of call,
Constantinople, without a mishap of any kind. The _Cockatrice_ was
well known at Constantinople, as she went there regularly for a refit
every year,--it was only on very rare occasions that she went to Malta.
Our little ship was anchored at Kadikoi, which is over on the Asiatic
side, and I was quickly introduced by my messmates to the pleasant
Levantine Society that is the feature of that neighbourhood, and is so
well described by Claude Farrère in _L'Homme qui Assassina_. We were
most hospitably entertained by the occupants of the numerous villas,
and the time passed very agreeably. Indeed, I found Kadikoi such a
pleasant place that I believe I only once troubled to go over to Pera,
and that was to attend a ball which was given at our Embassy and to
which it was rather a matter of duty to go. I found diplomatic society,
however exalted it might be, with "their Excellencies" and their
"_chers collègues_" (for apparently not even the humblest member of a
small Legation, is ever alluded to by a member of any other Legation,
or Embassy, in any terms other than "Mon cher collègue"), very dull as
compared with some of the humbler, but sometimes exceedingly attractive
inhabitants of Kadikoi.
Our next move was through the Bosphorus, perhaps the most beautiful
strait in the world, and up the Black Sea to Sulina, and thence up the
river to Galatz, where we duly tied ourselves up, and re-assumed our
business as one of the line of _stationnaires_ of the Signatory Powers.
The Danube, even as high up as Galatz, is certainly an imposing stream
and is still some three or four miles in breadth. It was there that
a large portion of the Russian Army crossed in the 1877-8 campaign,
and a difficult operation it must have been. For the rest, it is only
necessary to say that the town is, or was, thoroughly Oriental. One of
the main roads ran parallel to the river bank, close to where we were
secured, and to give an instance of the extreme Orientalism existing
there, the following is a typical example. It used to interest us
much to watch the numerous carts that passed along that thoroughfare,
one and all in turn subsiding into an enormous hole in the road, day
after day and month after month, for the simple reason that it never
occurred to the Eastern mind to fill the hole up. The mosquitoes up
the Danube have to be experienced to be realised, but their attentions
were discounted by our mode of life, which consisted mainly in sleeping
a considerable portion of the day and sitting up the greater part of
the night. There was a small, but very hospitable, colony of English
merchants there, and it became the invariable custom for a number
of them to lunch on board every day. This was convenient, as the
_Cockatrice_ lay close to their places of business. After this early
luncheon we used to drive up to their villas, which were situated on
the further outskirts of the town, and there we settled down for the
rest of the day. A prolonged siesta was the first operation; a large,
cool, dark room being infinitely preferable for that purpose than the
stuffy little cabins on board the ship. After the siesta there would be
a couple of hours strenuous lawn-tennis, then a very late dinner, and
finally a prolonged visit to one of the music-halls of the town, which
began their evening's business about 11 p.m. and did not bring it to an
end until any hour in the morning, and finally back to the ship for two
or three hours' sleep before the "labours" of the next day began.
While stationed at Galatz I took the opportunity of visiting Bucharest.
I have never been there since; but in those days it was a most
attractive little capital, somewhat like Brussels in appearance, with
charming shady boulevards. There was an excellent hotel, and I was
fortunate in being able to make the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. White,
he being then our Consul-General there. I was fated to meet him later
when Sir William White, British Ambassador at Constantinople. During
his long tenure of office in the Turkish capital he succeeded in
raising British prestige, which had woefully declined for some years,
to a higher level than it probably had attained since the days of Lord
Stratford de Redcliffe, the great Eltchi.
To spend a few months up the Danube was interesting enough, but life
there soon began to get wearisome and unprofitable from a professional
point of view, so I proceeded to cast about for a change. The only way
that suggested itself was to apply to the Admiralty for permission to
return to England, with the object of going through the long course
at Greenwich and Portsmouth, necessary for qualifying as a Gunnery
Lieutenant. My Captain was good enough to support my application, so in
the autumn of 1883 I found myself back at Greenwich again as one of a
class of about a dozen lieutenants who were aspiring to become gunnery
experts. I soon found out that I had mistaken my new profession. Most
of my comrades were comparatively fresh from school, having only
been at sea for one year, whereas I had five years' service to my
credit. I found that, after my long absence from anything in the way
of school-work, high mathematics were no joke, and it seemed probable
that when the examination time came, after labouring very hard at very
uncongenial work, I should inevitably find myself at the bottom of my
class. Consequently, I candidly admit that I was looking about for some
fresh job all the time I was at Greenwich. Meanwhile, London was close
by, and, feeling pretty sure that I should never get to the examination
stage, I spent most of my time there, and only turned up at Greenwich
for the lectures I was bound to attend.
One way and another I spent a very pleasant winter, and a good deal
of it was passed at a very amusing little club that was established
for a short time at 87, St. James's Street, where whist was played for
moderate points, and where, moreover, I met a number of very pleasant
people. 87, St. James's Street was then a very curious house and stood
on the site of the new post-office buildings. Mr. Tom Wallace, the
well-known wine merchant, occupied the basement. He was a conspicuous
figure in London, especially in St. James's Street, for he was in the
habit of sitting in a chair on the pavement in front of his business
premises, smoking his cigar there, and exchanging courtesies with his
large circle of friends, who were almost sure to pass that particular
corner at some time in the morning or early afternoon.
On the ground floor there was a Starting Price Betting Office, one of
the very first of its kind to be inaugurated in London, and on the
first floor was the Whist Club before alluded to. I was accused of
assisting the members of that institution to sit up till unconscionable
hours, for when it got very late (or rather very early in the morning)
the most reasonable thing for me to do, seemed to consist in sitting
up until the first train could convey me to Greenwich in time for a
mathematical lecture, and, naturally, I was not anxious to sit up
alone, and play patience!
It was there that I first made the acquaintance of a lifelong friend
of mine, Mr. Cecil Clay. He was one of the sons of the well-known
Major Clay, who was for many years Radical Member for Hull, and was
counted as the greatest living authority of his day on the science of
whist. His son Cecil was a worthy successor to him; not only a fine
player, he was, as he still is, a delightful man both as a companion
and one of the wittiest of raconteurs. In those days he lived in a
charming little house in Park Street, where I have certainly been to
the most amusing Sunday luncheon parties that I can remember. Hostess
and host were both the perfection of courtesy and kindness, and all the
cleverest and most agreeable people in the dramatic profession were to
be met there. I will mention only two of the habitués--who, alas! have
both passed away, but were then young and bubbling over with wit and
gaiety--Herbert Tree and Charles Brookfield. They were both constant
guests, and those of my contemporaries who were fortunate enough to
have met them in their irresponsible youth, will remember what a
pleasure it was to be with them, and to take a part in all the clever
chaff that used to pass between them. But, somehow, this amusing life
in London did not amalgamate very well with high mathematics, and it
became more and more evident to me that a change would be welcome.
In February 1885 it became necessary to send a large force to Souakim.
For this large force adequate sea-transport was needed, and to my
great good fortune, a staunch friend of mine, Captain John Fellowes
(subsequently Admiral Sir John Fellowes) was selected as head of it.
The Admiralty could not possibly have chosen a better man. He was full
of resource, full of the wisdom of the serpent, was a glutton for work
himself, and had the knack of extracting the last ounce of work out
of his subordinates. I lost no time in going to him, and he at once
applied to the Admiralty asking that I should be appointed as one of
the transport officers to serve under him. My relative, Lord Alcester,
was back at the Admiralty as First Sea Lord, and once more I had to
interview him in his stronghold. This time he really was annoyed. He
pointed out that in one year I had been something like six different
kinds of Lieutenants, that the Admiralty had had enough of me, and I
really believe (kindest of men though he was) that his principal reason
for acceding to my request, and Captain Fellowes' application, was the
vague chance that, in the Red Sea, a severe sunstroke might settle me
and my business for ever.
Having obtained my point, I was in the seventh heaven of delight, and
before carrying out the first order I received from the Admiralty,
which was to go over to Kingstown, I went to pay a farewell visit to
my friends at 87, St. James's Street. Tom Wallace, previously alluded
to, assured me that he had made a close study of Egyptian warfare
(I suppose from the strategic corner of St. James's Street and Pall
Mall!), and that it was absolutely essential that any officer called on
to serve in that trying climate should be suitably equipped in the way
of wine. So the kind man fitted me out then and there with six dozen of
excellent champagne and three dozen of remarkably sound port, on the
understanding that if I came back I might pay for it at my leisure,
and, if anything untoward happened, it obviously would not matter to
me and very little to him. Another kind friend insisted on my standing
in with him in a bet he had taken on a horse which was expected to win
the Grand National, so I started for Ireland feeling that anyhow my
campaigning kit would compare favourably with that of any one else,
consolidated as it was by nine dozen of wine and a bet on the great
Steeplechase.
Another farewell visit that I paid was to the Transport Department
of the Admiralty, where I tried to glean some information about my
duties. All I could get out of them was that, for the time being, I
was appointed transport officer of the _Lydian Monarch_, a vessel
that had been hired to convey a regiment of Lancers to Souakim or
elsewhere, that I was to embark these troops at Kingstown, but when
I tried to find out what authority was vested in me when on board a
hired transport, nothing could I discover. In fact it was conveyed to
me in a general way that my duties and responsibilities would _solvitur
ambulando_, and with these vague directions I was obliged to be content.
To Kingstown I accordingly went in the night boat, and I must say that
Ireland, which I was visiting for the first time, fully kept up its
reputation for "divarsion," for anything like the comicality of the
scenes which I witnessed, when engaged next day in the embarkation
of that distinguished Cavalry regiment, would need the pen of a
Charles Lever to do them justice. On arriving on board the _Lydian
Monarch_ the first thing in the morning, I received a telegram from
headquarters at Dublin, to the effect that a dismounted party would
arrive from the barracks at 8 a.m. to make any further preparations
which they might find necessary for the embarkation, and that the
regiment would arrive about 11 a.m. About 9 a.m. the dismounted party
arrived under the command of a very young subaltern. One of the
first pieces of information of which I was in need, was whether the
regiment was bringing lances or not. I had been told in London that
they probably would not, but it was necessary to know, for they are
very dangerous tools on board a ship if not properly stowed. I well
knew their propensities for getting in the way and putting people's
eyes out from my personal acquaintance with that ancient weapon, the
boarding pike, which was still part of our equipment on a man-of-war.
When neither the youthful subaltern in charge of the party, nor any of
the men under his command, could provide me with this very elementary
piece of information, I began to fear the worst, and rather expected
that the embarkation would be attended with some few difficulties.
About three-quarters of an hour after the appointed time the regiment
arrived, and if I, and the sailors of the _Lydian Monarch_ rocked with
laughing at seeing so many drunken men, it was nothing to the rocking
that the Lancers were doing in their saddles before they had been
successfully dismounted. Being convinced that nothing in the way of
work was to be expected from the men of the regiment, I succeeded in
borrowing a working party of bluejackets from the guardship to help
tie up the horses, which is always rather a ticklish business. We got
on famously with our work for some time, but, unfortunately, there was
so much whisky about that the bluejackets were, very soon, all more or
less drunk too. By this time the day was closing in, we were anxious
to sail before dark, and the situation was not particularly promising.
The Military Authorities in Dublin had meanwhile been told how things
were _not_ progressing, and presently the Commander-in-Chief in Dublin
and his Staff arrived on the scene. Fortunately the horses were at
last all on board (poor brutes! some of them had been standing with
their saddles off in the snow for hours, for, in addition to our other
difficulties, there was some inches of snow on the ground), and the
next thing was to discover where the men of the regiment were. It was
rumoured that a good many of them had left the immediate vicinity of
the ship, and had wandered off, still being thirsty, to the numerous
public-houses in the neighbourhood. Mercifully, a trumpeter, who was
fairly sober, could be produced, and presently a swaying line of
dismounted Lancers formed itself on the quay opposite the ship. There
were a good many absentees, but the Commander-in-Chief decided to
send the ship to sea, so away we went, and, in justice to a very fine
regiment, I may mention that eventually the so-called absentees were
all found on board the ship. One of them, I remember, did not turn up
for three days, he having been buried during the whole of that time
under a heap of kit bags, and when rescued was very much more dead than
alive from a combination of suffocation and sea-sickness.
Unfortunately, there was a considerable clamour raised about what was
described as a disgraceful scene, and the usual lurid descriptions were
published of what really was a very trifling affair. The Commanding
Officer had, perhaps, been a little over good-natured in letting his
men out of barracks the night before they embarked, and very naturally
the men had celebrated the occasion in the usual way. The rest was
due to Irish hospitality, and to the sentiment that existed in those
days in an Irish mob (a sentiment which, alas! owing to politicians of
all kinds, exists no longer)--the love of the Irish for a soldier,
especially if he happened to be an Irish cavalryman.
By way of making the story of the embarkation more sensational still,
some enterprising Dublin journalist calmly took upon himself to sink
the _Lydian Monarch_ with all hands a few hours afterwards in the Irish
Channel, and, as it did happen to blow very heavily at the time, a
good deal of pain and anxiety was caused to those who had relatives
and friends on board her. However, this lie was contradicted pretty
soon, and we had the pleasure, on arriving at Souakim, of hearing that
the delinquent had been imprisoned for circulating a mischievous story
for which there was no foundation. We, out there, thought that hanging
was much too good for him; but on reflection it was probably only a
sense of dramatic fitness that impelled him to start the rumour, and,
moreover, people have no right to believe any sort of rumour when a war
is on, not more than one in a hundred being ever well founded.
We had hardly got fairly started on our journey before we picked up a
real gale in the Channel, and I very soon discovered what fine material
there was in the regiment. The ship was rolling very heavily, and
nearly all the officers and men were prostrated with sea-sickness, and,
moreover, had not yet found their sea-legs. As far as the crew was
concerned, like all merchant ships, she only carried just enough men
to do the necessary duties connected with the ship, and had certainly
none to spare to look after the cargo, so it fell to the lot of two
or three of the officers of the regiment, and perhaps half-a-dozen
non-commissioned officers, who had managed to overcome their
sea-sickness, and myself (because I had nothing else to do), to look
after the horses. A great many had been cast in their stalls, owing to
the very amateur fashion in which they had been tied up, and it was no
light job to get the poor struggling animals on to their legs again and
secure them properly with the ship rolling heavily. It was an all-night
business; those few soldiers worked like heroes, and I, though I knew
little about horses, could make myself useful, for a sailor does know
how to tie a knot. It was therefore to the credit of all concerned that
we never lost a horse at the time, though later on a few succumbed to
violent pneumonia, brought on, I suppose, by the sudden change from
severe cold to the appalling heat of the horse deck.
Two of the officers who did such good work all through that night I
still occasionally meet. One was Captain Wenjy Jones, a fine horseman
and a well-known owner of race-horses, and the other, then Lieutenant
Sinclair, having retired from the Army and adopted a political
career, after commencing as Assistant Private Secretary to Sir Henry
Campbell-Bannerman, is now Lord Pentland. He has, in his time, occupied
several important posts, and has lately returned to England after
serving his country for seven years as Governor of Madras.
It was not until we had nearly reached Gibraltar that the gale abated,
and we were able to settle down in comparative comfort and take stock
of our surroundings. When the weather was fine enough our precious
horses were walked up inclined platforms to the upper deck, where they
could get some light and air, and where, moreover, the men had room to
groom them. They certainly needed strapping, for, having left Ireland
as hairy as polar bears, and been suddenly translated into a warm
climate, they literally shed their coats in handfuls.
On arriving at Port Said, I was set one of the most disagreeable tasks
that ever came my way. Owing to the ridiculous fuss that had been made
about the embarkation at Kingstown, the War Office Authorities were
seized with one of their occasional spasmodic fits of virtue, and
suddenly found it necessary to hold an inquiry into the conduct of the
two Lieutenant-Colonels of the regiment; one having been left behind
with one wing, while the other was commanding the portion ordered on
active service. I received a telegram from the Admiralty ordering me
to land the Lieutenant-Colonel in command, so I found myself in the
position of having to go to a man who was old enough to be my father,
much my superior in rank, and who had actually served in the Crimea,
and tell him that he was to leave the ship. Whatever may have been his
merits or demerits, it always seemed to me that he was treated with the
grossest discourtesy by the Authorities, in his position of an officer
commanding the wing of a regiment ordered on active service, and on the
eve of taking the Field. Naturally, I had to obey orders, and landed
he was, but I have always wondered whether he was not wrong to take
such an order from a junior officer belonging to another service,
and whether he would not have been wiser to ignore such an irregular
communication altogether, and to have gone to Souakim with the troops
under his orders.
A few days afterwards the _Lydian Monarch_ arrived at Souakim and the
regiment disembarked, and a very fine show they made. The officers and
men were, of course, delighted to be quit of the ship, and to be on
active service, and the horses, thanks to the fact that we had been
able to move them about, were in wonderful condition, considering that
they had been cooped up on board for the major part of three weeks.
Having now arrived safely at Souakim and delivered the goods entrusted
to my charge in the shape of the regiment, it may be convenient to say
something of that almost forgotten campaign, the Souakim Expedition of
1885. The more it is considered in the cold light of history, or from
what remains in the memory of a spectator and humble participant, the
more absolutely am I convinced that, to use a modern expression, the
whole Expedition was designed to be nothing but political "eye-wash."
The fact is the public were extremely indignant at the fall of Khartoum
and the death of Gordon. Their indignation was considerably, if
illogically, accentuated by the harmless fact that the Prime Minister,
Mr. Gladstone, had gone to the theatre the very night the news of
Gordon's death was received. Lord Salisbury, in the course of a debate
on the announcement that the Government had decided to break the power
of the Mahdi, had stated, what certainly looked to be the whole truth
and nothing but the truth,--namely, "that Gordon had been sacrificed
to the squabbles of a Cabinet and the necessities of Party Politics."
And what probably decided the dispatch of the Expedition, more than
anything else, was the fact that a few days afterwards the Government
only escaped defeat on a vote of censure on the Soudan policy, moved
by Sir Stafford Northcote, by the narrow margin of fourteen votes.
Altogether, things were not going at all happily for the Government,
and so "eye-wash" of some kind was absolutely necessary, and I believe
that those of us who were left till the last, save for the troops that
remained to garrison the town of Souakim, one and all realised that
nothing had ever been intended, and that all our labour and hardship
had been only to keep a tottering Government in power for a little
while longer. It is easy to show that nothing was intended, for exactly
twelve months before, in March 1884, the hot weather had compelled the
withdrawal of the troops from Souakim, although the route to Berber
was then open; yet the Authorities were commencing an Expedition and
sending _troops from England_ at exactly the same time of the year
at which they had brought a half-finished campaign to a close, _with
troops on the spot_, only one year before! Of course, if, in the course
of the fighting that would be sure to take place round about Souakim,
Osman Digna's men could be badly beaten and Osman himself captured,
then they might reasonably assume that the Expedition had not been in
vain, but it was pretty well known that Osman was an extremely elusive
person, and anything but a likely captive. But enough has been said
of the political emergencies of the moment and the sordid details
connected with them. A British Army just taking the Field forms a far
purer and more attractive spectacle.
As soon as the various transport officers arrived with the troops that
had been put under their charge, they were employed entirely in duties
connected with the port. We were about eight all told, under the orders
of Captain Fellowes, Principal Naval Transport Officer, Commodore
More Molyneux being the Senior Naval Officer who was in command of a
squadron of small ships mainly drawn from the East Indian Station. We
slept and messed on board a British India boat that had brought troops
from India and had been reserved for the purpose, but except for a
certain amount of sleep and extremely regular meals, we were never
on board her. Captain Fellowes, and his Second in Command, Commander
Morrison, who had commanded the _Helicon_ at Alexandria and had been
promoted, directed our labours. Two of the lieutenants did the work
of harbour masters and brought the transports in and out of the coral
reefs that formed the passage into the little harbour of Souakim. Their
work was never-ending, from the time the sun was well up until shortly
before nightfall. Even they, with all their skill and experience, could
not take ships in and out when the sun was low, for the conning of the
ships had to be done entirely by eye, and when a low sun was glimmering
on the water it became impossible to see the edges of the reef; and on
the rare occasions when, owing to the great pressure of work, it was
necessary to go on when the sun was setting, we were almost invariably
faced with a ship ashore on the reef, and a long day's work with tugs
would ensue, to grind her off.
The rest of us were in charge of gangs of natives who did the work of
unloading stores and of landing all sorts of transport animals, from
camels to the little Indian bullocks that had been sent for the Indian
transport. We toiled from sunrise to sunset under a blazing sun, and it
was certainly a strenuous life. Nevertheless, I personally enjoyed my
time immensely up to the moment when it began to dawn upon me that the
whole Expedition was an imposture, and that the more stuff we landed
the more we should have to re-embark again. The gang of which I usually
had charge consisted of Egyptian prisoners, who were daily marched down
to their work by an armed party of Turkish soldiers. I used to love the
procedure of the armed guard. Being practical men and also remarkably
lazy ones, the men of the guard invariably made the prisoners carry
their rifles!
Shortly after our arrival I succeeded in annexing a stray pony which
I found wandering about the beach, apparently belonging to no one in
particular. At the same time I secured the services of a beach-comber
in the shape of a retired soldier, also found on the beach, and him I
made my groom. There was any amount of forage littered about, so with
a pony tethered to my tent and a man to look after him, I could always,
when there was a spare moment, ride out to the lines and see what was
going on.
On the 20th March, a very few days after we arrived at Souakim, General
Sir Gerald Graham, who was Commander-in-Chief, ordered a reconnaissance
on Hashin to be made in force, Hashin being a collection of huts
about seven and a half miles from Souakim. I managed to get a day's
leave and rode out with my friends of the 5th Lancers, but as my pony
was not capable of keeping up with the big English horses of the
Lancers, I left them after a short time and attached myself to the
Guards' Brigade, amongst whose officers I had various friends. Inside
the Guards' square I found General Lord Abinger, who had commanded a
battalion of the Scots Fusilier Guards in the Crimea; he had contrived
to come out to Souakim, and had ridden out to be with his old regiment.
Another friend of mine in that square, as a spectator, was Lieutenant
Alfred Paget, who was serving on board a gun-vessel in the harbour. He,
like myself, had got a day's leave to go out and see the fun, and had
attached himself to the Scots Guards, in which regiment his brother,
now General Sir Arthur Paget, was serving. At one time it looked as if
there was going to be a real action, for some 150 Soudanese, with the
greatest gallantry, charged the Guards' Brigade. Naturally, the fire
with which they were received was more than they could stand, and those
who were not shot down bolted and fled. It seemed to the spectator
that the action was somewhat futile, for though some zeriba posts were
established, the works were dismantled again, the place was abandoned
a few days afterwards, and, as far as the day was concerned, the force
having marched some seven miles out were marched back again, and we
reached our base about six in the evening.
There were a certain number of casualties from what I judged to be
long-range rifle fire, and, packed as the square was with transport,
it presented a wonderful target even to very inferior marksmen. As
Lord Abinger remarked at the time: "he had often heard of men shooting
so badly that they could not hit a haystack, but nobody could miss a
farm-yard."
Two days afterwards the action known as McNeill's Zareba was fought.
I was not able to see anything of it. At the time it became a source
of much controversy, but anyhow it was not altogether without results.
For though we lost an enormous number of transport animals, 900 camels
alone being killed, the Soudanese lost very heavily, over 1000 bodies
being left on the field.
We laboured on throughout the rest of the months of March and April,
landing stores, now supplemented by the necessary materials for the
much-discussed Souakim to Berber Railway. Some advance was made with
that railway; at one time it reached as far as Otao, eighteen miles
from the base, but when, early in May, Lord Wolseley arrived on the
scene, it became apparent to us all that the end was approaching.
Gradually the navvies were withdrawn and sent back to England; many
store ships, with railway material that, mercifully, had not been
unloaded, were sent home. The Commander-in-Chief left on the 17th of
May, and by the end of that month all the troops, with the exception of
the Berkshire Regiment and a few Indian troops, who were left behind to
garrison Souakim, had departed.
Captain Royle, in his book on the Egyptian Campaigns 1882 to 1899,
mentions in a footnote that Osman wrote to the Madhi that "God struck
fear into the hearts of the English and they went away." And small
wonder if Osman was able to boast in 1885, as he had previously done in
1884, that he had driven the British out of the country.
Captain Royle in another footnote gives the extra cost of the
expedition as over two millions, and the cost of the Souakim-Berber
Railway (including pipe and water lines), which, as mentioned before,
was actually laid for eighteen miles, as over £865,000. This cost was
incurred over and above the normal charge for the maintenance of the
troops concerned. In the interests of economy it is pleasant to know
that a small portion of the eighteen miles of line was picked up and
re-shipped, to be used afterwards for some years as a light railway at
Shorncliffe Camp, to take the men down to the sea to bathe.
Early in June the work of the Naval Transport came to an end. I
remember well the last evening I spent there. I walked round the scene
of our four months' hard labour with my chief, Captain Fellowes, and
thought that never had the forage which had fallen into the water,
and the general debris on the beach, smelt more abominably. It was
not for nothing that my sense of smell was so acute, for next morning
I was down with fever. It was bad luck to be knocked out just as the
work was finished, but so it was, and the climate of the Red Sea in
the month of June is not the best in the world for a speedy recovery.
However, I was packed up in a horrible little transport that was bound
for Suez, and after a very long passage managed to reach Cairo. There
was an old Indian doctor on board in charge of the odds and ends
of troops and invalids, who had served all his life in India, and
thoroughly understood the treatment of fever. His method, if drastic,
was certainly efficient. Every two hours he used to appear with a huge
tumbler of champagne and quinine and insist on its being swallowed. For
the whole week that I was on board I was more or less insensible from
the strength of this mixture, but after a couple of days in Cairo in
a decent bed I was quite well again, though much pulled down, and was
able to proceed home overland by way of Venice.
Barring the natural resentment we all felt at having laboured for
months in the sun in unloading stores for an Expedition that was never
intended to succeed, I personally have otherwise nothing but pleasant
recollections of Souakim. Some of the finest men in the world were out
there. I found many old friends, and made some new ones, one of whom
remained a great ally of mine until his death two years ago. I refer
to Lieutenant Alfred Paget, who died as Admiral Sir Alfred Paget.
He also deserved the title of the bravest of the brave. When not on
duty at Souakim he used to amuse himself by going into the dense bush
outside our lines for the purpose of shooting sand grouse and gazelle.
The bush was supposed to be crawling with Soudanese, but the old
proverb of "where there is no fear there is no danger" held good in his
case, and he was never interfered with. Years afterwards he was Naval
Attaché at Washington during the American-Spanish War, and of course
managed to see as much fighting as was possible. When the war came to
an end, at a big dinner at which he was one of the guests, after the
usual patriotic toasts had been honoured, the General Officer presiding
at the dinner asked all present to charge their glasses to drink the
health of the bravest man they had met during the campaign. No one had
any idea whose name was to be coupled with this toast. The name was
that of Captain Alfred Paget, Royal Navy, Naval Attaché at Washington.
Surely one of the most graceful compliments that ever was paid to a
British officer! and none who knew him could doubt how thoroughly it
had been deserved. In the recent war he sank his rank of Admiral, and
(until bad health compelled him to give up), served as a Commander of
various patrol vessels and mine-sweepers. He died very suddenly at the
age of sixty-seven.
Shortly after arriving in England I looked in at 87, St. James's
Street, to see my old friends. Thinking to enlist their compassion I
informed them that, owing to hard work and fever, I had lost twenty
pounds, upon which I was told that twenty pounds could be easily lost
in less than an hour there, and that, very rightly, was the only sign
of sympathy that I could extract from them.