THE ROYAL YACHT
At the age of thirty-two, except for my term of service at Greenwich
and for a few short turns of weeks or months, I had hardly been in
England since I first went to sea as a midshipman, so I was naturally
delighted at getting a good spell at home before going abroad again
as a Commander, with the prospect of attaining Post rank before I was
forty. At that time, I had not the smallest intention of doing anything
but serve steadily on in the Navy, with a fair chance of eventually
hoisting my flag; however, as every philosopher knows, nobody has any
idea of what may be in store for him, and instead of further spells
of foreign service it turned out that I had practically returned to
England for ever.
The officers of the Royal Yacht were, by tradition, ear-marked for
promotion, the Sub-Lieutenants, who were appointed for one season,
which practically amounted to only a couple of months, were duly
promoted at the end of that time, and generally packed off to sea very
soon, as the long half-pay period which existed when I was a young
Lieutenant had mercifully come to an end. The two Lieutenants of the
Yacht remained for two years, and were then promoted, whilst the
Commander became a Post-Captain at the end of three years.
And now to say something of my new brother officers, and the ship,--or
rather ships,--in which we served. I joined the Royal Yacht in the
autumn of 1888 at Portsmouth, where I found my old Admiral, Sir J.
Edmund Commerell, installed with his family at Admiralty House as
Commander-in-Chief. I was delighted to have the opportunity of renewing
my acquaintance with him and making that of Lady Commerell and their
daughter. My old Commander of the _Narcissus_, the late Admiral Sir
John Fullerton, was in command of Her Majesty's Yacht _Victoria and
Albert_, with the _Alberta_, _Elfin_, and _Royal George_ as tenders. He
remained in charge of Queen Victoria's Yachts as Captain and Admiral
from 1884 to the day of Queen Victoria's death, and the last duty he
performed afloat was when, in charge of the tiny _Alberta_, he brought
the mortal remains of the Great Queen from Osborne, where she died,
to Portsmouth on the way to her last resting place at Windsor. He
was, for some years afterwards, a Groom-in-Waiting to King Edward,
and subsequently an extra Groom-in-Waiting to King George, and died
a little over a year ago at his lovely little home at Hamble. Hamble
lies up its own little river, which empties itself into the Southampton
Water; it is now a fishing village, but, during the old wars, was a
famous ship-building place, and many were the line-of-battleships that
were launched from the slips there, of which traces can still be seen.
It was an ideal place for an old sailor to end his days in.
The _Victoria and Albert_ was my old Madeira acquaintance, and, still
as beautiful as ever, and though some thirty years of age when I joined
her, nothing more perfect in the way of "lines" had yet been produced
by any Naval architect. Our Commander was Richard Poore, now Admiral
Sir Richard Poore, and the fourth baronet of that name. In after years,
besides being Second-in-Command of the Channel Fleet, he was twice a
Commander-in-Chief, namely in Australia and at the Nore. The other
Lieutenant was Gerald King-Harman, a splendid specimen of an Irishman,
and brother to the well-known Member of Parliament of that name. He,
poor fellow, knowing that he was suffering from a mortal disease, did
his best to break his neck out hunting, all to no purpose; he died
shortly after his promotion in 1889.
In those days the _Victoria and Albert_ was only inhabited by a small
party of caretakers except when she was actually on some cruise, or
when the Queen was paying her summer visit to Osborne, during which
time the Royal Yacht lay at Cowes in full commission. During the winter
stay of the Court at Osborne and during the greater part of the year
the officers lived on board the _Royal George_, the old hulk that had
been the Royal Yacht in the days of George IV and King William, and
all communication with Cowes was carried on either by the tenders,
_Alberta_ and _Elfin_, or by picket-boat. I loved the old hulk. We
were very comfortable, as the officers messed in what had been the
Royal apartments. She was tiny, but had been built as a miniature copy
of the frigates of her day, and had been full rigged. I believe that
the last time she was in use as a Royal Yacht was in 1842, when Queen
Victoria and the Prince Consort paid their first visit to Scotland. On
that occasion the Royal Party embarked on board the _Royal George_ at
Woolwich, and were towed round in her to the port of Leith. I am not
surprised, however, that Queen Victoria preferred to make the return
voyage on board a steamer belonging to the General Steam Navigation
Company, where Her Majesty found that the accommodation was better and
more spacious than on board the _Royal George_.
During the Queen's winter residence at Osborne no leave was given, as
it was never known when we might be required, and when the Royal Yacht
lay at Cowes, in the summer, the officers were not allowed ashore
until it had been finally ascertained that Her Majesty had no further
commands for that day; but when the Court was not at Osborne we had
a very easy time. The two Lieutenants used to take it in turn to go
on leave, one of them having to live on board the _Royal George_,
but as soon as Morning Prayers had been read there was little or
nothing more to do, and there was no trouble about attending such Race
Meetings as Sandown and Kempton, which, being on the South-Western
Railway line, were easily reached, as indeed was London. At that
time I belonged to the Naval and Military Club, and a very cheerful
place it was, especially for a sailor. There was one corner of the
huge smoking-room,--which is still, I believe, called Besika Bay
Corner,--where one was sure to meet one's old comrades and their
soldier friends who had garrisoned Malta in the late 'seventies and
early 'eighties. And so the time passed agreeably enough, interspersed,
as it was, with a good many trips across the Channel. In the middle
of November the Prince of Wales embarked on board the Royal Yacht and
was conveyed to Flushing to meet, the then, recently widowed Empress
Frederick. Her Imperial Majesty arrived on board with her three
daughters and crossed to Port Victoria, where she was met by Queen
Victoria and most of the members of the Royal Family, and travelled
with them to Windsor. The winter season, commencing, as was general, in
the middle of December, was a busier one than usual, for the Empress
Frederick had accompanied her mother to Osborne, and there was a great
deal of running to and fro to convey the various members of the Royal
Family backwards and forwards.
In the middle of February 1889 the Queen left Osborne, and some ten
days later the Empress Frederick crossed in the yacht to Flushing,
with her daughters, on her way home. In early March Queen Victoria
embarked for Cherbourg _en route_ to Cimiez. The _Victoria and Albert_
was escorted across the Channel by a veritable procession of yachts,
including the _Osborne_, _Alberta_, _Enchantress_ (the Admiralty
Yacht), and the _Galatea_ (the Trinity House boat). Her Majesty
returned to England in April.
Our next trip was at the end of June when we were sent to Antwerp
to embark the Shah. I remember the late King of the Belgians came to
Antwerp to see him off, so I suppose that Oriental Potentate had been
officially visiting Belgium before coming to England.
The Shah was attended by Sir H. Drummond Wolff, then H.M. Minister
at Teheran, and Sir H. Rawlinson, who were with him during the whole
of his visit. He also had an enormous retinue of Persians for us to
embark. Some of them, such as Ali Asmer Asgher Khan, Amin us Sultan,
the Grand Vizier, and Prince Malcom Khan, the Persian Minister, and a
few others, were no doubt very distinguished men; but the tail end of
the suite seemed to me to consist principally of what the Bluejackets
used to call "scallawags."
On the 1st July we duly arrived at Gravesend, where the Prince of Wales
boarded us, to welcome the Shah, and then up the Thames we went and the
real fun began. The river, of course, swarmed with excursion steamers,
and the one idea of the excursionists was to try and keep alongside the
Royal Yacht, and as near as possible, so as to get a sight of the Shah.
This congestion of passenger boats, all overcrowded with sight-seers
was extremely dangerous, and as the smallest collision would have sunk
any of those lightly-built craft, an accident would have resulted in
an appalling loss of life. As usual the men in charge of these boats
behaved very badly and took great risks, but it meant a harvest for
them in the shape of tips from their passengers, and human nature being
what it is, it would be ridiculous to blame them, and as, moreover,
thanks to good luck, no accident happened, there was no harm done. The
Royal party eventually landed in a sort of glorified steam-launch at
Westminster Steps.
In the middle of July, the Queen went, as usual, to Osborne, but her
visit there was broken by a journey she had to make to London to enable
her to be present at the wedding of Princess Louise of Wales and the
late Duke of Fife on the 27th. Two days after Her Majesty's return
to Osborne, the Royal Yacht conveyed the Shah there to take leave
of the Queen, and thence to Cherbourg. Meanwhile, a large Fleet had
assembled at Spithead, under the command of Sir J. Edmund Commerell,
Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, so that the Shah on his way to
Cowes might be enabled to see something of the British Navy. I am
bound to say that he did not appear to be in the least impressed. He
firmly declined to come on deck, and obviously disliked the noise of
the salute. In fact, he took no notice of the Fleet whatever. My old
friend, the late Mr. Bennett Burleigh, the well-known War Correspondent
of the _Daily Telegraph_, had by some mysterious means managed to
smuggle himself on board the Royal Yacht. I have an idea that the late
General Sir John McNeil, then on board as one of the Queen's Equerries,
had rather connived at his presence, for he and Sir John had been old
cronies and campaigners together. However, being there, he behaved
with the most commendable tact, and had not ventured near the saloon
where the Shah had ensconced himself, and consequently had to rely
on second-hand information. I, being on duty, was in the immediate
vicinity, and so was duly pumped by my friend.
"What a splendid sight the salute was! I am sure the Shah must have
been greatly impressed. What did he say?"
As I have already written, the Shah paid no attention whatever to the
Fleet, but, thinking that he ought certainly to have made some sort of
remark, I gravely answered that His Majesty had said: "Wah, Wah, Allah
is great, and the English are a mighty nation," which I thought would
do just as well for the readers of the _Daily Telegraph_ as anything
else. I am rather afraid that Mr. Burleigh was too old a hand to be
caught, and greatly doubt whether the imaginary ecstasies of the Shah
were ever published.
That particular season at Cowes was an interesting one, for it was
in 1889 that the Kaiser made his first descent on Cowes in the shape
of a visit to his grandmother, Queen Victoria. He arrived on August
3rd, and with his usual arrogance, or perhaps to save himself from
paying their board in Germany while he was in England, he brought
over an immense and entirely unnecessary suite. Osborne, and all its
little dependencies, were strained to the utmost to house this swarm
of locusts, and even then an overflow party had to be put up on board
the Royal Yacht. This was the first occasion that I had ever come into
contact with any number of Germans, and I have heartily disliked them
ever since. To my mind, even on a pre-war standard, there is nothing
good to be said about them. I detest all their ways and works, their
eternal bows, and clicking of heels, and the equally eternal shaking
of hands, and impertinent inquiries about one's digestion. Moreover,
they have the odious habit of leaving sheaves of visiting cards in all
directions. We were thirteen officers on board the Royal Yacht, and
when our unbidden guests insisted on leaving a card apiece upon us it
literally made up one or more packs to be littered about. In view of
our present experience of them, I think that I can congratulate myself
on a certain amount of prescience in the detestation with which they,
one and all, inspired me so many years ago.
Other visitors, temporarily lodging on board the Royal Yacht, were
Admiral of the Fleet Sir Geoffrey Hornby, who was in attendance on the
young Kaiser during his visit, Sir Henry Keppel and Captain Stephenson,
both of whom were in attendance on the Prince of Wales.
The whole visit was not only an interesting one, but made a very
picturesque show from a naval point of view. The Emperor arrived in
his yacht with an escorting squadron of the German Fleet (then very
much in its infancy), one of the squadron, a cruiser named the _Irene_,
being commanded by his brother, Prince Henry. There was a huge Fleet
at Spithead, and Cowes was, if possible, more full of yachts than
ever, and in addition there were anchored in the roads a few British
battleships and torpedo-boats, one of these small craft being commanded
by H.R.H. Prince George of Wales. The Prince and Princess of Wales
were, of course, on board the Royal Yacht at Osborne, at the usual
moorings just inshore of the _Victoria and Albert_.
The Prince of Wales went out in the _Osborne_ to meet the Emperor and
his squadron, and, on his way, his yacht was most shamefully mobbed by
a horde of excursion steamers that had been hired for the occasion by
the holiday folk who very naturally infest the Isle of Wight and South
Coast at that season. The Commander of the _Osborne_ only succeeded in
keeping them off at a less dangerous distance by threatening to pump
water over them with the steam fire hose.
The Prince went on board the Kaiser's yacht as soon as she arrived, and
later landed at Osborne to be with the Queen when the Emperor arrived
at Osborne House. The usual Cowes Regatta was in full swing during the
week or so that the visit lasted, and such crowds filled the streets
that there literally was barely standing room in the queer little town.
The only functions I remember were a parade review of the German seamen
that was held in the grounds at Osborne, a dinner party that was given
by the Queen to the officers of the German Fleet on board the _Victoria
and Albert_, and a review of the Fleet by the Emperor. As concerns
the review, the Kaiser and his brother, Prince Henry of Prussia, came
on board the _Victoria and Albert_, where the Prince and Princess of
Wales and all the members of the Royal Family at Osborne had already
established themselves, and the yachts then proceeded to pass through
the lines of the Fleet at Spithead. The ships were "manned" in the
usual way and salutes were fired. The Royal Yacht then anchored in the
vicinity of the _Howe_, which battleship was flying the flag of the
Commander-in-Chief, Sir J. Edmund Commerell, to enable the Admirals
and Captains to come on board and be presented to the Emperor. It
was a fine show for those days, and the Fleet, including, as it did,
thirty-eight First Class Torpedo-boats, was flying altogether one
hundred and twelve pennants. I remember well the ill-concealed envy
exhibited by the Kaiser, his brother, and their surroundings, for in
those days the German Navy was a very small affair. Meanwhile, Queen
Victoria, on the little _Alberta_, steamed through the lines of the
German Fleet, an operation which did not take long, as they numbered
just under a dozen, great and small.
The dinner on board was beautifully done by the servants who were sent
from Osborne for the purpose, and during its progress I, as one of the
least important of the hosts, found myself seated between two German
officers, more or less of the same insignificant rank as myself. In
the process of making conversation during the long dinner and evening,
I did glean one piece of information that delighted me. Somehow, the
topic of Marryat and his naval novels cropped up, and to my great
astonishment I discovered that these Germans could have passed a very
searching examination in Marryat, and had Mr. Midshipman Easy, and the
immortal Boatswain, Mr. Chucks, at their finger-ends. When I expressed
surprise at this, they confessed that, having no naval literature
of their own, they had to fall back on ours. There was yet another
surprise in store for me later on, when I was to see these perfect
examples of officers and gentlemen (?) filling their pockets with the
cigars that were handed to them to smoke! However, all these little
incidents are specimens, I suppose, of what their admirers call "German
thoroughness."
After the German Invasion had come to an end, Cowes began to empty
itself, and the Royal Yachts and the guardship (there was always a
guardship in the roads when the Queen was at Osborne), were left in
almost solitary grandeur, and now that there was room to move about
freely, Cowes became quite a pleasant place. Our duties were not
very exacting. There were occasional return trips to Southampton and
Portsmouth to bring over or take back the Queen's visitors in one of
the tenders, and every other day it was my duty to walk up to Osborne,
take luncheon with the household and ascertain whether her Majesty had
any commands.
About the middle of September the Court moved to Balmoral, the
Queen crossing as usual in the _Alberta_, and we officers took up
our quarters again on board the _Royal George_, the great bulk of
the ship's company, as usual, going back to the dockyard to work as
riggers. And so ended my first season at Cowes as a Lieutenant of Her
Majesty's Yacht.
In December, when the Court as usual moved to Osborne, leave came to an
end, and the constant trips across the Solent conveying Her Majesty's
numerous royal guests,--including, amongst many others, the Empress
Eugenie,--kept us busy until the return of the Court to Windsor in the
middle of January. A month later the Royal Yacht embarked Her Majesty
for her usual spring visit to the Continent, and at the end of April we
were at Flushing again to embark the Queen on her return to Windsor.
Our next trip was on a rather more extended scale, as in the middle
of July we were ordered to embark the Empress Frederick, and her two
(then) unmarried daughters, Princesses Victoria and Margaret, and
convey them to Gibraltar, where they proposed being transported to the
_Surprise_ for conveyance to Athens, the reason for the visit being, I
believe, the expected accouchement of the other daughter, the Duchess
of Sparta, a lady of whom, as Queen of the Hellenes, the British public
has heard a good deal since. By the 2nd of August we were back at
Cowes again for the usual summer season, and two days later the Kaiser
arrived in the _Hohenzollern_, accompanied by the inevitable Prince
Henry. This visit was of a more private nature than the one of the year
before, and, I expect greatly to the relief of all concerned on this
side of the North Sea, only lasted for four days. During a part of the
season there was an Austrian squadron lying at Spithead, commanded by
an Admiral Hincke, the Archduke Karl Stephan being in command of one
of the ships of the squadron, the _Kaiser Franz Josef_. While this
squadron was in the vicinity of Cowes, Queen Victoria inspected it by
steaming between the lines in the _Alberta_.
About the middle of August the Empress Eugenie arrived at Osborne on a
visit to the Queen, and thereby hangs a tale:
The Queen had decided to have some private theatricals and _tableaux
vivants_, organised at Osborne during the Empress's stay there, and
on the evening the performance was given a few notabilities in the
neighbourhood and some of the officers of the Royal Yacht had the
honour of being invited. The day before the entertainment took place
I received a sudden order to go to Osborne, and on arriving there
was told that one of the dramatis personæ had suddenly been taken
ill, and that I was to take that gentleman's place. Mercifully there
were no words to learn, and I only had to dress up and form one of
the representants of the various pictures. The three most elaborate
displays, with which the performance ended, were a series of large
set-pieces representing Twelfth Night (in a general and not a
Shakespearean sense), Queen Berengaria interceding with King Edward for
the Burghers of Calais, and the Garden Scene from _Faust_. All these
pictures were very beautifully "dressed," and the great Mr. Clarkson
arrived from London to make up the faces of the performers and arrange
their wigs. In "Twelfth Night," Princess Louise Marchioness of Lorne,
Princess Henry of Battenberg, Lady Feodor Gleichen, and one or two
other ladies were amongst the revellers, to say nothing of more than
an equal number of men. This one I saw from the front, and though very
pretty, I remember thinking it was a little crowded. In the next I took
a part, and so can give no opinion upon it. Princess Louise again was
in the Tableau, and made a very beautiful Queen Berengaria; the late
Sir Henry Ponsonby, in a magnificent suit of armour from Windsor, was
the King; Lord Stamfordham, then Colonel Arthur Bigge, was one of the
Burghers; Colonel Sir H. Legge, then Captain Harry Legge, and I were
amongst the knights in attendance, and Mr. Victor Biddulph, who died
quite recently, wonderfully made up as to tonsure, was the attendant
priest.
In the Garden Scene from _Faust_, Princess Beatrice took the part
of Marguerite, with Lady Southampton as Martha; Harry Legge was
Mephistopheles, whilst I, in my capacity as an understudy, had to
represent Faust. I am afraid that this tableau was not altogether
a success, for as soon as the curtain went up, I heard the Empress
Eugenie, who was naturally seated next to the Queen, ask in a very
audible voice, "Mais, qui est, donc, ce petit Faust?" The unfortunate
"petit Faust" in question shook to such an extent with suppressed
laughter that the whole stage quivered, and the picture in general
could only be described as wobbly.
After the performance there was a great supper for the dramatis personæ
and the guests in general, and I am bound to say that, though I went
to Osborne with considerable trepidation, I finished up by spending an
extremely agreeable evening.
A week or two later, at the end of August, the Queen left for Balmoral,
and the following week I was promoted to the rank of Commander.
And so, in September 1890, after about twenty years' service as boy
and man, I became, for quite a considerable time, a free agent, as a
Commander on the munificent half-pay of eight shillings per diem,--and
a very pleasant time it was. In the spring of 1892 I had been
fortunate enough to be elected a member of the Turf Club,--in those
days, to my mind, much the most agreeable Club in London. The Turf
Club was then, perhaps, at its very best. Socially it was extremely
pleasant, the majority of the members being principally engaged in
amusing themselves. All the best of the racing men belonged to it, and
nearly all the men prominent in sport of all kinds made it a place of
rendezvous, whilst in addition, it was much patronised by the leading
Foreign Diplomatists, and our own Politicians of the best sort. A
good deal of whist was played there, and nothing was more usual than
to cut into a rubber where the other players might well be a Foreign
Ambassador, some notable Politician, and the youngest-joined Guardsman,
so altogether it was eminently many-sided. Though, from its name, most
people had an idea that no conversation ever took place there except on
the one topic of racing, nothing was further from the fact. When such
men as the late Duke of Devonshire, Lord Russell of Killowen, and Lord
James of Hereford (to mention only a very few) were constantly,--indeed
almost daily,--to be met there, it was pretty obvious that there were
other interests as well as racing connected with the Club, and that
it was something more than merely a place for idle men of fashion. In
those times it was a very late establishment, for, on most nights,
returning from balls and parties, a number of us would put in there for
an hour or so before going to bed.
Another very delightful Club that had just been established, though
one of a very different nature, was the unfortunately short-lived
Amphitryon Club in Albemarle Street. It was started by a number of
well-known men, prominent amongst whom were the late Lord Randolph
Churchill, the Marquis de Soveral, and the present Lord Chaplin.
Though on the lines of the best sort of French Café, it was a Club to
the extent that there was a small entrance fee and subscription, and
a ballot for members. The Maître d'Hôtel, one Emile Aoust, had been
at Bignon's and thoroughly understood how to provide his clients with
the best of everything. As well as the restaurant downstairs, there
were several apartments upstairs, where large and small private dinner
parties could be given, and had it only been really well managed it
might have lasted for ever. Unfortunately Emile, though he thoroughly
understood food, knew nothing about finance, and after about five years
of existence the Club had not much to show except debts. Consequently
the establishment had to be wound up, and a grievous pity it was. It
was a delightful place for dinners or luncheons, and, moreover, members
were allowed to entertain ladies there for meals, so it was an enormous
convenience for the real Londoner. The worst of Emile's system was that
his prices were rather too varied. The regular habitués were not at all
badly treated, for, though it was very expensive, the best food _is_
very expensive, so there was not much to complain of; but occasionally,
when dealing with members who did not understand his ways, his prices
were really rather remarkable. I remember that he succeeded in losing
the custom of a very good client by charging him sixteen shillings for
a solitary baked apple. No doubt the apple was the very best of its
sort, but even then, it was rather more than any man could stand who
might happen to notice this detail, half-way down the long bill for
a dinner for some eight or ten guests. However, with all his faults,
Emile was a real artist, and I am by no means the only one of his old
customers who constantly deplores the fact that he is no longer with
us, and that the Amphitryon Club is a thing of the past.
Whilst on the subject of London Clubs, it was about this time that I
was fortunate enough to survive the ordeal by ballot and be elected a
member of the Beefsteak Club. The activities of that charming little
establishment have been terribly hampered by the paternal legislation
rendered necessary by the war, but when I first joined, it used to
begin to fill at a much later hour than that at which it now empties
itself, in these supperless times. In the past it had been essentially
a Night Club, the Annual General Meeting being held about midnight,
that being the sort of hour when the majority of members used to
arrive. Perhaps it was at its gayest and best when, after a first
performance at some popular theatre, the "first-nighters" used to
flock in to discuss the new play that had just been produced, and join
up with the members who had remained on after dinner. I can hardly
remember any place where I have heard such "good talk" as I have there,
and "good talk" of the most varied kind, ranging from frank Bohemianism
to the political history of England in the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries. The sort of typical gathering that occurs to my memory when
still at our old home, where the new portion of Charing Cross Hospital
now stands, would be composed somewhat as follows; and though many
of them have joined the great majority, I am sure that they are not
forgotten by their old Club-mates. To give them the names by which they
were best known:--Archie Wortley, the principal founder of the Club;
the "Pelican," the name to which Pellegrini was expected to answer;
Arthur Blunt; Corney Grain; the "Beetle," otherwise Harry Kemble;
Johnny Giffard; that most delightful of men, Joe Knight, then dramatic
critic of the _Morning Post_, and also a great bibliophile; and Joe
Comyns Carr, perhaps the wittiest of them all. These have all passed
away, but amongst the habitués of the early 'nineties there are still
left such men as Willie Elliot, Harry Higgins, Cecil Clay, Marshall
Hall, and one or two others. I forget exactly when we moved into our
new premises in Green Street, Leicester Square, but it must have been
a good many years ago, and I do not know that the "talk" in the new
house is not as good as it was in the former one, when the survivors
of the old gang are reinforced by Leonard Courtney, John Scott Montagu
(now Lord Montagu of Beaulieu), Seymour Hicks, Perceval Landon, Charles
Whibley, and, until his death, the deeply regretted Harry Cust, perhaps
the most brilliant man in England.
Another popular personage in London Society who died recently and was a
great frequenter of the Beefsteak was the late Count Benckendorff, for
many years Russian Ambassador in London. He did not often leave London,
and there was hardly a night that he did not come in for an hour or so
for a cigar and a chat before going to bed. He was always a very kind
friend to me, and I knew him pretty well. He made himself extremely
agreeable at the Club, and besides being a wonderful linguist (he
really spoke English like an Englishman), he was a mine of information
about every sort of subject, and I am convinced would have taken "full
marks" for any "English History Examination Paper," if he ever saw such
a thing. Outside his own family, I am sure that in no coterie was his
death more sincerely mourned than in that, composed of the members of
the Beefsteak Club.
In the course of that winter I managed to get a little hunting. Lord
Manners, who had married one of my cousins, a Miss Hamlyn Fane,[3] had
been lately Master of the Quorn, and was then living at Cold Overton,
the well-known Leicestershire hunting-box. With the aid of a few
hirelings and the kindness of my host I succeeded in condensing a good
deal of sport into the ten days' visit. It was at Cold Overton that
I first made the acquaintance of the present Mrs. Asquith, then Miss
Margot Tennant, who was hunting from there for the season. Our host
always hacked to the meet, and used to place a dog-cart at the disposal
of Miss Margot and myself. With such a companion the long drive to the
various meets which we attended formed quite an agreeable part of the
day's sport. In those days Miss Margot Tennant was as brilliant a
performer over the country as she was a conversationalist, and her very
numerous friends will, I am sure, fully endorse this statement.
My half-pay time came to an end in the spring of 1891, when I joined
the Staff of the Naval Intelligence Department. This Department
was quite new, and Captain Cyprian Bridge, my old Commander of the
_Audacious_, the then Director, was only the second to hold the
appointment, the first holder of that office having been Captain Hall.
Curiously enough his son, Rear-Admiral Sir Reginald Hall, M.P., was
one of the most conspicuous successes of the late war when in charge
of that same Department. So completely civilian-ridden was the old
Whitehall building then, that this very important Department was looked
upon as a part of the Civil Service of the Admiralty, in spite of the
fact that its Director was either an Admiral, or a very senior Captain,
who had working under him two more Captains as Assistant-Directors,
four Commanders as Naval Staff, and four Marine Officers as Marine
Staff. When I went there first, I expected to find the work extremely
interesting; but, as in all other offices, it soon turned out that
it mainly consisted in a sort of regular routine. Indeed, during the
two years which I spent there, I can only remember three or four
really illuminating jobs which came my way. Towards the end of my time
there, my particular business was to look after the Navies of France
and Russia, as regards ships in commission and reserve, and building
programmes. This entailed a great deal of reading of French newspapers
and magazines, but with Russian literature I could not cope, and
everything had to be translated for me. Lord Fisher was then on the
Board as a Rear-Admiral, and in that capacity I suppose had to assist
in the preparation of the Estimates. I remember being told to supply
their Lordships with a statement of the combined strength of the Navies
of France and Russia, against which had to be shown, ship by ship, our
own Navy. I was given the hint that, the object being to wring more
money for more ships out of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I was to
make out as formidable a list as I could of our then possible enemies.
Naturally, I did as I was told, and no old lame duck was too obsolete
to be trotted out for the occasion. Personally I was convinced that the
device was too transparent to deceive a child, let alone such an old
political hand as was Sir William Harcourt, the then Chancellor of the
Exchequer. To my secret delight, my precious report came back with the
Chancellor's own annotations on it, and very much to the point they
were. I felt that with all the knowledge of those Fleets that I had at
the moment, I could not have made a better selection of the obsolete
and useless vessels than did the Chancellor with his blue pencil.
It is curious in these days to remember that in the early 'nineties our
bugbear was a combination of France and Russia against us, especially
from a Naval point of view, the German Navy being then still almost
negligible.
One fine morning, on seating myself at my table, I found a new and
rather formidable-looking volume awaiting me, to be dealt with in
the ordinary course of the day's work. It turned out to be Mahan's
_Influence of Sea Power on History_, and though the book itself had
been completed at least a year before, I fancy that mine was almost the
first copy to reach England from America. It being my duty to read it,
I commenced at once, and except for a pause at luncheon time, never
put it down until I had devoured the whole work. This task having been
performed, I at once went to see my Chief and told him that, whether he
could spare the time or not, it was absolutely incumbent upon him to
read it himself, as, in my judgment, the general theory that the book
inculcated was so admirably expounded that it was of the greatest value
to any one who was entrusted with a portion of the care of the defences
of the British Empire. My Chief complied with my request, and that
great work and its successors have become classics, not only for the
navies of the world, but also for the general readers of all nations.
All this time I was rapidly developing into a complete Cockney, and
thank Heaven I have been a confirmed one ever since. Out of office
hours there were pleasant luncheons either at the Amphitryon or at
one's friends' houses, and a possible week-end visit, though week-end
visits in those days were few and far between, the fashion for them
having hardly come in.
The very pleasantest dinners I can remember, were then given in a
corner house of Great Cumberland Place by one of my kindest friends,
Consuelo Duchess of Manchester. She had not only a passion for
entertaining, but was a wonderfully successful entertainer. When I
first made her acquaintance, she was no longer very young, but still a
very pretty woman (in her youth I believe she had been quite lovely).
But what is almost as attractive as beauty is wit, and that she
possessed. Quick as lightning, seeing the humorous side of everything,
she also had a fund of American and Cuban stories which used to delight
us all. The usual London dinner party generally breaks up about 11.
Hers often lasted till the small hours, for when the early birds
amongst her guests had taken their flight at about the usual time, the
rest of us gravitated towards the piano, and there our hostess used to
enchain us literally for hours, for she was an admirable musician, and
when not playing would be telling us stories. The last two or three
men in the party were usually turned into the street in a little group
about three in the morning. One of her recipes for a successful London
dinner party I well remember. She said there were three indispensable
ingredients--a Duchess, a Beauty, and a ham! Alas! she died long before
her time in 1909, and, short as is the memory of the world, her friends
still miss her, not only out of genuine affection, but because, with
her the gaiety, if not of nations, at any rate of a large section of
London cosmopolitan Society, became partially eclipsed.
[Illustration: _Photo: A. Debenham, Cowes_]
ON BOARD THE ROYAL YACHT "VICTORIA AND ALBERT"
H.M. Queen Alexandra H.M. King Edward
]
Another very kind hostess of mine about that time was Lady Georgina
Curzon, who died shortly after the termination of the South African
War. In those days she and her husband, the present Lord Howe,
entertained principally at the charming little villa residence,
Woodlands, that they had made for themselves in the neighbourhood of
Uxbridge. Lady Georgina, who was a very fine whip, as well as a good
horsewoman, used to delight in driving a coach-load of friends to all
the neighbouring race meetings, such as Kempton, Sandown, Windsor and
Hurst Park, all of which were within comfortable driving distance from
Woodlands. The parties were not exclusively for racing, for, looking
over an old photograph book, I came across a group which included,
amongst others, Jean and Édouard de Reszke. Indeed, I am not sure that
I did not meet these accomplished brothers for the first time at her
house. Later on, when her husband, the present Lord Howe, had succeeded
to the title, they entertained on a very large scale at Gopsall, where
I was also a constant guest.
Lady Georgie, as her friends always called her, was a real personality.
She combined great physical energy and strength (she was a most
fearless rider to hounds, and no day in Leicestershire was too long for
her) with the brains and driving-power of the Churchills. She threw
herself into the work of running the Yeomanry Hospital that was started
during the South African War with the same boundless energy that always
characterised her. Principally owing to her exertions it was most
successfully conducted, and though she was really in failing health at
the time, nothing would induce her to give up her work, and she died
shortly after the Peace was signed. No more gallant spirit ever existed.
Early in March 1893, the late Rear-Admiral Stephenson, who has
been mentioned before in these Recollections, hoisted his flag as
Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Station at Portsmouth, the _Royal
Arthur_, then a brand-new cruiser, being his flagship. Somewhere
about the end of the month, I received a message from Prince Louis of
Battenberg, who was then Naval Adviser to the Inspector-General of
Fortifications, informing me that the Prince of Wales desired me to
go to Portsmouth in attendance, as His Royal Highness was losing his
regular Naval Equerry in the person of Admiral Stephenson. The occasion
was the inspection of the _Royal Arthur_, before that ship sailed for
the Pacific. I duly got myself into uniform and met the Prince at
Victoria Station. Prince Louis of Battenberg also went down. He had
been Second in Command to the Admiral when the latter commanded the old
_Dreadnought_, so it was quite in the fitness of things that he should
travel to Portsmouth with the Prince to wish his old Captain good-bye.
After the inspection, just before getting into the train to return to
London, Prince Louis told me, to my intense surprise, that His Royal
Highness had deputed him to tell me that he wished me to join his Staff
as one of his Equerries-in-Waiting. So complete was my ignorance of
anything connected with Court appointments that I told Prince Louis
that, while being greatly honoured, I felt obliged to decline as I was
compelled to go on steadily at my profession, being too poor to leave
the Service and live permanently in England. I then learned, what I had
no notion of until that time, that the post of Equerry carried a salary
with it, which, in addition to my half-pay, would be quite equal to
anything I could earn as Commander in the Navy, and that the Prince was
quite content that I should remain in the Navy, and if necessary serve
again in order to keep my name on the active list. Naturally, having
learnt this, my only cause for hesitation vanished into thin air, so,
to my great delight, I was duly appointed as Equerry-in-Waiting, and
left the Admiralty, where I had served for about two years.
For the next seventeen years, until the day of his death--to me the
saddest day I have ever known--I remained on his Staff as Equerry, and
took my regular turn in waiting; and was thus a personal servant to the
kindest and most considerate of masters that ever a man was fortunate
enough to serve. From the late King and his family, during all those
years, and in the years that have passed since, I received, and indeed
still continue to receive, such unfailing kindness that I do not
propose even to dwell on it; it would be hard to write on the subject
without expressing a gratitude that, on paper, might almost appear
fulsome.