ENGLAND
[Sidenote: 1829. Aug. 12.]
Goodwood Races being due, I brought up at the “Keppel’s Head,” and let
my kinsman, Henry Delmé, at Cams (a mansion at the head of Portsmouth
Harbour), know that I was ready for a seat on his drag.
[Sidenote: Aug. 13.]
On the 13th I intercepted the yellow coach at Cosham, and had my
portmanteau placed in the boot. Mrs. Delmé was on the box, sitting
behind the same four greys I recollected so well. Fanny Delmé and Mrs.
Delmé Radcliffe inside, George Delmé and other friends outside.
Such a day! Everything lovely. On the course I was soon spotted by
Captain Rous. Not the enclosure or any part of the course that I had
not access to. Jack Crosbie took me to his father, a smart old soldier
in a neat phaeton, with a pretty daughter by his side. I was invited
to Watergate, and forgot all previous engagements. Portmanteau shifted
from the drag; friends going back had to order my six newly-made
shirts, with cambric front and frills, to be sent after me!
There was another open Crosbie carriage, from which four posters were
being removed. Two handsome girls got out, attended by same number of
brothers, who saw them into the grand stand, but no further.
I recognised many of the Goodwood party, whom I came to know better
later on. There was room for me in the phaeton, with a pleasant drive
of twelve miles across the Sussex Downs to Watergate.
[Sidenote: Aug. 15.]
The last day of the races appeared much too soon.
[Sidenote: Aug. 18.]
I was conveyed to Petersfield, where I caught the Portsmouth
“Regulator,” and so to London. A night with my brother-in-law,
Stephenson, and sister Mary, in Arlington Street. In the morning on by
Norwich “Telegraph” to Larlingford and Quidenham.
[Sidenote: Aug. 29.]
My dear father’s large family told heavily; the Hall was closed, and he
was living in the Parsonage.
At end of the month the kind Duke of Sussex took me with him to Kinmel,
followed by Charlie Gore, his aunt Lady Cæcilia Underwood, and her
brother, Captain Gore, R.N., and others.
[Sidenote: Sept.]
After dinner His Royal Highness smoked the best tobacco, through a
convenient boxwood mouth-piece, which I had charge of.
We, the staff, in the evening wore green coats, with his Royal
Highness’s buttons, buff cloth waistcoats, and trousers.
One afternoon, luckily an hour before dinner-time, I sat on the tail
of my dress-coat; in the pocket was the cigar-holder, shortened by a
quarter of an inch. Colonel Hughes was a clever turner. I ran to him in
my trouble, and he turned what was left so cleverly that no one could
detect it was not new. I watched His Royal Highness changing the holder
in his mouth; he never found out the difference, and I took care that
his black page did not either.
Sir Richard Bulkeley, who married the eldest daughter of Colonel and
Mrs. Hughes in May 1828, lost her within a year; so we were very quiet.
I drove with him in his mail phaeton several trips to Baron Hill at
Beaumaris.
I was much amused by Welsh ways. Farming couples came to market on the
same horse. Women wore tall, pointed hats.
Another old-fashioned house, Fryars, belonged to Bulkeley’s parents,
Sir Robert and Lady Williams. The younger ladies, and their governess,
occupied an adjoining building, St. Margaret’s, into which I was
introduced walking on my hands!
[Illustration: _At St. Margaret’s._]
It was a cheery, happy family. We met in different parts later on.
Baron Hill was burnt down May 1836.
The Menai Suspension Bridge was still a curiosity--the foundation laid
in 1819, first chain, 1825; when a sailor walked across, and on which
a shoemaker, sitting across, completed a pair of boots. The general
opening took place early in 1826.
My friend Charles Paget, in command of the _Procris_, 16, was the first
man-of-war, and, I believe, the last, that sailed through.
There was a family of Williams, near neighbours, at Craig-y-Don. Tom
Williams had two yachts, the _Hussar_ and _Gazelle_. The _Hussar_
was a rakish-looking schooner, but he spoilt her in trying to
make her a man-of-war brig like Paget’s _Procris_. He had capital
shooting--hanging woods on bank of the Menai Straits. I returned there
in later years.
There was also a near neighbour to Kinmel, Sir John Williams, at
Boddlewyddlam. He, too, had a pretty daughter, but the Welsh women were
all charming.
From Kinmel I went with His Royal Highness a short visit to Lord
Ferrars at Ashby-de-la-Zouch. I never saw any one take so much snuff.
[Sidenote: October.]
It was end of October when I got back to London, but the big town was
always gay. “Black-eyed Susan,” at the Surrey, was drawing crowds of
both sexes to cry. But there was an entertainment for a select few,
which I fancied my brother-in-law Stephenson was the life of--“The
Sublime Society of Beefsteaks”; the time, too, of meeting suited me. I
venture to state a few particulars, although far from the wide and open
sea.
There have been, and still are, many Beefsteak Clubs, but the “Sublime
Society” was founded in 1735 by Henry Rich, the famous harlequin. It
consisted of twenty-four members. Among the rules were:
“Beefsteaks shall be the only meat.
“Broiling begins at two of the clock; table-cloth removed at
three of the clock.
“Any wagers lost to be paid to the treasurer.
“Any member absenting himself three successive days of meeting,
unless excused by a majority, shall be expelled.
“A member allowed one guest, had, if he brought a second, to
borrow a name.
“The society consists of a president, a vice-president, a
bishop, a recorder, a boots.”
The meetings generally broke up in time for the theatres.
In addition to the president’s chair, which was carved in oak, with
a gridiron and motto, “Beef and Liberty” (this chair was bought at
Christie’s in 1867 for H.R.H. the Prince of Wales), each member had a
carved chair with crest and motto.
Among members I see names of Hogarth and Sandwich. Later the number of
members was increased.
Following address presented with a silver cigar-case, which bore the
inscription:--
“That he may keep us in his mind who lives in our hearts, this
case is presented to our brother Henry Frederick Stephenson, by
the hand of his Royal brother, the Duke of Sussex, in his and
our names, in grateful remembrance of his services. December 4,
1824.
Charles Morris.
John Richards.
Richard Wilson.
His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex.
Samuel James Arnold.
William Linley.
W. J. Denison, M.P.
Henry Brougham (Lord High Chancellor).
Arthur Morris.
Thomas Lewin.
Sir Matthew Wood, M.P.
General Sir Ronald Ferguson, M.P.
William Henry Whitbread, M.P.
James Lonsdale.
Earl of Suffolk.
Honble. Admiral G. Dundas.
W. P. Honeywood.
Colonel Thomas Wildman.
Robert Chaloner.
The Duke of Leinster.
Sir John Cam Hobhouse, M.P. (Lord Broughton).”
During visits to the Beefsteak Club I made acquaintances which lasted
many years.
[Sidenote: October, November.]
I naturally clung to T. P. Cooke; after a while I drew from him more
about himself. He was the son of a doctor, born in 1786; ten years
after he was in the _Brazen_, 26, at the siege of Toulon, and at
thirteen years of age was at the battle of St. Vincent.
In 1804 he played “Nelson” at Astley’s. I wonder if Nelson ever saw
him. After playing in “Black-eyed Susan” a hundred times at the Surrey,
he went to Covent Garden, where I found him when I returned from sea.
I was present at his last performance on the stage as “William.”
Vauxhall was another agreeable meet; we generally went there by boat.
The Surrey Theatre was same side of the water, where “Black-eyed Susan”
was playing.
[Sidenote: November.]
Sir Richard Bulkeley had kindly offered me the use of his stud at
Melton.
Wishing to see Edward Digby, now quartered with the 9th Lancers, I
booked for Nottingham instead of Leicester. Digby found me quarters in
barracks. The 9th was then, and always has been, a smart regiment, and
my friend, just of age, was, in his stable costume, as fine a specimen
of a man as could well be seen.
Among the good fellows there were Captain Porter, Lieutenant Hope
Grant, and Cornet Jack Spalding, the greatest dandy I ever saw, and
when William IV. shaved the cavalry he left his pet regiment, rather
than part with his moustache.
[Sidenote: November, December.]
During my stay in Nottingham a ball took place, which, owing to the
uniform of the Lancers and the pink coats of hunting men, was a much
more brilliant affair than I had been accustomed to. I was astonished
at the arrival in the middle of the dancing of my friend Wildman, his
wife and sister, from Newstead. They at once decided, as there was no
hunting, I must return with them. Snow falling, they took an early
departure, before midnight.
At 2 A.M. I followed in what was called a “yellow bounder”--a light
carriage on four wheels, without a coach-box, C-springs, and post-boy
riding. I came up with the Wildman coach half-way, snowed up. It was
agreed that I should go with them, and my pair as leaders to their
four.
It took us eight hours to reach Newstead Abbey. We were snowed up
for some weeks, but I did not care. With Mrs. Wildman’s sister, Miss
Preisig, I valsed the evenings away.
[Sidenote: 1830. January.]
However, letters reached at last, bringing my appointment to the
_Galatea_.
I managed to catch the mail at Leicester. It was freezing sharp, and
only one outside place. Luckily, I found a friend, Dr. Pettigrew, who
was attached to the household of the Duke of Sussex. But for him I
think I should have died. Myself fortified with cloaks and rugs, and
the doctor with lozenges, we arrived the following morning at the Bull
Inn, Aldgate. I subsequently found there was more pain in thawing than
being frozen.
My kind friend thrust me into a hackney coach, with all the straw he
could collect from the inn. I started, jolting over the rough pavement,
for my grandmother’s residence, 10 Berkeley Square. Restoring animation
was greater pain than that of freezing, but, being close to Gunter’s,
restoratives were easily had.
[Illustration: _Nearly frozen._]