The Oppenheims—St. James’s and Winchester—The Colonel and
Beauclerk
Shortly after I had passed my lieutenant’s examination, I was sent to
Woolwich, where a detachment of my battalion was to do duty for the
Horse Artillery. The room I was given, which belonged to an officer of
the R.H.A., was a much better one than I had had in other barracks,
and was furnished with some attempt at luxury. In the evening, I dined
at the Royal Artillery mess, where their very fine string band played
an excellent selection of music, under the direction of its Austrian
bandmaster, Ritter von Zauerthal. I was often on guard at Woolwich, which
I found very tiresome, as the guard was turned out at night as well as by
day, and, as my turn to be on guard came round three times a week, it was
pretty stiff work.
While I was at Woolwich, a very smart ball was given at the barracks,
which was highly successful, the great variety of uniforms and the
toilettes of the ladies combining to make an unusually pretty scene, and
an excellent supper being provided. To this ball I invited my old Eton
friend, Jim Doyne, who, seeing all the men in uniform, mistook an officer
who had come in evening dress for a waiter, and asked him to fetch an ice
for a lady. The officer, however, took the mistake in very good part, and
did as he was asked, remarking as he handed the ice to the lady, whom he
happened to know:—
“I am very pleased to make myself useful, and, as I have come in evening
clothes instead of in uniform, I can quite understand your partner taking
me for a waiter.”
During my visit to Vienna, Herr Neuss had given me a letter of
introduction to Frau Oppenheim, the wife of a wealthy wine-merchant in
London, who, before her marriage, when she was known as Louise Epstein,
had been an actress at the Burg Theatre, and had been considered the most
beautiful woman in the Austrian capital. I called upon her and found
her very charming, though few traces of the beauty which had captivated
so many hearts, including, it was said, that of a British Ambassador,
now remained. Her husband, an immensely stout man, invited me to dinner
and gave me a most excellent one, _arrosé_ with his choicest wines.
In return, I invited the Oppenheims to lunch with me at Woolwich, and
asked a lieutenant of my battalion named Featherstone to meet them.
Featherstone, I am afraid, was somewhat disappointed with Madame’s looks,
as he had been expecting to see a much younger woman.
After lunch, which was served in a private room at the mess, Herr
Oppenheim expressed a wish to see the 80-ton gun fired for the first
time, but I told him that it was impossible, as he was a foreigner.
However, he protested that he had lived so many years in England that
he had almost come to look upon himself as an Englishman, and at length
he persuaded me to take him. When the great gun was fired, the worthy
wine-merchant was so alarmed that he staggered backwards, exclaiming:
“_Ach, du lieber Gott!_” And had it not been for a man standing by, who
supported him in his arms, and whom his weight nearly upset, he would
have fallen down.
When I invited a friend to dine with me at the Artillery mess, as I
frequently did, I was obliged to be there to receive him; otherwise, he
would not be admitted. On my inquiring the reason for this rule, I was
told that one evening a man presented himself at the mess, saying that
he had been asked to dine by a certain officer, whose name he gave. The
officer in question did not put in an appearance, and when dinner was
announced, his supposed friend was invited to sit down to table, which he
did. Presently, the attention of one of the mess-waiters was attracted by
the singular behaviour of this individual, who was calmly pocketing as
many spoons and forks as he could lay his hands on, whenever he fancied
that he was unobserved. The mess-waiter reported these proceedings to
the mess-president, and the man was at once given in charge, when it was
discovered that he was a well-known thief. The Artillery mess was a very
large one, from two hundred to three hundred officers sitting down to
table, many of whom brought guests with them. Consequently, they had to
be very careful, as there was always so much silver lying about.
As it was summer, I frequently went up to London by steam-boat, which
was a very pleasant way of making the journey. My companion on these
river-trips was a lieutenant of my battalion, named Ernest Hovell
Thurlow, an exceedingly nice fellow, who wore an eyeglass and appeared to
take life in a very philosophical manner, as he never allowed himself to
be put out by anything. He was a grandson of Lord Thurlow, and his mother
had been a Miss Lethbridge. He was married, but his wife, a very pretty
woman with wavy, golden hair, was staying in town for the season.
After we had been some months at Woolwich, our detachment received orders
to relieve the Grenadier Guards at St. James’s Palace. We detrained at
Waterloo Station and marched to the Palace, in front of which the band
of the Grenadiers was playing while the guard was being mounted. Our
Colonel, who had come up to town expressly for this ceremony, and was
in plain clothes, sent me to tell the Grenadiers’ band to stop playing,
at which the bandmaster, Dan Godfrey, appeared to be rather surprised.
However, he obeyed the order, when the band of our battalion played in
its turn, after which the guard was relieved.
I had a very comfortable room in St. James’s Palace, where I slept while
I was on guard there, and, with the other officers, was made an honorary
member of the Guards’ Club. I found the duties rather fatiguing, as the
sentries to be visited were so far apart. The officers of the Guards
always visited them in hansom-cabs, but Captain Tufton, who was in
command of our detachment, would not allow me this luxury, and I had to
go on foot.
I invited Jim Doyne to dine with me one evening at the Palace. The dinner
was excellent, and was provided free of cost to the officers, though
they had to pay 15s. for each guest. The champagne was very good and
the liqueurs as well, and a bottle of brandy was opened which was of
the year of the Battle of Waterloo. Amongst the guests was a Lieutenant
Childe-Pemberton, who was formerly in our regiment, but was then in the
“Blues.”
After I had been a short time at St. James’s Palace, my battalion was
ordered to the Tower. But the Colonel, who had a good deal of influence
at the War Office, persuaded them to countermand this order and send it
to Winchester instead, where the detachment from St. James’s joined it.
I had very comfortable quarters at Winchester, and life there was very
pleasant, as the country round was very pretty, and we were invited
to all the best houses in the neighbourhood. One of the most pleasant
houses to which I went was that of Lady Frederick. It was a charming old
residence, standing in the midst of beautiful grounds, and Lady Frederick
and her son were most kind and hospitable.
The depôt of the Rifle Brigade was also at Winchester, and the officers,
some of whom were very nice fellows indeed, frequently dined at our mess.
Amongst them was a Lieutenant F. Howard, whose acquaintance I had made on
the troopship returning from India, and whom I was very pleased to meet
again. He told me that he was now married and invited me to dine with
him and his wife. I did so, and had a most pleasant evening, as both the
Howards were very musical, Mrs. Howard having a very good voice, while
her husband was quite an accomplished pianist.
Sir George Nares, the Arctic explorer, was living at Winchester at
the time with his wife and daughters. I made their acquaintance at a
dance, and was often invited to tea at their house, after which I used
to play tennis or croquet with the two girls, both of whom were very
good-looking, or go with them for a country-walk. Sometimes when I
called Sir George Nares would ask me to have a glass of madeira, from one
of the remaining bottles of a case of that wine which had made the voyage
with him. He did not show any traces of the privations which he had
endured in the Arctic; but he was a very quiet man, who did not talk much
and kept a good deal to himself. Not long after I came to Winchester, the
family removed to a house near Surbiton, where they invited me to visit
them. While I was there, the elder daughter met with a very sad accident.
She was running downstairs, when the heel of her shoe caught in a
stair-rod and she fell on her back, injuring her spine so badly that she
died six months later. She was only eighteen. Her younger sister married
a missionary some years later, and went out to South Africa.
Several officers from the 2nd Battalion, with which I had served in
India, were at the depôt, including Surgeon-Major Macnamara, Beauclerk,
Lovett, and a captain named Brownrigg. Brownrigg was a fine-looking man,
though with a tendency to _embonpoint_, and a very nice fellow as well,
but he had an unfortunate weakness for liqueurs. He used to mix two or
three together, and whenever anyone came to see him would invite them to
have “a two-bottle trick” or “a three-bottle trick” with him. Brownrigg
married not long afterwards and left the Service, but died suddenly, six
months later. Probably, the two and three bottle tricks in which he was
so fond of indulging had undermined his health.
It was rarely that the officers went up to town from Winchester, as the
journey was rather too long, and there was plenty of amusement to be
found in and around Winchester. The music at the cathedral had a great
attraction for me, and I was never tired of listening to the magnificent
playing of the organist, Dr. Arnold. I took lessons in composition from
Dr. Arnold, which interested me very much, although Howard declared
that he could not understand anyone wishing to be initiated into the
mysteries of harmony and counterpoint; which, he said, was a kind of
higher mathematics and destroyed the illusion which music produces on
the senses.
The Colonel was his own absolute master at Winchester, as there was no
general there to look after him, and gave himself and his battalion a
rest, the parades being few and far between and the guards easy. Except
for pottering about the mess-room and his work at the orderly-room of
a morning our chief had little to do, and, from want of some better
occupation, made himself more than usually objectionable to such of the
officers as he did not happen to like. Beauclerk, who had been at the
depôt for some time, was transferred to our battalion, at which I was
very pleased, as he was a very nice fellow and a perfect gentleman,
though a little inclined to be conceited. Unfortunately, the Colonel at
once took a dislike to Beauclerk, owing to some jesting remark which the
latter let fall while playing billiards with him, which he considered was
wanting in respect, though any ordinary person would have seen nothing
offensive in it. Next day, the chief appointed him to Robinson’s company,
well knowing that Beauclerk would never tolerate the manner in which
that eccentric personage was in the habit of treating his subalterns,
whom he seldom condescended to address except to find fault with them,
which he did in not the politest of language. Sure enough, one fine day,
Beauclerk complained to the Colonel of the language which “Rabelais” had
used towards him, and when the Colonel refused to listen to him, sent in
his papers, which was, of course, just what our amiable chief wanted him
to do. He was a great loss to the regiment, and his retirement was much
regretted.