I came into waiting on the Prince of Wales for the first time in May 1893, and one of the interesting minor events which happened during that month was the dÉbut of the famous cutter yacht, Britannia, who sailed her maiden race with her illustrious owner on board. It was not very easy for the Prince, with all his multifarious engagements, to find two spare days in the middle of the London Season, and indeed he was very seldom able to be on board his yacht except during the Cowes week, and in the early spring when visiting the Riviera. But the Britannia’s dÉbut at the Royal Thames Regatta was really something of an occasion, for at that time very great public interest was taken in yacht racing, and for three or four consecutive seasons the number of big racing cutters was abnormally large. Additional importance was attached to her behaviour in her first race, owing to the fact that the Britannia was known to be almost on the same lines as the Valkyrie, which later in the year was to race on the other side of the Atlantic for the America Cup. We had two good days’ racing on the Thames, and after very close finishes the Britannia beat the Valkyrie two days running. These two yachts encountered each other on many occasions; it was a near thing between them, but on the whole the Britannia was very slightly the better boat of the two.

Whilst on the subject of Yacht Racing, for those who are interested in that sport, it may as well be stated here that the Britannia was probably the most successful large racing cutter ever put into the water. Built on the Clyde by Messrs. Henderson, designed by Watson, and in the charge, as she was during her racing career, of a very strong combination of talent in the person of Mr. Willy Jameson and the late John Carter her skipper, she competed (and on the whole had the best of it), against one older crack racer the Iverna; five boats of her own year, namely the Valkyrie, Satanita, Calluna, Vigilant and Navahoe; (these two last were American boats, the Vigilant having been the successful defender of the America Cup); and two later English boats, the Aurora and Ailsa. It was not until the German Emperor’s large cutter, Meteor, appeared on the scene, four years later, that she had to give up her pride of place, and could be said to have been definitely outbuilt, and after all Meteor was also of Watson design, and was in fact a merely enlarged Britannia.

I was in waiting again in August when the Prince and Princess of Wales were in residence on board the Royal Yacht, Osborne, at Cowes. There were some six or seven days’ hard racing under the auspices of the Royal Yacht Squadron, the Royal London Club at Cowes, and the Royal Victoria Club at Ryde. The Prince, at this holiday season, could race to his heart’s content, and all the best-known habituÉs of Cowes, female and male, were in turn invited on board the yacht; and as, in addition, the whole Royal party of the Osborne were almost invariably sailing in the Britannia, it can be easily supposed that she carried more passengers than did most racing yachts; but this fact certainly did not interfere with her sailing qualities, for she was wonderfully successful.

At the end of the Ryde week the Prince left Cowes for his usual cure at Homburg, and I was left in charge of the Britannia while she was completing the round of the Regattas on the Western Ports. This arrangement took place for two or three years running, and, as far as I was personally concerned, nothing could have been more delightful. The Prince, with that extraordinary consideration that he always displayed towards the members of his Staff, used to allow me to take a companion with me. One year it was the late Lord Hardwicke, then Lord Royston, who was my shipmate. On another occasion it was my friend, Hugh Tyrrwhitt. It was immense fun. As soon as the Solent Regatta came to an end the whole fleet of racing yachts, big and small, used to start under cruising canvas to the westward, for the Regattas held successively at Weymouth, Torquay and Dartmouth, to finish the season at Plymouth. At each place the town and neighbourhood was en fÊte for their Regatta week, which was for them the greatest week of the year. Various cruising yachts used to accompany the fleet. Lord Ormonde (who, sad to relate, has died since these lines were written), then Vice-Commodore of the Royal Yacht Squadron, used generally to come round with his family and a few friends. The Iverna, Mr. John Jameson’s yacht, usually carried not only Mr. Willy Jameson, Britannia’s head jockey, but also his charming wife, Mrs. Jameson, the sister of Field-Marshal Earl Haig.

The result of all this was that at the end of a long day’s racing, one could have the cheeriest of dinners on board the various yachts, and in fact there were few pleasanter ways of spending the month of August. The Regattas usually came to an end early in September just in time to enable one to go to Yorkshire for the Doncaster Races.

Doncaster Races for some years running meant, as far as I was concerned, being one of a very pleasant party that used to assemble yearly at Escrick, the late Lord Wenlock’s place not far from York, as the guests of the late Mr. Jack Menzies and his wife, who, a few years ago, married, for her second husband, one of my colleagues, Colonel Sir George Holford.

Naturally, the composition of the party varied slightly from year to year, but there was always a certain number of the same people, especially as regards the men, for the really keen racing men never missed the St. Leger. It is too sad a task to give their names, for so many of them, like our host, are no longer with us; but pleasanter racing parties there never were, for the women and men that filled the house were all really keen. It was a long day for the ladies. We had to leave Escrick soon after eleven to catch the special train that conveyed us to Doncaster, and it used to be nearly seven o’clock by the time we got back. Those were days of high betting, and when, as occasionally happened at Doncaster, things were going badly for backers, the Escrick lot was one of those that contributed pretty largely to the coffers of the Ring; but whether it was a winning or losing week, nothing ever marred the cheeriness of the party.

Amongst other hospitable houses from which I have “done” Doncaster Races were Rufford Abbey, Lord Savile’s beautiful home; Tranby Croft, the late Mr. Arthur Wilson’s place, not far from Hull; and Wiseton, belonging to that fine soldier, General Sir J. Laycock.

Another month that I was very apt to be on duty was October, and I think that perhaps on the whole it was the pleasantest “wait” of the whole year, entailing, as it did, a couple of weeks at Newmarket. I really loved the life there. The Prince of Wales had his own little apartment in the Jockey Club Rooms, so there was no place where he could be more absolutely free. He generally managed to get a good deal of his correspondence done before his early morning ride, and after breakfast in the Jockey Club Room, he had another couple of hours at his disposal before Racing. The Newmarket breakfast was a very pleasant meal in that big, quiet room looking on to a well-kept lawn, and consumed with the perfectly miraculous appetite that is given by a canter over the Heath. There were generally two or three other members of the Jockey Club at breakfast, who had been similarly engaged, and one of them was almost invariably the late Lord Suffolk. He was always primed with the latest racing information, which he had succeeded in gleaning during his morning walk, and, moreover, he was a wonderfully good causeur (I really do not know the exact equivalent in English, for “talker” does not convey quite the same idea). I always considered him to be one of the most agreeable men I ever met, and those who have read some of his short stories, mostly on the subject of Racing, will remember that his writings were distinguished by a remarkably pleasant style and a great charm of expression. There happen to be two admirable specimens in the Badminton Book on Racing.

Sometimes the mornings before racing were spent in partridge-driving in the neighbourhood; but more often shooting took place on the Monday or the Saturday of the Cesarewitch and Houghton weeks, and generally the intermediate week was spent in a like manner in the neighbourhood of Newmarket. I remember being in attendance during a visit that the Prince paid to Mr. Willy Jameson at Stowlangtoft. Always a good shoot, in that particular year the Manor fairly swarmed with partridge. But the whole of the country round Newmarket lends itself to sport, and especially to partridge-driving. Within a very small radius, which in these days of motors would literally entail only a twenty minutes’ drive, Stetchworth, Six Mile Bottom, Chippenham, and Cheveley could all be reached, and as far as the quantity of game was concerned, one place would be nearly as good as the other. Six Mile Bottom was perhaps the best partridge-driving ground of all, for the belts over which the birds were driven were so substantial and well placed; the late Duke of Cambridge had it on lease for many years, and generally made Newmarket his temporary abode when shooting over the Manor. His Royal Highness was always very keen about the sport, and with the aid of one of the most perfect weight-carrying hacks that I ever saw, could get about from beat to beat without too much fatigue.

But to leave the neighbourhood and return to the little town of Newmarket itself, another feature of the Race weeks were the dinner parties given at the various houses in the town. The old fashion of dining at the Jockey Club Rooms had rather died out, principally owing to the ladies having taken to patronising Newmarket to such a great extent, so the Prince was in the habit of dining out regularly during his sojourns there, and was a constant guest at the houses of the late Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, the late Sir Daniel Cooper, the late Lord and Lady Cadogan, and the late Mr. Leopold de Rothschild. Mrs. Leo, as she was always called by her many friends, of whom I am glad to be a very old one, and her husband lived at Palace House, so called as a part of it was the original dwelling of King Charles II when he frequented Newmarket, and they used to give a big dinner every Wednesday night there during the Racing Season. Wednesday was a good selection, for it was generally the day of the most important race of the week, and there would be met, from the Prince downwards, all the principal racing men present at the meeting, with the exception of those who were busy entertaining parties of their own. From what I have written it can be easily understood how pleasant a month October was for the Equerry-in-Waiting, and in the old book of Caricatures, that lay in the Equerries’ Room at Marlborough House, and was later moved on to Buckingham Palace, was to be seen a cutting from an illustrated paper of a snapshot done of myself, seated on a shooting stool with loader and dog in attendance, in the act of lighting a large cigar, with the legend underneath it: “An Equerry at work.”

Another month’s duty that fell pretty frequently to my turn was December which, commencing as it did on the Princess’ birthday (1st December) entailed a large Birthday Party at Sandringham. On these occasions the guests consisted entirely of old friends, and year after year the Princess’ most intimate ones, such as Lord, and the late Lady Ripon, Lord and Lady Gosford, and the “little Admiral,” the late Sir Harry Keppel, were amongst those who used to meet there. Occasionally there would be a special dramatic performance, but there was always Gottlieb’s band to play in the evening, and for the men there was excellent covert shooting during the day.

For several consecutive years, commencing with 1894, I was in attendance on the Prince in the month of March and the beginning of April at Cannes. He generally lived on board the Britannia, and, as the Riviera Regattas were in full swing during those weeks, there was plenty of yacht racing. The open-air life that could be lived at Cannes was invaluable to him after the long winter that generally ended up with part of January and practically the whole of February in London. Cannes was a very pleasant place then, and there were endless dinner parties and gaieties of all sorts, and the Society was eminently cosmopolitan. To begin with, the whole Riviera bristled with Royalties. Queen Victoria was for several years in succession at Cimiez in the neighbourhood of Nice. The Emperor and Empress of Austria were more than once at Cap Martin. The King of the Belgians was constantly in his yacht at Ville-franche, and was beginning to build himself a villa on that lovely promontory of Cap Juan that forms the eastern side of the harbour. Russian Grand Dukes abounded. The Duke and Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin still continued to spend their winters at Cannes; the Grand Duke Michael, then recently married to Countess Torby, had settled himself at the Villa Kasbec, close to his sister’s Villa Venden. Countess Torby’s father, Prince Nicholas of Nassau, with his wife and daughter, Countess Merenberg and Countess Adda Merenberg, were generally to be found at one of the numerous hotels in the town. Lord Salisbury had also built himself La Bastide, overlooking the little harbour of Beaulieu, where he usually spent a few weeks surrounded by his family, and the President of the French Republic, President Faure, who, since his official visit to St. Petersburg, had become in his secret heart, as well as in his own person, “plus Royaliste que le Roi,” generally took an opportunity of paying a visit to Queen Victoria. I had the honour of being introduced to Monsieur le President on three separate occasions. Since his famous visit to Russia he had, greatly to his own satisfaction, taken upon himself what he conceived to be the true “Royal Manner,” but unfortunately he did not possess the other inherent appanage of Royalty, viz. the “Royal Memory.” So three times running, at comparatively short intervals, on presentation I was most courteously greeted with the same formula, (no wonder that I learnt it by heart!), “Commandant, enchantÉ de faire votre connaissance; il y a longtemps que vous Êtes auprÈs de son Altesse Royale?”

In addition to these great personages that I have mentioned, three charming old ladies,—who were irreverently nicknamed in Paris “La Vieille Garde,” the three great beauties of the latter days of the Empire, the Princesse de Sagan, the Marquise de Gallifet and the Comtesse de PourtalÈs,—were always there, and a number of Frenchmen, such as Vicomte Charles de Rochefoucault, Comte Boni de Castellane and le Vicomte de Rochechouart; the latter was President of the French Yacht Club, under the auspices of which we constantly raced. A good many English people had permanent villas there, Lord and Lady Brougham, for instance, in their ChÂteau ElÉanore, famous over the whole Riviera for its beautiful gardens and wonderful roses, and the late Mr. and Mrs. Robert Vyner at ChÂteau Ste. Anne. Of Americans, too, there were a good many “hardy annuals,” the late Mr. Ogden Goelet and his family passed several winters there, principally on board the yacht, White Lady, whilst Mr. Anthony Drexel, in the Margarita, and the late Mr. Gordon Bennett, spent more of their time at the Monte Carlo end of the coast. When reigning Monarchs, to say nothing of the President of the country itself, are foregathering on some forty miles or so of sea coast, it is pretty obvious that men of importance of various nationalities are apt to find it necessary to pass a few days in the same atmosphere, and it was at Cannes that I first began to notice how the Prince invariably made a point of making the personal acquaintance of the many distinguished foreigners who happened to be out there, even if only for a few days as birds of passage, and I was to see, later on, when I was in attendance on him as the Sovereign, how invaluable these personal acquaintances were. Half-an-hour’s conversation with a man is apt to give a greater insight into the character than reams of correspondence, and this was especially the case with the Prince of Wales, who was endowed either by nature or training, or more probably by a mixture of both, with a memory that really was prodigious. As an example of this memory, I recollect on my first journey with him to Cannes, when he had got out at some wayside station to stroll about during the five minutes’ wait, some very obvious English gentleman bowed, and evidently rather expected to be recognised. His bow was of course returned, but on re-entering the railway carriage, the Prince at once asked me if I knew who the man was. I had never seen him in my life before, and so could be of no assistance. After the train had started again, I could see that the Prince was trying to place the individual, and suddenly, at the end of a quarter of an hour or so, he triumphantly exclaimed: “I knew that I should get hold of his name. He is a Mr. ——, and he was presented to me just fourteen years ago at a function at which I was present.” He then proceeded to state what the function was, and where it had taken place. He had never set eyes on the man in question since!

After leaving Cannes, a few days were generally spent in Paris on the way home to see the newest plays, and England was reached about the middle of April, and from that time I was off duty until the Cowes season came round again in the month of August. In 1894 the Vigilant, which had successfully defended the America Cup against Lord Dunraven’s Valkyrie, had arrived in the Roads. She had already met Britannia in several races on the Clyde when the latter had been very successful, and she was now to race with her at the headquarters of English Yacht Racing. One of the best races I ever witnessed was that between these two crack cutters and Satanita during the Squadron Regatta week at Cowes. The Prince was on board, and I am nearly sure that Prince George was also there on that day, and so remarkable a race was it that I am tempted to quote from what I wrote about it some years ago for one of the Badminton series:—

“. . . The yachts (Britannia, Satanita, and Vigilant) were to start to the eastward and sail round the Isle of Wight; and on this occasion Britannia’s Royal owner and several of his friends were on board. Satanita began well, and was leading off Bembridge; but at the back of the island the breeze became paltry, and Satanita dropped back, while Britannia and Vigilant were engaged in a battle-royal. After getting round St. Catherine’s and heading for the Needles, Britannia picked up a fresh breeze off the land, and was leading by some lengths, with the Vigilant tearing up astern of her. Vigilant gradually forged ahead, and came up inshore of Britannia, on her weather. The obvious course was to luff up and prevent her from forcing a passage; but, unhappily, there was not sufficient depth of water, so up went the Britannia on a shoal, and in another moment Vigilant took the ground also. The latter had now all the best of it, as by pulling up her centre-board she was able to get off almost at once, and away she went for the Needles with Britannia left on the shoal. It was a good ten minutes before Britannia was floating again, and by that time Vigilant had gained a couple of miles. However, a yacht race is never lost until it is won; and owing to the wind falling light and a useful fluke or two, by the time the Needles were passed the two yachts were neck and neck. The wind had fallen light again, and what there was blew from the westward, so it was a case of up helm and set spinnakers. All on board were now full of hope, as running in light winds Britannia was rather the faster of the two; so with a gentle westerly breeze and a fair tide to take them along, the two rivals headed for the mark-boat at Cowes. But hope had almost to be abandoned when it was seen that instead of Britannia having the advantage, Vigilant was streaking away as if she were in tow, while Britannia dropped farther and farther astern. Vigilant eventually won in hollow fashion by eight minutes.

“Mr. W. Jameson and Carter had their suspicions about the cause of Britannia’s sluggishness, so next day she was sent over to Southampton to be docked, and then the cause was apparent. The result of her grounding was that a quantity of her copper-plating instead of being polished and smooth, was standing out in rolls, and, moreover, large pieces of rock were actually sticking out from her lead keel. No wonder poor Britannia could not sail! On the other hand, Vigilant, thanks to her centre-board keel, had got off the rocks quite uninjured. However, the disappointment and damage done were alike transitory, and two days later she was sailing as well as ever again. At the end of the Solent Regattas, Vigilant retired from the contest. She had sailed seventeen times against the Britannia, and of those races Britannia had won eleven outright. The rest of the season of 1894, except in mixed races, resolved itself into matches between Satanita and Britannia, of which Britannia won the lion’s share.”

The year 1894 was an interesting one to me as regards horse-racing, for a colt from Sandringham Stud, that good horse Florizel II, came to the fore as a three-year-old. Being very fond of racing, I took a great interest in the horses bred at Sandringham, as, having seen them in the earliest infancy before they went to Richard Marsh to be trained, it was a great pleasure to follow their subsequent careers. Florizel, who was too backward to do any good as a two-year-old, began his winning career as a three-year-old, at Ascot, when he won a couple of good weight-for-age races, and, later on, at Goodwood and Newmarket he won again.

But the year 1895 was more interesting still, both as regards yachts and thoroughbreds. The Ailsa, a new cutter belonging to Mr. Barclay Walker, came out to Cannes in the March of that year, and made the yacht-racing there more strenuous than ever. She was a worthy antagonist to Britannia, and on the Riviera, where the wind is apt to be light, had rather the best of it, but later on in England the Britannia more than held her own. In the early summer the Prince was again racing on the Thames, and pulled off a pretty double event, for, on anchoring after a winning race against Ailsa, a telegram was brought on board the Britannia announcing the fact that Florizel had won a nice race the same day. I think it was the big handicap at Gatwick or Manchester. Ascot of the same year was really a “Royal Ascot,” for Florizel won the Gold Vase, and that great horse, Persimmon, an own brother to Florizel, made his dÉbut as a two-year-old, and won the most important two-year-old race of the meeting, the Coventry Stakes, in a canter.

But life did not consist entirely of racing and yachting; on the whole the greatest pleasure that I had in those days was, I think, the Opera. Covent Garden was perhaps at its zenith about then. I can still remember my first visit to that House when I was a little boy nine years old. Patti was then at the height of her fame and beauty, and I was lucky enough to hear her sing in Dinorah, with Graziani as the Hoel. Meyerbeer is quite out of fashion now, but to a child, loving music as I did, it was heavenly, and I know that I was so excited by it that I never slept a wink the whole night through. Later, whenever I had a chance on the rare occasions that I was in London, I used to manage to go to Covent Garden, or Her Majesty’s Opera House in the Haymarket, which were both going at the same time, with Patti as the bright particular star at Covent Garden, and Christine Nilsson at Her Majesty’s. Some of the castes were very remarkably good then. I remember Don Giovanni being splendidly given at Covent Garden, with Patti, Tamberlik and Faure in the principal parts, and of course I heard Nilsson as Margherita in Faust, perhaps her best rÔle; and, somewhat later, I heard that marvellous singer, Melba,—Dame Nellie Melba, as she now is,—when she sang once or twice at Covent Garden before she made her triumphal successes at Brussels and Paris. Having become famous in Paris, of course she became indispensable to Covent Garden, and, thank Heaven, her lovely voice is still to be heard there, and I am proud to be able to count myself as one of her friends. But it was only when I was fortunate enough to become a member of the omnibus box that I developed into a confirmed habituÉ. There were plenty of other distractions available, but I was faithful to my love of music and was there most nights in the week, hearing delightful operas in the greatest comfort. The omnibus box was designed for eight subscribers, but the other amusements of London generally cut the nightly number of occupants down to three or four, and sometimes indeed I was the only one present, and to listen to good music in solitary comfort, seated in a capacious arm-chair, is one of the pleasantest things I know. Then, too, Covent Garden was fashionable in the best sense of that detestable word. The boxes were extraordinarily becoming to pretty women, and through the season they were filled, on most nights, with all the beautiful women of the time, looking their best in their most becoming dresses and diamonds, especially if there happened to be an important party to follow. The late Sir Augustus Harris treated his subscribers and his public extremely well; but I am inclined to think that the Syndicate that succeeded him did even better. Before taking leave of Sir Augustus Harris, a rather amusing incident indirectly connected with him happened at one of the early Masked Balls that he inaugurated at Covent Garden. An old friend of mine, the well-known Member of Parliament, Colonel Claude Lowther, had a box on the Grand Tier at one of these entertainments, and surreptitiously introduced into it a wonderful dummy figure made up as Sir Augustus. When the dancing was at its height, a sudden commotion brought the dancing to a standstill, and there in the forefront of one of the boxes was to be seen a terrific combat between Claude Lowther and Sir Augustus, Claude evidently getting very much the best of it. The dancers in the parterre were in agonies of suspense, as Sir Augustus was deservedly a great popular favourite, and their suspense changed into horror when they suddenly saw him taken bodily off his feet and flung out of the box on to the dancing-floor. So realistic was it that the police rushed up to the box, and before the joke could be explained Claude Lowther was conducted over to Bow Street, which was exactly opposite. I never shall forget the shout of laughter that went up when the dummy was discovered on the floor none the worse for its fall.

But to turn to the musical side of Covent Garden, what a number of fine artists I heard there during the many years I was a subscriber! The brothers de Reszke, Maurel, Ternina, Van Rooy PlanÇon (who was, perhaps, the best basse chantant we ever heard), Caruso, Vandyck, Sammarco, Mesdames Destinn and Edvina, and last, but by no means least, Dame Nellie Melba. The four last-mentioned artists have all been singing during the past two seasons. When the Ring, and Wagner generally, was given, with Richter as conductor, and with some of his Manchester musicians reinforcing the orchestra, without in the least posing as an expert, the performances to my mind were infinitely better all round than they were at Bayreuth. One very good reason being, that the very astute Frau Wagner greatly preferred a cheap artist to an expensive one; and even to my untutored taste Richter was a far greater conductor than Siegfried Wagner, whose only recommendation, I suppose, was that, being his mother’s son, he was very cheap indeed! As to individual performances, to my mind the two greatest artists of the Operatic Stage during my time were two men, Chaliapine and Jean de Reszke. The former, besides his magnificent voice and physique, was not only a very great actor, but was, I think, in Russian Opera, unsurpassable. I believe that he never sang at Covent Garden, but I heard him at Monte Carlo and many times at Drury Lane. One of his great rÔles outside Russian Opera was Mephistofile, in Boito’s opera of that name. I can see him now as his Satanic Majesty, with all his subjects crouched round him, dominating the stage in almost the exact pose of Rodin’s “Penseur.” Jean de Reszke, who I knew very well, was probably at his best and greatest in three very different parts. He was incomparably the best Lohengrin I ever saw or heard on any stage, and the same appreciation applied to his Tristan. But I believe that in his secret heart and in the heyday of his career, his favourite part was Romeo. RomÉo et Juliette, as rendered by him and Melba, with his big brother Édouard (as FrÈre Laurent) duly marrying them, some fifteen or twenty years ago, used to fill Covent Garden to its very roof. It is the fashion nowadays to decry Gounod’s music as being too sugary, and obvious, and all the rest of it; but, none the less, sung as it was by those great artists it used to delight a great many of us.

About this time I was anxious to put off the date at which I would inevitably be forced to retire from the Service, so I applied to the Admiralty for employment during the yearly manoeuvres that were about to take place, and, the Prince having given his consent to my absence, I was appointed to the Theseus, then a comparatively new class of cruiser, for the duration of these exercises. The new system of mobilisation which had recently come in, consisted in the necessary officers and crews being marched bodily on board the ship, which, up to that time, was lying at a home port with nobody on board but the Chief Engineer, the Warrant Officers, a few stokers, and a small number of marines, who were employed as caretakers. The scheme must have been extremely well worked out, as can be shown by what actually took place in practice.

At eight o’clock I and the rest of the newly appointed officers went on board; the men were marched on board from the barracks or receiving ship, with their bags and hammocks. Provisions were at once drawn, and by noon the entire ship’s company had been stationed as regards Fire, Action, Boats and Watches, and had been piped to dinner. Chatham was the parent port of the Theseus, and before nightfall, the Captain having arrived on board during the day, the ship had been unberthed and moved into the river, all ready to receive her ammunition the next day. By the following evening we were anchored at the Nore and reported ready for service. It is true that a ship commissioned in this way could not really compare in efficiency with one that had been on service for some time, but every day saw an improvement in general smartness and discipline, and in a week’s time a mobilised ship could, if necessary, have fought a very respectable action.

It was now some nine years since I had served in a real man-of-war at sea, and I remember being greatly impressed with the great improvement that had taken place in the acquirements of the officers and men during that period. The Captain, Charles Campbell, was an old friend, he having been Flag-Lieutenant to his relative, Rear-Admiral F. Campbell, in the old flying-squadron days; but, barring the Captain, the rest of the officers were absolute strangers to me, as, indeed, I was to them. I, however, found them to be, without exception, thoroughly competent, and one and all gave the same loyal and devoted service to me, that they could have given to a superior officer whom they had known and served under for years. Before joining up with the rest of the Fleet for manoeuvring purposes the Theseus was ordered to escort a small squadron of torpedo-boats that had been ordered to Gibraltar. These boats were towed in turn, as they were unable to keep the sea under their own steam for more than a few hours. We had a good deal of bad weather on our way out, which necessitated our going into Vigo, and incidentally a good deal of trouble with our small craft; but eventually we delivered them safely at their destination, and rejoined the Fleet for a month’s exercise.

The manoeuvres having come to an end, the Theseus, after being inspected by the Admiralty, was paid off into the First Class Reserve again, and so ended my last term of service afloat. Having left the Britannia at the end of 1870, I had served at sea, on and off, for some twenty-five years, and before taking leave of the Navy, so far as these Reminiscences are concerned, I must write a few lines about the state it was in in those days.

My service was performed during a period of comparative slackness, if such a term can ever be applied to the Royal Navy. The fact is, it was a time of profound peace. Since 1815 the Navy had seen no active service on a large scale. In the middle period of the nineteenth century there had been good work to do in the suppression of piracy and the slave trade. There had been bombardments, such as those of Acre, Algiers, Sveaborg, Sevastopol, Cronstadt and Alexandria,—more or less futile, as all bombardments of land forts by ships must be. There had even been a Naval action at Navarino. Small numbers of men had been landed as Naval Brigades all over the world in all the great and small wars that we waged in places as far apart as the Crimea, India and New Zealand. Later on there had been a small modicum of active service to be seen by a fortunate few in Egypt, and in South Africa during the Zulu campaign. At the time of the South African War in 1889, there were again small Naval Brigades landed, and when there was a danger of European complications, in view of the number of troops that we had to send to Africa, the sea route was efficiently, if very quietly, patrolled. The fact was that during the greater part of the time that I was serving there was no great competition possible. The German Navy hardly existed. For some years after 1870, the French Navy had been allowed to decrease. The Russians only used to build spasmodically. It was only shortly before 1890 that the Admiralty had seriously to consider their building programme against the possible combination of the French and Russian Navies, which was then a formidable possibility: and it was owing to that possibility mainly that the great improvement in general efficiency that I noticed when I joined the Theseus had taken place. From that time onwards the Navy has never looked back. Successive Governments may not have supplied it with anything approaching the necessary ships and stores, but the senior officers of the Navy have trained the officers and men under them, and brought them to that high state of efficiency and discipline which has been so apparent to the whole world during the war which has just come to a conclusion; and that same efficiency and devotion to duty has,—I think as an old sailor,—been handsomely acknowledged, not only by the country at large, but by those who are privileged to speak for their country, from the Sovereign downwards. Personally, I am full of pride at having, at one time, had the honour to belong to that noble Service, and of having served with what is, perhaps, the best corps of officers, with the best lot of men under them, in the world.

In my experience, the only time when Naval Officers are ever likely to fail is when they are working at the Admiralty. The fact is that constant service at sea is apt to narrow their outlook from a most important point of view,—I mean that of a man of the world. Brought up in a profession where a rigid discipline has to be, and is, maintained, they are too apt to be rather obsessed by the First Lords of the Admiralty, and the other functionaries with whom they are brought into contact, and are inclined to treat them all with a good deal too much subservience. It is rather instinctive for an officer who has served all his time at sea to look, with a certain amount of veneration, on his superior officers, and consequently to be inclined to be overawed by a name that is placed in the Navy List as being, after the Sovereign, the Head of the Navy. The post of First Lord of the Admiralty was always a much coveted one, and on the whole it is only just to say that it has been generally held by politicians of considerable weight and experience. A certain amount of glamour of sentiment is supposed to surround it, vividly enhanced by the temporary possession of an extremely well-appointed yacht, on board of which the female relations and friends of the various First Lords could take up their abode in the summer, and cruise at their own sweet will, at the expense of the long-suffering British tax-payer.

The year 1896 was a very important year’s racing for those who were interested in the Sandringham Stud, for it was in 1896 that the Prince of Wales had his first really successful year on the Turf—that great horse Persimmon accounting for the Derby and St. Leger and Jockey Club Stakes at Newmarket, while Thais won the One Thousand Guineas. I saw the Derby from what used to be known as the Paget Stand, of which institution I was a member for many years, and for those who do not know Epsom, it is as well to mention that the actual winning-post touches the edge of that stand, and the horses are often within an arm’s length of the “Booth” (as it used to be called), when they passed the post. It is exciting enough at any time to see the finish for the Derby from that point of vantage, but when, as in 1896, there is a desperate race between two really first-class horses, as were Persimmon and St. Frusquin, and the race is eventually won by the Prince’s horse all out by a neck, the excitement really becomes indescribable. I cannot truthfully say that I have never heard such cheering, for I am glad to say that I was to hear it again when Minoru won the Derby in 1909. But Minoru was, after all, only a leased horse, whereas Persimmon was a Sandringham-bred colt, and an own brother to Florizel, a winner of good races. Anyhow, the enthusiasm of the public knew no bounds, and the Prince’s Derby achieved the greatest popular success that ever was seen on a race-course.

In August of that year I was on duty as usual at Cowes, and about the middle of the month I was ordered to attend the Princess on a journey to the Continent. Her Royal Highness, with Miss Charlotte Knollys who was Lady in attendance, went to visit her brother-in-law and her sister, the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland, at their beautiful Castle of Gmunden, which is not far from Ischl, and is surrounded by magnificent scenery. Personally, never having seen that part of Europe before, I was delighted with the beauty of the surroundings. After a week’s stay there the Princess went to Bayreuth, when her party was completed by the appearance on the scene of the late Lady Ripon, Miss Yznaga (the sister of the Duchess of Manchester) and the late Sir Reginald Lister. The Ring was being given as usual there, and in some respects very beautifully given; but I still think, as I have mentioned before, that the artists, as a lot, were very inferior to those I heard a few years later at Covent Garden. None the less, Bayreuth has a certain atmosphere of its own. Unlike London, there are no distractions of any kind in that funny little town, so absolutely undivided attention can be given to the music. After the Bayreuth week was over, I attended the Princess to Copenhagen, visiting en route Nuremberg and the Chiem See, where the palace,—that extraordinary freak imitation of Versailles, built by the late King of Bavaria,—was the objective of the visit. After spending one night at Copenhagen, I travelled straight through to Wemmergill, where I was the guest of a very old friend, Lord Westbury, for a week’s grouse-driving. Wemmergill, as all shooting men know, is one of the very best of the Yorkshire and Westmoreland moors, and there, with a very cheery shooting party, I had an excellent week’s sport.

The year 1897 was principally remarkable for the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria, and the festivities that took place in London in honour of the occasion. I had been in waiting in the spring at Cannes, where the Prince had, as usual, taken up his residence on board the Britannia, and at all the Riviera Regattas there was good sport in matches against Ailsa, but the breezes had ruled light, and on the whole the Ailsa had rather the best of the numerous contests. It was Britannia’s last year of racing. It was considered not worth while to compete against the much newer Meteor, so the old boat took no part in the English Regattas, except at Cowes, when, starting three times, she won two races, one of which was a match round the Isle of Wight for the German Emperor’s Challenge Shield, in which contest she defeated Mr. C. D. Rose’s Aurora. Her wonderfully successful racing career being thus terminated, she became permanently relegated into the cruiser or handicap class, and was used for many years by her owner for sailing about in the Solent with reduced canvas and a very much reduced crew. The Jubilee year was another good year for the Sandringham horses, as Persimmon won the Ascot Gold Cup in a canter, and the Eclipse Stakes at Sandown. Moreover, two useful two-year-olds, Little Dorrit and Mousme, won a couple of nice races each. ’97 ended Persimmon’s career as a race-horse; he probably was at his very best when he won the Ascot Cup, and he retired to a palatial loose box at Sandringham, where he became the sire of over a hundred winners.

One of the marked features of the Diamond Jubilee Season in London was the Fancy Dress Ball given at Devonshire House. All London Society was there, headed by the Prince and Princess of Wales, and it certainly was a very beautiful sight. Devonshire House lends itself extraordinarily well to a great entertainment, for the reception rooms are very fine, another feature being the marble staircase; so low are the steps and so gradual the ascent, that it really is more like an inclined plane than a staircase. It was an extraordinarily pretty spectacle for any one standing on the big landing of the first floor, to see the endless string of guests, in their various costumes, proceeding up to be received by their hostess and host at the top of the stairs. A great many of the dresses were very beautiful, and a record of them still exists, for a number of the Duchess’ friends presented her with an album containing as many reproductions as could be collected of the photographs and sketches that were taken of the various guests in their costumes.

SEYMOUR FORTESCUE

As Moroni’s Lawyer (National Gallery Collection), Devonshire House Fancy Ball, 1897