CHAPTER XI THE GARRICK--JOCKEY CLUB AT NEWMARKET--ROYAL YACHT SQUADRON AT COWES--CONCLUSION

Though various London clubs possess a certain number of pictures and objets d’art, the Garrick stands alone in the ownership of a unique collection. This, however, has been described so frequently that any detailed treatment would be superfluous.

The Garrick was originally started at 35 King Street, Covent Garden, in 1831, “for the purpose of bringing together the ‘patrons’ of the drama and its professors, and also for offering literary men a rendezvous.”

The club-house had been a family hotel. It was comfortable enough when it was first transformed into the home of the Garrick Club, but in course of time the building was found insufficient for the increased number of members, and in 1864 the club removed to a new house built for them a little farther west than the old one, in the then newly-made Garrick Street—a classic region associated with the old club-house.

The new Garrick was built by Mr. Marrable, who cleverly surmounted certain difficulties connected with the back of the building.

The bulk of the Garrick Club collection consists of the gallery formed by the elder Mathews, who had a passion for collecting theatrical portraits, and who purchased most of the pictures owned by Mr. Harris, the old lessee of Covent Garden.

Mrs. Mathews, the actor’s wife and biographer, describes how the pictures were saved from the swindling tenant who robbed them of their rent in the King’s Road cottage. Mathews’s “giant hobby,” as she calls it, was then (1814) in its infancy; but the Mr. Tonson who succeeded them in the cottage begged to be allowed to retain the pictures, which were at that time hanging in one small room. Mathews, who would as soon have left behind him an eye or a limb as these his treasures, managed to retain them. Later on he built at his house at Hampstead a special gallery for his pictures, which had then considerably increased in number. Many writers came there to see them, all of whom were not equally appreciative. When, however, Mathews found a real judge of art, he called it “receiving a dividend,” and would launch out into all sorts of disquisitions as to his treasures, enlivened by anecdotes and imitations of the persons portrayed. Inquisitive people, who came to see the actor as a celebrity rather than to inspect his pictures, irritated and exasperated him by their behaviour and their mistakes, which were often absurd. Harlowe’s fine picture of Mrs. Siddons as Lady Macbeth was taken for a portrait of Mrs. Mathews; Dewilde’s exquisite portrait of Miss De Camp—Mrs. Charles Kemble—in male attire, in “The Gentle Shepherd,” was praised as being Master Betty. One individual, who had evidently never entered a London theatre, asked why there was no portrait of Milton. Eventually all the pictures were exhibited in Oxford Street, and there still exists a catalogue of this exhibition, to which a characteristic article of Charles Lamb’s, which appeared in the London Magazine, is prefixed.

During Mathews’s lifetime the collection was removed to the Garrick Club. It then practically passed into the possession of a member, Mr. John Durrant, who eventually gave the pictures to the club.

There are many good portraits of Mathews at the Garrick, of which the most remarkable is, perhaps, the one by Harlowe, who depicted him in four perfectly different and distinct characters—a tribute to the actor’s versatility. The four characters are those of Fond Barneyl, the idiot newsvendor of York; another weak-minded simpleton catching a fly; Mr. Wiggins, an extraordinarily stout man, in a farce called “Mrs. Wiggins”; and Mathews himself in ordinary day dress. Another good portrait, by Clint, A.R.A., shows Liston and Mathews in “The Village Lawyer,” the former as Sheepface, the latter as Scout. Liston impressed people on casual acquaintance with an idea of inveterate gravity; as Sheepface he fairly amazed Mathews, and in this part made him laugh so much that he was hardly able to go on.

Two of the finest pictures in the Garrick are those representing Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard in “Macbeth,” and Garrick and Mrs. Cibber in “Venice Preserved.” Zoffany, who excelled in theatrical portraiture, painted both of these. Another portrait by him shows the great actor as Lord Chalkstone.

The fine picture of Macbeth is highly interesting on account of Garrick’s costume. Though a stage reformer, he did not dare to discard old traditions of dress, and played the Highland thane in a long-skirted blue coat with crimson cuffs, and a full-bottomed wig of the Georgian period. Occasionally he acted Macbeth in the costume of a fashionable gentleman of the day—a suit of black silk, with silk stockings, and shoes, buckles at the knees and feet, a full-bottomed wig, and sword.

Benjamin West once asked Garrick why he adhered to this ridiculous usage, to which he replied that he was afraid of his audience, who would have thrown bottles at him if he had dared to change. John Philip Kemble, when stage-manager at Drury Lane, finally corrected the absurdities of stage costume, although Henderson appears to have preceded him in this respect. In Romney’s picture of Henderson as Macbeth, which is in the club, the chieftain appears as a medieval warrior wearing body armour, with arms and legs bare. In 1772 Macklin played Macbeth at Covent Garden in the dress of a Highlander, but, being a clumsy old man, he is said to have looked more like a Scotch piper than a warrior. Kemble, oddly enough, first played Othello in the full uniform of a British General—as Macbeth he wore a hearse-like plume in his bonnet; whilst Mrs. Crough, the singer, who played the First Witch, wore powdered hair and the fashionable costume of her day.

Garrick excelled in the art of facial expression. When he sat to Gainsborough, he paid, it is said, no fewer than sixteen visits to his studio, and on each occasion wrought a change in his features. At length the painter, declaring he could not paint a man with such a “Protean phiz,” threw down his brush in despair. Garrick sat to Hogarth as Fielding, after the novelist’s death, when the painter wished to paint a posthumous likeness of the great writer. Dressed in a suit of Fielding’s clothes, the actor cleverly assumed his features, look, and attitude. Small wonder that Johnson, when he heard that Garrick’s face was growing wrinkled, exclaimed: “And so it ought, for whose face has experienced so much wear and tear as his?”

At times this great actor would indulge in very unconventional behaviour. Acting in a tragedy in which a Mr. Thomas Hurst—who was a brandy-merchant—took a part, Garrick, conceiving Hurst too tame to support him, reproved him publicly on the stage. “Mr. Hurst,” said he, “if you will put MORE British spirit into your acting, and LESS in your brandy, you may send me two gallons to-morrow morning.” Whether the brandy-merchant was offended or not, history does not relate; but he took care to remember the order, which he sent the following day, writing at the bottom of the bill of parcels: “As per your order last night, on the stage of Drury Lane Theatre.”

Garrick once set up a man in a snuff-shop, and actually recommended his snuff, known as “No. 37,” from the stage, as a result of which the snuff-merchant realized an ample fortune.

Garrick, as is well known, was not devoid of vanity, and was at times fond of praising himself. During one evening at the Sublime Society, he remarked that so many manuscript plays were sent him to read, that in order to avoid losing them and hurting the feelings of the poor devils the authors, he made a point of ticketing and labelling the play that was to be returned, that it might be forthcoming at a moment’s notice. “A fig for your hypocrisy!” exclaimed Murphy across the table. “You know, Davy, you mislaid my tragedy two months ago, and I make no doubt you have lost it.” “Yes,” replied Garrick; “but you forget, you ungrateful dog, that I offered you more than its value, for you might have had two manuscript farces in its stead.”

Amongst the many fascinating actresses of other days who smile from the Garrick walls, some mention must be made of Mrs. Oldfield—Pope’s Narcissa. Mrs. Oldfield was supposed to be the daughter of a Captain Oldfield. Her early years were passed with an aunt, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St. James’s Market. At this resort she attracted attention for her recitation of one of Beaumont and Fletcher’s comedies, and Rich, the celebrated manager, gave her an engagement at Drury Lane. Starting at a small salary, she quickly rose to speaking parts, and soon became the leading lady on the stage of that day. She went to the theatre in a chair escorted by two footmen, and, seldom mixing with her fellow-actors, enjoyed a unique position in spite of a by no means severe morality. She had one son by Arthur Maynwaring, and afterwards lived under the protection of General Churchill, a brother of the great Duke of Marlborough. It is said that Queen Caroline remarked to her one day: “I hear that you and the General are married.” “Madam,” replied the actress discreetly, “the General keeps his own secrets.” Mrs. Oldfield’s children married well; her granddaughter became the wife of Lord Walpole of Wolterton, and was the direct ancestress of the present writer. The American novelist Mr. Winston Churchill is, I believe, a descendant of the sprightly actress.

From time to time the original collection at the Garrick Club has been largely increased, and some of the additions are notable. One of the most admirable modern portraits in the club now hangs over the morning-room mantelpiece. It represents the late Sir Henry Irving in morning dress, and was painted and presented by Sir John Millais. Another good portrait of the veteran Phelps as Cardinal Wolsey, in scarlet robes, is the work of that talented artist and actor—Mr. Forbes-Robertson. Mr. Henry Neville, who died but recently, was painted as Count Almaviva, by Mr. W. John Walton; and Sir Squire and Lady Bancroft are represented in marble statuettes, done by the late Prince Victor of Hohenlohe. A picture of Sir John Hare in one of his most successful creations—Benjamin Goldfinch in “A Pair of Spectacles”—has recently been added.

In the Garrick are preserved some small silver candlesticks, formed of little figures representing harlequins and the like. These were presented by the writer’s great-uncle, Edward Walpole, known as Adonis Walpole on account of his good looks. The rest of the set is in the possession of Lady Dorothy Nevill.

There have been many “characters” amongst Garrick members in former days, of whom, perhaps, the most original was Tom Hill, who was an authority upon most things—grave or gay.

Born in 1760 at Queenhithe, he became a dry-salter, but, having sustained financial losses in 1810, retired about that year to rooms in the Adelphi, where he lived comfortably enough. A great collector of books, chiefly old poetry, and theatrical relics, he was very well known in literary and stage circles.

Hill is said to have been the original of Paul Pry, but this is doubtful. The great joke in connection with him was his age. James Smith once said that it was impossible to discover his age, for the parish register had been burnt in the Fire of London; but Hook capped this: “Pooh, pooh!”—Tom’s habitual exclamation—“he’s one of the Little Hills that are spoken of as skipping in the Psalms.”

Till within three months of his death, Hill usually rose at five, took a walk to Billingsgate, and brought the materials for his breakfast home with him to the Adelphi. At dinner he would eat and drink like a subaltern of five-and-twenty, and one secret of his continued vitality was that a day of abstinence and repose uniformly followed a festivity. He then nursed himself most carefully on tea and dry toast, tasted neither meat nor wine, and went to bed by eight o’clock. But perhaps the grand secret was the easy, imperturbable serenity of his temper, which, when he died in 1841 at the age of eighty-one, enabled him to look twenty years younger. It was probably due to this fact, also, that his cheerfulness remained unimpaired, in spite of the comparative poverty of his later years.

Hill’s collection of old English poetry was dispersed in 1810, whilst other rarities and memorials which he had got together took Evans, of Pall Mall, a week to sell by auction. These included some very interesting autograph letters, and among the memorials were Garrick’s Shakespeare cup, a vase carved from the Bard’s mulberry-tree, and a block of wood from Pope’s willow at Twickenham.

The late sittings for which the Garrick was formerly renowned seem to have become more or less things of the past.

Supper at the Garrick some twenty-five years ago was, especially on certain nights, a regular institution. The late Sir Henry Irving and Mr. Toole were regular attendants, often sitting very late at the long table in the smaller dining-room, where the supper-table was regularly laid. Many of those who assembled round the festive board have now, like the before-mentioned theatrical stars, joined the great majority.

At that time, except for lunch, the Garrick Club was not, during the day, used by so many members as at present, nor was the club-house so comfortable or the pictures and relics displayed to such advantage. Those desirous of smoking were also hampered by restrictions, which have since been removed. As a result of the enlightened policy pursued in recent years, this club is now one of the most sociable and agreeable in London, whilst its membership is still largely composed of men well known in the literary and theatrical worlds.

The Arts Club, now in Dover Street, was formerly located at 17 Hanover Square. “Sweet Seventeen,” as it came to be called, was a fine old Georgian house, with marble mantelpieces and ceilings painted by Angelica Kauffmann. Some of the rooms were originally panelled, and the staircases were of old oak; but all these fine things are now dispersed, and the house has been pulled down. At the time when it was occupied by the Arts Club the walls were further adorned by pictures which were lent for exhibition, and which completed a tout ensemble of singular charm.

Another club of which much has been written is the Savage, started in 1855. This Bohemian institution has always had a number of celebrities on its list. In its early days the membership included George Cruikshank, J. L. Toole, Paul Bedford, Shirley Brooks, Dion Boucicault, and George Augustus Sala. Sala’s name appears in the first list, and he served on the first committee, but although he twice joined the club he was not a “Savage” when he died. Other notable members of those days were “Mike” Halliday, Arthur Sketchley, Sir Squire Bancroft, Sothern, Henry S. Leigh, “Tom” Robertson, Lord Dunraven (then Lord Adair), Joseph Hatton, Kendal, George Henty the war-correspondent (who won great fame as a writer of boys’ books), W. S. (now Sir William) Gilbert, and Arthur Sullivan the composer.

In connection with Bohemian clubs, some mention of the Players’ Club, at 16 Granmercy Park, New York, may not be out of place. The club in question was opened on the last night of 1888 by the late Mr. Edwin Booth, who, having purchased the building, remodelled and furnished it as a club-house, and presented the title-deed to the members as a free gift.

Membership of the Players’, like that of the Garrick, is not confined to actors alone. It also resembles the latter club in that it contains many prints and mementoes of great theatrical stars who have passed away, including a priceless collection of costumes and properties. The memory of Edwin Booth is commemorated firstly by the conservation, in an untouched condition, of the bedroom in which the last years of his life were passed; and secondly by the Booth library, containing a fine collection of volumes bequeathed to the club by the great actor.

The contents of Edwin Booth’s bedroom are kept exactly as in his lifetime, even to the last book he read, with a mark on the last page the great actor turned. A chair and skull used by him in “Hamlet” are also here.

On the last night of the old year, club custom at the Players’ ordains that about midnight a loving-cup should be passed round amongst members, in order that they may drink to the memory of the founder.

“Ladies’ day” is an annual festival of this club, held on Shakespeare’s birthday—April 23rd—on which date a number of ladies, either connected with or interested in the stage, are entertained.

This and “founders’ night” are the only two functions held, and consequently invitations are very highly prized. Each member is allowed but two cards of admission.

Another Bohemian New York club is the Lambs. The funds to pay off a mortgage of 36,000 dollars on the club-house in West Thirty-sixth Street were raised in a highly characteristic manner. For the space of one week a company consisting entirely of stars—actors, musicians, and authors—formed themselves into a minstrel troupe and toured through eight cities, with the result that they made 67,000 dollars. Each member of this troupe on its dispersal received one dollar as a souvenir of his services.

The present club-house of the Lambs, at West Forty-fourth Street, cost no less than 300,000 dollars. It is a most luxurious building furnished with every modern convenience, and contains a theatre where the Lambs hold their famous Gambols, and where plays never performed elsewhere are played. Besides their private Gambols, the Lambs give an annual public Gambol at a New York Theatre, to see which the public can obtain tickets through members.

The Lambs are exceedingly charitable to any of their number who may be overwhelmed by misfortune or sickness, and, indeed, membership of the club has been said to constitute an insurance against adversity. Many a stricken actor has had reason to bless the club, which on one occasion, through a benefit performance organized in conjunction with the players, obtained a comfortable annuity for an actor who had been seized by an incurable malady.

Whilst hardly a club in the sense now usually understood, the Jockey Club possesses rooms at Newmarket, and a number of sporting prints are to be seen here. The most interesting relic in the possession of the club, however, is a hoof of Eclipse, formed into an inkstand. On the front are the royal arms in gold in high relief, and on the pedestal is the following inscription: “This piece of plate, with the hoof of Eclipse, was presented by His Most Gracious Majesty William the Fourth to the Jockey Club, May 1832.” This hoof was originally given as a prize in a Challenge race (rather like “The Whip”) run on Ascot Thursday. The King gave an additional £200, and there was a £100 sweepstake between members of the Jockey Club. It was run for soon after it was presented, in the year of the great Reform Bill, on the same afternoon that Camarine and Rowton ran a dead-heat for the Gold Cup, and over the same course. One subscriber scratched, and, of the other two, Lord Chesterfield, with the famous Priam (Conolly up), beat General Grosvenor and Sarpedon, ridden by John Day. In 1834 Lord Chesterfield won again with Glaucus (Bill Scott up), beating Gallopade, who had won for Mr. Cosby the year before. Twelve months later the hoof was challenged for by Mr. Batson, but there was no reply. It is much to be regretted that no sporting event is now connected with this historic hoof. Considering how small an interest the contests for the Whip have excited of late years, there is little likelihood of this relic being again run for on Newmarket Heath.

Eclipse is closely connected with the history of the Jockey Club. This race-horse of historic memory lived for twenty-five years, and the years in question just coincided with the period during which the Jockey Club grew into a powerful body. It was also the time of the foundation of the Derby, the Oaks, and the St. Leger. Then it was that the Jockey Club first began to be quoted as a real and powerful authority, and when its rulings were first accepted by racing men. The sentence of “warning off,” originally established by precedent, was legally recognized in 1827, when, in the case of the Duke of Portland v. Hawkins, a man to whom the Jockey Club objected was successfully proceeded against for trespass on the freehold property of the club.

Although the memory of Eclipse is intimately connected with the history of the Jockey Club, it is a rather remarkable thing that his owner never succeeded in obtaining admittance to that exclusive circle. Colonel O’Kelly’s one great grievance, which led him persistently to denounce the Jockey Club, was the stubborn refusal of the members to elect him.

On one occasion, when Colonel O’Kelly was making a contract with a jockey, he stipulated as a special condition that he should never ride for any of the black-legged fraternity. The consenting jockey saying “he was at a loss to know who the Captain meant by the black-legged fraternity,” he instantly replied, with his usual energy: “Oh, ——, my dear, and I’ll soon make you understand who I mean by the black-legged fraternity! There’s the Duke of Grafton, the Duke of Dorset,” etc., naming the principal members of the Jockey Club, “and all the set of thaves that belong to the humbug societies and bugaboo clubs, where they can meet and rob one another without fear of detection.”

Though old O’Kelly was never admitted, his nephew Andrew became a member soon after his uncle’s death.

The Jockey Club appears to have been founded about 1752. The first public mention of the new association—which is to be found in Mr. John Pond’s “Sporting Kalendar”—evidently assumes the familiarity of his readers with the club; for it makes the simple announcement for 1752 of “a contribution free plate by horses the property of noblemen and gentlemen belonging to the Jockey Club,” and by the May meeting of 1753 two “Jockey Club Plates” were being regularly run for. The list of members as shown by these and similar races run for between this year and 1773, and the date when the “Racing Calendar” was first produced by James Weatherby, “Keeper of the Matchbook,” indicate very clearly what were the objects of a club the origin and early history of which are wrapped in considerable obscurity.

Another very exclusive institution is the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes, which was originally founded by a number of noblemen and gentlemen (as the old-world phrasing ran) desirous to promote the science of marine architecture and the naval power of the kingdom. Prize cups were frequently given to be sailed for, not only by their own vessels, but by those of other clubs; the pilot and fishing vessels of the Island were not forgotten; and liberality and national utility were the main objects of the club. The result of all this was that great improvement in the construction of ships was absolutely forced upon the Government of that day.

On June 1, 1815, a body of gentlemen met at the Thatched House Tavern in St. James’s Street, under the presidency of Lord Grantham, and decided to form a club which should consist only of men who were interested in the sailing of yachts in salt water. These gentlemen nominated themselves with others to the number of forty-two to form a list which should constitute the original members of the club, decided upon a small subscription, and drew up a few simple rules to govern their newly-formed yacht club.

The original idea of the club would seem to have been merely an association of those yacht-owners who frequented Cowes during the summer, and it was to be maintained by a couple of annual meetings—one in the spring at the Thatched House, the other at a dinner at the hotel at East Cowes. There was at first no club-house, and the subscription was only two guineas. The qualification for any future candidate was the possession of a yacht of a certain tonnage, the payment of an entrance fee of three guineas, and the occupation of such a social position as should commend him to the members of the club, who would consider the matter at a general meeting.

The original title was the Yacht Club, and the rules relating to yachting were few and simple. Every member, upon payment of his three guineas to the secretary and treasurer, was entitled to two copies of the signal-book, “and will be expected to provide himself with a set of flags according to the regulations contained therein.” That same signal-book was the subject of a great deal of anxious consideration during the next few years. The club paid Mr. Finlaison £45 for printing the first copies, which they soon found to be based upon a wrong system, and appointed a committee to consider the matter, who called in “the well-known skill and experience of Sir Home Popham, K.C.B.,” to assist them in devising a new set. A few years later these also were found wanting “as clumsy and inconvenient,” by reason of the number of flags employed, when the Yacht Club adopted the code “composed by Mr. Brownrigg, midshipman of H.M.S. Glasgow, it being thought that two flags, two pennants, and an ensign are all that can be required.”

Members were requested to register the name, rig, tonnage, and port of registry, of their vessels with the secretary, and the club adopted as a distinguishing ensign “a white flag with the Union in the corner, with a plain white burgee at the masthead.”

Lord Uxbridge, afterwards the first Marquis of Anglesey, of Waterloo fame, was one of the original founders of the club. He was very proud of the whiteness of the decks of his famous cutter, the Pearl, and when he gave a passage to Lord Adolphus FitzClarence, who wore carefully varnished boots which left marks on the deck after a shower, he told off one of his hands to follow the offender with a swab and remove the mark of each footstep.

The first Commodore of the club was the Hon. Charles Pelham, so popular in later years as Lord Yarborough, and as the owner of the two famous yachts called the Falcon. Lord Yarborough’s memory was so revered among his club-mates that when his son came up for election, nearly half a century later, all the formalities of the ballot were dispensed with, and he was elected with acclamation.

Another original member was Lord FitzHarris, and his official yacht, the Medina, of eighty tons, was always to be seen at the earlier functions of the club. “She was the connecting link,” wrote his son, “between the ships painted by Van de Velde and those which preceded ironclads. She was built in William the Third’s reign, and her sides were elaborately gilded. She was highest by the stern, with such a deep waist forward as to endanger her going down head foremost if she shipped a heavy sea. She had very little beam, and her complement consisted of Captain Love, R.N., the master, and twelve men.”

Sir William Curtis, the founder of the present banking house of Robarts, Lubbock and Co., was another member. The Prince Regent often stayed with him upon his luxurious yacht, the Emma Maria. Sir William was an amiable and charitable man, of whom many amusing stories were told. He went with George IV to Scotland in 1822, and appeared in complete Highland costume at Holyrood, even down to the knife stuck in his stocking. The King himself appeared in a kilt, and, it was said, was much chagrined to find Curtis the only man in the room similarly clad. The Baronet, on the other hand, was flattered to think that he alone shared the Highland costume with His Majesty, and asked King George if he did not think him well dressed. “Yes,” replied that monarch, “only you have no spoon in your hose.”

In 1821 the Yacht Club, for some obscure reason, changed the original white ensign and jack with a white burgee to a red ensign and burgee. In 1824 they added the letters R.Y.C. and a crown and foul anchor to the burgee; in 1826 they changed the ensign to a jack with a white border, without any explanation being recorded in the minutes.

In 1824 the club began to feel the want of a meeting-place at Cowes, and a year later the Gloucester Hotel became its first habitation. To meet the increased expenses resulting from the change, we may note that the annual subscription was raised in the year of removal successively to £5 and to £8, the entrance fee to £10, and the tonnage qualification for the boats of new members was raised from 20 to 30 tons.

After the vacation of Cowes Castle by Lord Anglesey, the Governor, the Squadron acquired the old building, and, after a good deal of money had been expended in alterations, the club took up its abode there in 1858. Then began a new era in its history, and, owing to the interest taken by the then Prince of Wales, its importance as an exclusive social institution greatly increased.

One of the most pleasant rooms in the present well-appointed club-house is the library, over which the late Mr. Montagu Guest used to preside. The collection of books here dates from 1835, when members were first invited to increase the number of volumes owned by the club either by donations of money or gifts of books.

In the castle hang a number of pictures connected with the history of the club. These include portraits of Lord Yarborough, the Earl of Wilton, and other notabilities connected with the past history of the Squadron. As a club-house, the old castle is one of the pleasantest in the world. It is an ideal retreat for members tired of town, for whose use a number of excellent bedrooms are provided. The Royal Yacht Squadron is singularly fortunate in its secretary, a retired naval officer of much urbanity and tactful charm.

The Royal Yacht Club, as it was called in the early days of its existence, did much to improve naval architecture, and was without doubt of considerable national utility.

Lord Yarborough’s Falcon was a very fine vessel, as was the Duke of Norfolk’s 210-ton cutter Arundel, which was said to be one of the finest and fastest of its kind in the world. Lord Belfast quite put the naval authorities to shame with his brig, the Water Witch. Taking the given length of the worst and most despised class of vessels in King William IV’s navy—that called the “ten-gun brig”—he declared that he would construct a brig that should not only be superior for the purposes of war, but should actually be made to outsail any vessel in the royal navy—rather a bold declaration this, it must be acknowledged, more particularly as two vessels built upon an improved and scientific plan were to be opposed to him. To work, however, his lordship went, and the product of his labours was the celebrated Water Witch, built for him by Mr. Joseph White, of East Cowes, on the model of his former yachts, the Harriet, ThÉrÈse, and Louisa, and precisely the length of the ten-gun brig, which, though incapable of either fighting or running, was, unfortunately, quite capable of going to the bottom.

Lord Yarborough enforced naval discipline on board the Falcon, the crew of which were paid extra wages on condition that they submitted to the usual rules in force on British vessels of war. These included flogging under certain circumstances, and it is said that, in consideration of the additional sum paid by Lord Yarborough, some of the crew cheerfully submitted to the occasional application of the cat-o’-nine-tails.

Indeed, before the Falcon left Plymouth Sound for a cruise, all hands cordially signed a paper setting forth the usefulness of a sound flogging in cases of extremity, and their perfect willingness to undergo the experiment whenever it was deemed necessary for the preservation of good order.

In the early days of the club only two instances of blackballing seem to have occurred. One was in the person of a noble Duke who had been scratched off the list on account of not paying his annual subscription, who, when he sought re-election, was excluded as a matter of course. The other individual was the owner of a yacht like a river barge, with a flat bottom, and he was rejected more in joke than otherwise, it being reported that his yacht was two months on her voyage from the Thames to Cowes, and that, moreover, the bulkhead and chimney in the cabin were of brick!

The candidates of that day, as may be judged from their almost invariable success in the ballot, were generally of a highly acceptable description. The same, perhaps, can hardly be said of some in recent years, when, in accordance with the spirit of the age, certain individuals, whose only claim to social consideration lay in their wealth, have made attempts to force the Squadron portals.

One of these received what was perhaps the most severe rebuff ever sustained by a candidate, in the shape of no fewer than seventy-eight black balls, which figure, it was said, would have been increased to eighty had his proposer and seconder attended the election. It should be added that the name of the candidate in question had been submitted for election at the instigation of a highly important personage whose suggestions it was impossible to ignore.

A prominent figure at the Squadron from about 1834 to 1882 was the late Mr. George Bentinck, well known as Big Ben. Mr. Bentinck was very bluff and outspoken, and when in Parliament he once administered a violent lecture to both front benches, shaking his finger at the distinguished offenders who sat on both, and saying: “You know you have all ratted; the only difference between you is that some of you have ratted twice.”

He was no fair-weather yachtsman, and had the greatest contempt for people who did not live on board their vessels, who employed captains or sailing-masters, and who confined their yachting to the safe waters of the Solent. He had no notion, as he said, of a Cowes captain who always wanted to be ashore with his wife, so he commanded his own ships with the strictest discipline, and with the thorough respect of his crew. When in harbour, his first officer always knocked at his cabin door and reported eight bells. “Are the boats up?” was Mr. Bentinck’s inquiry. “Yes, sir.” “Very well, make it so;” and after that hour there was no going ashore for anybody. He was always delighted to take friends on a sea-voyage, but could never be induced to give any particulars as to where bound or the probable length of the cruise, and very much resented an inquiry on either point. People, accordingly, who accompanied him always settled their affairs for a reasonable period, not knowing when they would return. One of Mr. Bentinck’s trips from Cowes to Gibraltar took forty-two days owing to bad weather, and on another voyage he declared that his yacht, the Dream, once shipped twenty tons of water in the Baltic. A somewhat unflattering caricature of Mr. Bentinck is preserved in the club-house at Cowes.

Another well-known member of the Squadron was Lord Cardigan, of Balaclava fame, who exhibited considerable eccentricity as a yachtsman. Whilst out sailing one day, his skipper said: “Will you take the helm, my lord?” “No, thank you,” was the reply; “I never take anything between meals.” Lord Cardigan was certainly not much of a sailor, and, according to tradition, was accustomed to appear in a costume which included military spurs. He was also, according to all accounts, a man of somewhat unconciliatory temper, thoroughly imbued with a high sense of the importance of his great social position. He was born in the closing years of the eighteenth century, and was at strife with most of his acquaintance throughout his career of seventy-one years. He was very late in choosing the army as a profession, as he entered the service in 1824, at the age of twenty-seven, and by 1830 was a Lieutenant-Colonel, promotion being easy for a rich nobleman in the days of purchase.

Whilst the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes occupies a unique position as the chief yachting club and authority in the United Kingdom, it cannot boast a history dating back as far as an Irish yacht club—the “Royal Cork”—which traces its origin from a very ancient yachting club existing at Cork as far back as 1720. This would seem to have been a highly convivial institution, for one of the rules ran: “Resolved that no admiral do bring more than two dozen of wine to his treat, for it has always been deemed a breach of the ancient rules and constitution of the club, except when my lords the judges are invited.”

At that date the rules and constitutions were described as being ancient, and some of the customs connected with the club (curious records of which are in the possession of the Royal Cork Yacht Club) were picturesque and curious.

Once a year the “Water Club” took part in a ceremony, something like that performed by the Doge of Venice, when he was wedded to the Adriatic. A contemporary writer thus describes this function: “A set of worthy gentlemen, who have formed themselves into a body which they call the ‘Water Club,’ proceed a few leagues out to sea once a year in a number of small vessels, which for painting and gilding exceed the King’s yacht at Greenwich and Deptford. Their admiral, who is elected annually, and hoists his flag on board his little vessel, leads the van and receives the honours of the flag. The rest of the fleet fall in their proper stations, and keep their line in the same manner as the King’s ships. This fleet is attended with a prodigious number of boats with their colours flying, drums beating, and trumpets sounding, which forms one of the most agreeable and splendid sights your lordship can conceive.”

The rules of this club dealt largely with conviviality. Rule XIV, for instance, laid down “that such members of the club as talk of sailing after dinner be fined a bumper.”

In 1737 it was ordered “that for the future, unless the company exceed the number of fifteen, no man be allowed more than one bottle to his share and a peremptory.”

The Royal Thames Yacht Club springs from the Cumberland Society which was formed of members who had sailed for the Duke of Cumberland’s Cup. His Grace himself was wont to present this cup to the winner at a function of considerable solemnity. The boats of the society were all anchored in line, flying the white flag with the St. George’s cross. The captains waited in skiffs, and only boarded their boats when the Duke appeared in his gilded barge and proceeded to the boat of the Commodore of the fleet. The victorious captain was then summoned to that vessel and introduced to the Duke, who filled the cup with claret and drank the health of the winner, to whom he thereupon presented the cup. The winner then pledged the health of His Royal Highness and his Duchess, and the whole squadron sailed to Mr. Smith’s tea-gardens at the Surrey end of Vauxhall Bridge, then a pleasant rural spot.

The owner of the gardens in question, Mr. Smith, seems to have held the post of Commodore in the society during the first five years of its incorporation, and a year or two later his establishment took the name of the society’s patron, and was thenceforward known as Cumberland Gardens.

It was the rule, after the annual dinner, for members to adjourn to Vauxhall, close by, where they finished a jovial evening.

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At the present day there exist a multitude of other clubs, but scarcely any of them come within the scope of this volume—which the writer hopes may prove not unwelcome both as a record of interesting club possessions and as a modest contribution to the history of English social life.