Chapter II: Gunroom Life in the 'seventies (1)

During my school days, owing, I suppose, to my thorough dislike of the whole process of education, I made up my mind to go into the Navy if I could get the necessary permission from my father, so as to escape from school once and for all. I am afraid that I had not reckoned on the amount of elementary mathematics, which I detested even more than Latin grammar, that was to be forced into me during the fifteen months' training in the _Britannia_. Anyhow it was decreed that the Navy should be my profession, and I was taken down to Portsmouth in the summer of 1869 to try to pass the examination for candidates for Naval Cadetships, the necessary nomination having been procured through the kindness of a cousin of my mother, then Captain Beauchamp Seymour, Naval Private Secretary to the First Lord of the Admiralty of that day, who subsequently became Admiral Lord Alcester, of whom more anon.

Naturally, every candidate was submitted to a medical examination which took place at Haslar Hospital. In those days Army and Navy Surgeons had not developed into lace-clad Generals and Inspector-Generals. (Incidentally I can never understand why a man who is by profession a doctor or surgeon should want to call himself a colonel. To my mind a captain in the Navy might just as logically call himself a dean, or a commander-in-chief an archbishop!) The Superintendent of Haslar was a Post-Captain, Wodehouse by name. He had lately returned from commanding a line-of-battleship in the Mediterranean, Admiral Sir Robert Smart being his Commander-in-Chief at that time. It was always spread abroad that Captain Wodehouse was on extremely bad terms with Bobby Smart, which was the pet name of his Commander-in-Chief, but, on the other hand, his great friend on the Station was the French Commander-in-Chief, who in those days was very apt to be at Malta with his squadron, as the _entente_ which existed during the Crimean Campaign was still kept going during the late 'sixties. As may be imagined, he did not have many opportunities of getting even with his Chief, but on one occasion he may be said to have had the best of it. His vessel was leaving Malta for England and was moving majestically out of the Grand Harbour, Valetta, with the band on the poop and all the usual pomp and circumstance. Wodehouse knew that the French Admiral was on board the English flagship, so as a parting shot, as he passed under the flagship's stern, the band was ordered to play, "Robert, toi que j'aime." This affecting farewell was a delight to the Frenchman, who could not resist telling Smart how fond he was of "ce cher Wodehouse qui avait tant d'esprit."

I succeeded in passing my examinations, both medical and scholastic, all right, and after a few weeks' suspense I was informed by the Admiralty that I was to join the _Britannia_ at Dartmouth in September. That training-ship has so often been described that I do not think it necessary to say much about it; but a few words may be written about the impressions that my first introduction to the Navy conveyed to my youthful mind. The Captain of the _Britannia_ was at that time Captain Corbett, a very distinguished officer, and, to the cadets, an awe-inspiring figure when he inspected our ranks on Sundays with his ribbon of the C.B. (a really prized distinction in days when orders and ribbons were very sparsely bestowed), and the sash over his shoulder that was then worn by the Naval Aide-de-Camp to the Sovereign. The fashion in hair at that time was very different from the present Navy fashion, when everyone is either bearded or clean-shaven. In 1869, just before Mr. Childers allowed beards to be grown, every officer and man had to shave his upper lip and chin, the result being that the young bloods of the quarter and lower decks delighted in appearing in long Dundreary whiskers.

The _Britannia_ was a good school in its way, for the amount of hard knowledge in the shape of the elements of navigation and mathematics that we were made to absorb in twelve months was rather remarkable; but the old hulk was not particularly sanitary, and we were shamefully underfed, considering the amount of school work and drill that we had to do. During my year there I personally lost a good deal of time owing to a simultaneous outbreak of smallpox and scarlatina that occurred in 1870. I was unfortunate enough to develop the scarlatina and was at once put behind a canvas screen, which was supposed to separate me from my fellow-cadets, whilst waiting for the boat to take me ashore to the sick quarters. Unfortunately for me, another cadet was attacked with smallpox that same morning; so, to save trouble, we two wretched boys were coupled together behind the same screen, for, as the doctor sagely remarked, it was very uncommon for anybody to have smallpox and scarlatina at the same time. I, unfortunately, thanks to his speculative philosophy, succeeded in getting both, with the result that I was extremely ill, and was put considerably back with my studies.

There is no period of my life that I look back upon with less pleasure than I do to the time I spent in the _Britannia_. Whilst admitting that the instruction was good--indeed very good--it was rather overdone considering the average age of the boys--between thirteen and fifteen--and, as I have already said, the food was disgracefully bad and scanty. To show how hungry we were, it became a regular practice of the cadets when passing a bluejacket to drop a handkerchief with sixpence knotted into the corner, the handkerchief being surreptitiously returned in the course of a few minutes with bits of ship's biscuit wrapped up in it instead of the sixpence. I think that all of us--and by all of us I mean the fifty cadets who had joined together in the autumn of 1869--were rejoiced when our release came in December 1870. I was fortunate enough to take a first-class, which meant that I was raised to the dignity of a midshipman at once instead of having to wait for three, six or nine months, according to the class taken on passing out. I may as well confess that, as a matter of fact, I was first of the whole term, and was probably conceited and odious on the strength of it. The conceit only lasted till I joined a sea-going ship, where, naturally, no one cared a straw whether a midshipman was first or last when he left the _Britannia_; and as I had acquired a certain amount of philosophy, even at that early age, it was brought home to me that the only individual who benefited in the least by my exploits was my father, for the grateful country bestowed a regulation dirk and a spy-glass upon me as prizes, both of which necessaries would otherwise have been supplied by an outfitter and paid for by my parent.

And now to mention some of my contemporaries who have arrived at distinction. A good many of the survivors I still meet from time to time, and they include Admiral Sir Berkeley Milne, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Hedworth Meux, and that really authentic specimen of the "bravest of the brave," Admiral Sir James Startin. Jimmy Startin, from his youth up, was one of those very rare and fortunate individuals who have absolutely no sense or knowledge of fear. He has distinguished himself by his splendid personal bravery a hundred times, but perhaps never more so than when, as a man of over sixty years of age and Commodore of a squadron of patrol vessels, he boarded a burning patrol vessel that was in momentary danger of blowing up and attempted to rescue the engineer of that vessel. For this gallant exploit he was decorated by the King with the Albert Medal, and I cannot do better than quote the official account which appeared in the _London Gazette_:--

"_Gazette_, 20th August, 1918:--

"ADMIRAL SIR JAMES STARTIN, K.C.B.

"An explosion occurred on board H.M. Motor-launch 64 on the
10th June, 1918. Immediately after the explosion Commodore
Startin proceeded alongside Motor-launch 64, the engine-room
of which was still burning fiercely. On learning that the
engineer was below he sprang down the hatch without the
slightest hesitation and succeeded in recovering the body
practically unaided. In view of the fact that the bulkhead
between the engine-room and the forward tanks had been blown
down by the force of the explosion, and that the fire was
blazing upon the side and on the top of the forward tanks,
which are composed of extremely thin metal, and consequently
were liable to burst at any moment, the action of Commodore
Startin in entering the engine-room before the fire was
subdued showed the utmost possible gallantry and disregard
of personal safety. Had the engineer not been past human aid
he would undoubtedly have owed his life to the courage and
promptitude of Commodore Startin."

Of course there were several others who arrived at the rank of Admiral, and amongst them may be mentioned a very dear old friend, the late Sir Frederick Hamilton, who, after serving as Second Sea Lord and as Commander-in-Chief at Rosyth during the War, practically succumbed as the result of a long period of overwork.

After the labours of the _Britannia_ a fairly long holiday was very pleasant, and my first appointment after a Christmas spent at home, was to the guardship, H.M.S. _Duke of Wellington_, at Portsmouth, whilst waiting to be appointed to a sea-going ship. Anything worse for the morals and discipline of a number of lads of our age than life aboard the guardships of those days, it is hard to imagine. We were nearly a hundred in the mess. In the gunroom there were a certain number of sub-lieutenants and assistant paymasters who were actually serving in the ship for various duties and were known as "standing numbers." The steward treated them on a sort of favoured nation basis, supplying them with all the best of the food at minimum prices, wisely making a large profit out of the supernumeraries like ourselves, who, being there for only a short time--anything from a few days to a few months--were obviously sent there by Providence and the Admiralty for that particular object. There was one very remarkable specimen of a "standing number" of a gunroom mess in the guardship at that time. He was an elderly, white-haired gentleman of about fifty years of age--a man of fifty is certainly elderly for a gunroom. His rank was that of Acting Navigating Sub-Lieutenant. He had passed his preliminary examination for Master's Mate, as they were then called, some thirty years before, had never presented himself for the final examination--which, successfully passed, would have confirmed him in his rank--and so an acting master's mate or sub-lieutenant he had remained ever since.

The _Duke of Wellington_ period lasted only a very few weeks, but long enough to earn me my first certificate from my first captain afloat, Captain the Hon. Richard Carr Glyn, then Flag-Captain to the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, and who subsequently commanded the _Serapis_ on the occasion of the late King Edward's visit to India when Prince of Wales. The certificate I allude to was bestowed on all officers by all the captains under whom they served, whether for days or years, and to my mind was couched in the most insulting terms. I suspect it to have been composed by some more than usually red-tapeist specimen of an Admiralty clerk in the early part of the Victorian period. It ordained that whatever else the captain liked to say about an officer he had to testify in writing to his sobriety. I remember, years afterwards, when I had arrived at a rank that made it my province to give, instead of to receive, these benefits, the joy with which I destroyed some dozens of them testifying to my sobriety over a period of some thirty years. I wonder if they still exist! The permanent officials and civilian clerks at the Admiralty are not fond of change, unless it takes the shape of an increase to their own pay, and, human nature being usually much alike, were I one of them I should probably take exactly the same view as they do.

In the spring of 1871, when I first went to sea, the Admiralty had instituted a system of sea-going training-ships, which was abandoned a few years later and revived, I believe, shortly before the War in a new scheme of education which was devised by Lord Fisher as First Sea Lord. I could never understand why the Admiralty ever did away with it, for, in my opinion, it worked excellently well, and to modernise it and bring it up to the present date it was only necessary to divert the time and instruction that used to be devoted to masts and sails to marine engineering, wireless telegraphy and torpedo work. However, this dissertation has nothing to do with my reminiscences, so I must return to my story.

The whole of my "term" in the _Britannia_, still some fifty strong, was appointed to H.M.S. _Bristol_, a frigate of between 2000 and 3000 tons that had done duty as flagship at the Cape of Good Hope Station. Our Captain, the Hon. Walter Carpenter, was thus able to take up his abode in the quarters designed for an admiral, under the poop, the ordinary captain's quarters being turned into a mess-room and school-room for the young gentlemen under training. The ship had her usual complement of officers and men, and carried, in addition, an extra lieutenant, sub-lieutenant and assistant paymaster, and two naval instructors for special duties connected with the cadets. Practically the onus of directing our training fell upon one man, Lieutenant Day Hort Bosanquet, who, many years afterwards, I knew as Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth. Certainly, it could not have fallen into better hands. He was a thoroughly good fellow and a gentleman, to begin with, and a first-rate seaman and disciplinarian to go on with, and though he kept us all in terrific order he was none the less very popular.

We were worked hard; but anything was preferable to our late home, the _Britannia_. The routine was somewhat as follows:--We were turned out of our hammocks just after 6 a.m. Then came gun drill, rifle-drill or sail-drill on alternate mornings; breakfast at 8 a.m.; after breakfast we were inspected, and after prayers at 9 a.m. we were put into the hands of the naval instructors till dinner time at noon. At 1.15 more school or drill of some sort, and about 5 p.m. the ship's company would be at sail-drill for the best part of an hour, and we shared in their exercises of shifting sails, masts, reefing topsails, and all the manœuvres that were dear to the smart naval officer of that day. In a very short time we had complete charge of the mizzen masts and drilled against the men at the fore and main. After evening drill was over we were left in peace except for about an hour's preparation work for the next day's studies. On alternate weeks we kept regular night and day watch under the officers of the ship, and though it was a sad struggle to turn out of one's hammock, at midnight after a long day, to keep the middle watch, the discomfort and want of sleep so necessary for a young growing boy was almost made up for, when the weather was fine and warm, by the beauty of those tropical nights when the ship was bowling along under easy sail running down the trades. All our passages were made under sail, for the steam engine in those days was very rarely requisitioned unless the ship was becalmed for a very long time or was entering or leaving a port, to sail in and out of which was impossible. In those days, I regret to have to say, gunnery in the Navy was terribly neglected, principally on account of the craze which existed for smartness aloft. And there was considerable excuse for it, for the upper yardmen of that time were, to my mind, the finest specimens of humanity I have ever met. From constantly running the rigging at top speed, they were in the highest state of training; they were as active as cats and as brave as lions; for, if once a man showed, when aloft, the smallest desire to hold on with one hand and work with the other, instead of chancing everything and working with both, he was useless as an upper yardman, and was at once relegated to safer and less ambitious duties. And so the tradition went on and descended to us. The only quality we really admired in our superior officers was their seamanship. Anything in the shape of science was a bore, and the only part of the gun-drill that interested us was the part that resembled seamanship; the shifting of tackles and breeching, and transporting the 64-pounders which formed our armament to a different position, the whole business of the gun in those days having to be done by quoins, handspikes and tackle. When it came to gun practice, which consisted in firing at a cask with a small flagstaff bobbing about in the sea, the one object was to get it over as soon as possible, as it was looked upon as distinctly uninteresting. Notwithstanding this defect, I still think that, in those days, the sea-going training did us boys a great deal of good. Amongst other advantages, when visiting foreign ports we were made to go and see the principal sights whether we liked it or not. Probably famous cathedrals, world-famous panoramic views, and such like, did not appeal to many of us, and we would far sooner have been left to our own resources; but in after life I have become grateful to those who first introduced me to some of the wonders of the world.

The _Bristol_ sailed away from Portsmouth in February 1871 on an eminently fine-weather cruise, most suitable for the raw material on board her. There is always some sort of a swell when crossing the Bay, and the new hands were nearly all sea-sick. As for myself, I am proud to say that I was one of the exceptions; this immunity was due, I suppose, to the previous voyage that I had made on a sailing ship to Madeira some dozen years before. Madeira, as a matter of fact, was our first port of call, and it was interesting to me to see how much I could remember of that lovely island. A very few days after we were rolling along in the trades on our way to Rio de Janeiro. At Rio a long stay was made, for the ship required a certain amount of refitting after nearly a month at sea under sail, and leave had to be given to the men. The cadets were taken in a body to Petropolis, a lovely place up in the hills which was the summer residence of the Court and the Corps Diplomatique. The beauty of Rio has been so often described by far abler pens than mine that I refrain from giving any childish impressions of it; but what we enjoyed most, I well remember, was the drive back from Petropolis in large coaches with four horses, the one I was in being actually driven by an old Yorkshire stage-coachman, who had found his way out to Brazil.

The only very distinct memory I have of the actual town of Rio of those days (I am glad to say I have revisited it since) was the peculiarity of the currency. In 1871 a tramway ticket for an ordinary length of fare was equivalent to sevenpence, English. For this same ticket, anything of a similar value from a hair-cut to a cocktail could be purchased, and with a pocket full of tickets a great deal of purchasing could be done. It was like shopping in a small provincial town with a pocket full of sixpences. After leaving Rio, the _Bristol_ stood down to the southward and presently picked up the "Roaring Forties," as the strong prevailing westerly winds which are found about 40º south of the equatorial line are called, and stood across to the Cape of Good Hope, our next port of call. Next to fishing for albatross, with a bit of meat on the end of a hook and a long fishing line,--a sport which was occasionally successful,--the greatest excitement was when, as midshipman of the watch, it came to one's turn to heave the log, for, with half a gale behind, the old ship was really travelling, and our great ambition was to be able to chronicle an actual run of 50 nautical miles in the watch. A steady 12-1/2 knots for four hours consecutively was not so very easily accomplished, and did not happen very often. It has to be confessed that the _Bristol_ was not a very fast frigate, and compared very badly as a sailer with my next two ships of the same class.

Well, we finally arrived at Simon's Bay, and once more leave and refitting took place, and there I certainly spent some of the happiest days of my early youth, thanks to the hospitality of an acquaintance who had a large farm in the neighbourhood of Constantia, about half-way between Simon's Bay and Cape Town. This kind man, Watermeyer by name, had married a daughter of the Rector of Filleigh, the village of Castle Hill, and hearing that I was on board, asked permission to take me and a friend away for a week to stay with him. My friend on this occasion was another cadet of the same standing who was also a cousin, Francis Stuart Wortley, the present Lord Wharncliffe. Leave having been granted, we were driven off in glory in Mr. Watermeyer's Cape cart, and after a drive of some fifteen miles, principally along the coast, we arrived at our destination. It was one of those typically Dutch houses, with a stoop or verandah all round, so well suited to the fierce heat of that delightful climate. Our hostess was delighted to meet old and new friends and made us most welcome, and later on, when the time came to go to bed, it was a pleasure to sleep in a good English bed again, in a room all to oneself, after being accustomed to have one's worldly surroundings limited to a sea-chest and a hammock. And what a pleasant country it was! We used to ride for miles over the flats, which would have made an ideal hunting country, except for the absence of fences, and were shown the various business establishments in the neighbourhood. These were principally connected with the wine-making trade, for vines flourished exceedingly in that part of the Colony, and wine-making was a very thriving industry.

The world is very small and very round. Nearly forty years later, during the South African War, it was my fate to meet my old friend's son, then attached to Lord Robert's Staff as Colonial Aide-de-Camp, I being Naval Aide-de-Camp to his Lordship at the time.

After a delightful week of freedom, we were back on board again, and now our bows were turned for home. St. Helena, Ascension, Madeira, and Gibraltar, were visited in succession, and we finally anchored at Spithead after an excellent cruise.

The Admiralty had meanwhile decided that our time in training was to be extended, and as the _Bristol_ was about done for, we cadets--who, by the way, were by this time nearly all midshipmen, were turned over to the _Ariadne_, a larger and far more beautiful vessel than our late one. The _Ariadne_ was one of the crack frigates of her time. She sailed very well and had been selected for the use of the Prince and Princess of Wales in the spring of 1867, when their Royal Highnesses made their Eastern trip to Egypt, Turkey, the Crimea, and Greece.

By this time the season of Christmas was close by. We were all given leave for Christmas, and early in the New Year joined the _Ariadne_. Our next destination was the Mediterranean, and, timed to arrive at Malta, as we were, in the early spring, as far as climate and surroundings were concerned, nothing could be pleasanter. Our first passage from Portsmouth to Gibraltar was marred by a very bad boat accident. We were crossing the Bay heading for Finisterre, running before a strong breeze and rather a tumbling sea, when, unfortunately, a man fell overboard. A life-buoy was let go, and the ship was at once brought to the wind and hove-to; but she was a very long ship for those days, and by the time she was hove-to the man was some way off. The life-boat cutter was lowered and pulled off in the direction of the life-buoy. Unfortunately, the breeze was freshening, and the sea was becoming heavier every minute, the situation thus becoming unpleasant. Meanwhile, the boat's crew having ascertained that the man was no longer hanging on to the buoy--he had let go, doubtless, from exhaustion--tried to turn round and return to the ship. In turning, always a very dangerous manœuvre in a bad sea, she broached-to and was swamped. Another boat was immediately manned, but owing to the heavy rolling of the ship she swamped alongside, and there we were with about five-and-twenty men struggling in the water, and with practically no other boat to lower that was big enough to stand such a sea. Steam had been got up meanwhile, and the ship, with great difficulty, was brought as near the survivors as possible. A certain number we managed to get on board with ropes, but the loss was heavy, for out of those two crews we lost eleven men and two officers. Of the two officers something more must be said. By a curious coincidence those two men had been such bitter enemies during the whole time they had been messmates on board the _Bristol_ and _Ariadne_, that they had never been known to speak to each other except on duty when the exigencies of the Service so required. When the first boat was manned they both happened to be on deck; they both, with the instinct of gallant men, jumped into the cutter as volunteers, and the senior of the two took charge of the boat. They were both drowned together, and it was always a wonder to my youthful mind as to whether, with death staring them in the face and only a question of a few minutes, they ever made up their paltry quarrel? There was yet another curious incident connected with this affair. Two of the men who were in the boats' crews were survivors of the _Captain_, a vessel which was lost with nearly all hands and which was still much talked of in the Navy; both these men were saved, and after two such escapes, it seemed evident that Providence never intended that either of them should drown.

The next six months were passed in the _Ariadne_ cruising in the Mediterranean; Malta, the headquarters of the Mediterranean Fleet, being our most frequent port of call.

Once again I feel tempted to write a description--a temptation that must once more be resisted, for no one but the practised artist should be allowed to attempt to describe, and, moreover, the Grand Harbour of Valetta has been so often dealt with. But the subject, like the place itself, has an endless charm for me. For ten years, off and on, I was on the Mediterranean Station; on countless occasions I have gone in and out of the Grand Harbour, for I have often revisited the place in later years; yet, were I transported there to-morrow, I feel sure that I should be as much impressed with its beauty and charm as ever. I know no place where there is such a feast of brilliant colour as is to be met when steaming to a buoy up the Grand Harbour. Every creek that is passed swarms with gondola-shaped _dhaisas_, painted with all the colours of the rainbow, the rich ochre-colour of the beautiful old fortifications, interspersed with the residential dwellings, many of which are pink with green shutters, and the whole sandwiched, as it were, between the deep blue of the sky and the still deeper blue of the Mediterranean, make up a picture which, to me, is unforgettable. It was at Malta, too, that I really began my operatic career as a spectator; for, though I had heard Madame Patti at Covent Garden when I was nine years old, it was at Malta, that I first became an habitué. It was a cheap luxury in those days, the stalls costing only half a crown, and even a Naval Cadet could occasionally afford himself that amount of pleasure. Every one in musical circles of Valetta was still raving about the then newly discovered prima donna, Emma Albani, who had fairly captured their hearts during the winter season of 1871, when she had sung continually at the Opera House of Valetta before being whisked away to start her triumphant career in London and the world in general. Though, alas! Albani had gone, the opera was not at all bad, and as going there was allowed, it was also an excuse for being ashore in the evening; and so I spent a great many pleasant hours in that well-ordered little Opera House.

A visit to Naples, was of course, inevitable on an instructional cruise, and the _Ariadne_ spent some time there also. The "young gentlemen" were duly taken to Herculaneum and Pompeii to improve their minds, and I had the chance of hearing more operatic performances in that colossal Opera House, San Carlo, and, moreover, of studying for the first time the manners and customs of an Italian audience. Fiercely critical, with apparently a natural intimate knowledge of singing, the members of the audience would almost conduct the singer on the stage by their incessant remarks. They could be the most enthusiastic audience in the world when really pleased; but, should an unfortunate singer fail to please them, their brutality (there is no other word!) was frankly disgusting. I remember a poor woman singing at San Carlo. She had been a first-class artist in her time, but her voice showed signs of wear and tear, and the Neapolitans had had enough of her. Six times running was this poor creature made to repeat her aria in order that the audience might give themselves the pleasure of hissing and hooting her, to say nothing of hurling obscene curses at her across the foot-lights. Were I an artist I fancy I should prefer the cold Covent Garden audience, who, though inclined to be unenthusiastic, at any rate could never be induced to insult a woman.

Our stay at Naples was very pleasant, for our taskmasters gave us a good deal of leave, wisely encouraging us youngsters to see everything of interest in the neighbourhood, and in an old photograph-book I can still turn up the inevitable presentment of the Blue Grotto at Capri, and the extremely artificial waterfall at Caserta,--one of the numerous Royal Palaces in Italy,--with its barocco groups of glaring white marble placed at the foot of the falls--Diana and her nymphs on the one side, and the ill-treated Actæon and his hounds on the other.

But the training-ship period was rapidly coming to an end, and the autumn of 1872 saw the _Ariadne_ on her way home. She called at Algiers and Gibraltar, and finally returned to Portsmouth in October, by which time we had all become real midshipmen and were only waiting our turn to be appointed to proper sea-going ships to commence our real service in the British Navy.

In the spring of 1873 I was appointed as midshipman to H.M.S. _Narcissus_, the flagship of a squadron of six frigates, and under the command of Rear-Admiral Campbell. This squadron consisted of the _Narcissus_, _Doris_, _Endymion_, _Aurora_, _Immortalité_ and _Topaz_, and was officially known as the Flying Squadron. As we were nearly always at sea, generally engaged in making long sailing passages, and consequently condemned to live a great deal on the ship's provisions, the bluejackets bestowed on the squadron the name of "The Hungry Six," by which designation it was usually known in the Service.

There was a galaxy of talent on board the _Narcissus_. The Rear-Admiral, Frederick Campbell, who had earned a considerable reputation as a smart officer and seaman, had appointed a nephew of his, Charles Campbell, as his Flag-Lieutenant, and, to make the thing complete and Scottish, one of his servants was a piper, who, on guest-nights, used to march round the Admiral's table after dinner, according to the custom of pipers. Personally, I rather like pipes in the distance in Scotland, or when they play with troops on the march; but between decks, where the beams were only six feet high, the noise made by this solitary specimen of his tribe was enough to wake the dead. John Ommaney Hopkins, in after years a Lord of the Admiralty and Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Fleet, was Flag-Captain, and J. R. Fullerton, who afterwards was for so long the Admiral of Queen Victoria's Yachts, was Commander. In those days he had the well-deserved reputation of being one of the very smartest young Commanders in the Fleet. Our First-Lieutenant was Lieutenant A. K. Wilson, who, later on, earned the V.C. for his gallantry when leading his men,--the men of a machine-gun party,--in the Sudan, and who subsequently became the well-known Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Arthur Wilson. Another officer of the ship, a perfectly undistinguished one, was our Naval Instructor. I have forgotten his name, but will call him "Mr. Smith." Mr. Smith suited the midshipmen perfectly; as long as they did not bother him he never bothered them, so we strolled in and out during study hours at our own sweet wills. One day he announced his approaching marriage, and invited all those of us that could get leave to the ceremony. We all knew his fiancée, for she was the barmaid at a small hotel where we youngsters used to foregather when ashore. I was one of the fortunate few present at the wedding breakfast given by the proprietor of the hotel, whose speech, when proposing the health of the happy pair, I can never forget, and I recommend it to any gentleman who happens to find himself placed in the position of orator on similar occasions. It was to this effect: "When the courtship began he (the hotel proprietor) had rather feared that the whole thing would end in a liaison (pronounced ly-a-son), but Mr. Smith, to his great surprise and pleasure, had behaved honourably and had married the girl!"

Shortly after I joined at Plymouth the squadron was reported ready for sea, but before starting we came in for one of the most furious and sudden gales that I can recollect. We were lying in the Sound at the time, and I remember I was midshipman of the afternoon watch on that Sunday, and though the glass was falling ominously the weather was so lovely that it did not seem worth while to disturb the ship's company, who invariably on Sunday afternoons sleep the sleep of the just, there being apparently plenty of time to make everything snug for the night later on. Suddenly, without any warning, a terrific squall struck the ship, and though the water inside the mole was perfectly calm, so great was the force of the wind that the spray was lifted bodily from the surface of the water and became in a moment absolutely blinding, and the boats at the boom were in danger of being swamped. The hands were at once turned up, the boats were hoisted just in time, nearly full of water from the spray that had been driven into them. Top-gallant masts were struck, two more anchors were let go (as we had begun to drag towards Drake's Island), steam was got up, and we steamed to our anchors almost all the night, during the whole of which time the wind was blowing with almost hurricane force. In the morning the gale abated, and then one could get some idea of what had been going on. One of our consorts, the _Aurora_, anchored close to us, had parted her cable. Luckily, the spare anchors brought her up, and she too had been steaming up to her anchors all night. In addition to this, there were no less than six merchant ships of different sizes ashore in the Sound around various parts of the coast.

We left Plymouth shortly afterwards, the West Indies being our destination, via the inevitable Madeira. On our way out we experienced even worse weather than that which I have already described--worse because it lasted so much longer. For a whole week the entire squadron was hove-to under storm-sails in the Bay, and the _Narcissus_, though a first-rate sea boat and magnificently handled, suffered a good deal. She was old and the seams were inclined to open, and, moreover, two of the gun ports on the main deck were driven in by a heavy sea; consequently she shipped so much water that there was hardly a dry place in the whole vessel. All this time hammocks were never stowed, so the moment our watch was over we midshipmen used to turn in, our hammocks being the only comparatively dry place to be found. We really rather enjoyed this novel condition, as though we were constantly employed on deck, seeing to the extra security of the guns and a hundred and one odds and ends, at any rate school and drill were out of the question.

I now have to ask pardon for being tiresomely technical, as I must allude to one of the bravest and smartest bits of seamanship that I have ever witnessed. During the height of the gale the outer bobstay carried away. The bobstays on the bowsprit of a sailing-ship do the duty of supporting that important spar, on the safety of which depends the foremast, the main top-mast, and hence practically the whole of the great fabric of masts and yards. Our First-Lieutenant, the A. K. Wilson before alluded to, the boatswain, and the captain of the forecastle managed to hang a grating under the bowsprit to give them something to stand on, and then proceeded to execute the necessary repairs. For many hours these three intrepid men laboured at this most difficult job, alternately up to their necks in water as the bows of the ship plunged into the sea, and then high up some fifty feet above it when she recovered herself and took her pitch upwards. Their labour was rewarded, for the bowsprit was saved, and one likes to remember what a mere matter of course it was considered in those non-advertising days. In more modern times one has seen brass bands and local mayors meeting the heroes of far less dangerous and difficult exploits, after the necessary "boom" has been judiciously engineered.

During the gale the squadron was dispersed and lost all knowledge of each other. However, the rendezvous had been given as Vigo, and at Vigo we all eventually turned up, and from thence proceeded to Madeira.

And now to say something about the life of a midshipman in those days. We had,--besides a good deal of so-called study which was imparted to us by a naval instructor, and a considerable amount of drill,--to keep regular watch in four reliefs; the only time we ever ceased to keep watch was on being put in charge of a boat in harbour. To be in charge of a boat was considered rather an honour. Steam launches were rare,--even a large frigate carried only one, and that one merely an ordinary pulling boat with a small rattletrap engine bolted into it, the maximum speed being about six knots,--so practically all the boat-work of a ship was done under oars and under sail, and great fun it was. But the really important business was, of course, the sail-drill, ship against ship, that took place every evening when at sea, and to a limited extent twice a day in harbour. There was a terrific competition of the most jealous nature; the upper yardmen, upon whose smartness it mainly depended, used to carry their jealousy so far as to pick quarrels with their principal opponents directly they got ashore together. For the sake of general peace and quietness, and the comfort of the local police, it eventually became necessary to give certain ships' companies leave on different days, to prevent the eternal battles they used to fight on shore where there was no discipline to restrain them.

A sailing cruise round the West Indies sounds extremely like a yachting excursion, but, in absolute fact, a journey performed by a squadron of sailing frigates keeping meticulous station under sail, and sometimes having to make short tacks every five minutes or so, to come into their anchorage, and all this in tropical heat, does not seem to have much of the yacht connected with it.

The days and months passed by quickly enough, if in somewhat monotonous fashion, until the spring of 1874, when we were ordered to reinforce the Mediterranean Fleet, then under the command of Admiral Sir Hastings Yelverton. Sir Hastings was then flying his flag on board the _Lord Warden_, one of our very early iron-clads. She really merited the name of iron-clad, for she was a wooden ship with wrought-iron plates bolted on to her. Sir Hastings was himself quite one of the best specimens of the great sea officer of those days. A very fine gentleman, with a thorough knowledge of the world, he was an invaluable servant to his country at that particular moment, as Spain was in a state of semi-revolution, and it was fortunate for England that the Commander-in-Chief united in his person all the best characteristics of the diplomatist, the man of the world, and the sailor. The trouble began from the Naval point of view, when the Revolutionary party seized two Spanish men-of-war of considerable size and importance, the _Vittoria_ and _Almanza_, and started on what was probably going to be a piratical cruise in foreign waters. The British Navy, amongst its other numerous duties, has always been busy in the suppression of piracy, so that in a very few days the _Vittoria_ and _Almanza_ were duly rounded up, the crews landed, and the ships themselves safely interned at Gibraltar. The next move of the Intransigentes,--as the revolutionary party called themselves,--was to seize the forts that commanded the arsenal of Carthagena, and they then took possession of the greater part of the Spanish Fleet. Our Mediterranean Fleet promptly went to Carthagena and the neighbouring ports on the east coast of Spain to watch the course of events. Being short of funds, the Intransigentes conceived the idea of cruising down their own coast, sticking to territorial waters, and demanding money from all the towns along the coast. In case of refusal the towns were to be bombarded. In the interest of humanity the English Fleet used to hover round and place themselves between the Intransigente Fleet and the shore, and insist on forty-eight hours' grace being given to enable the women and children to be removed to a place of safety. The local Carthagenan butcher, who, I think, was for the moment the Intransigente admiral, was given to understand that unless he complied with the request of the British admiral, he and his squadron would, in all probability, be blown sky high. Being a sensible man, he did as he was told, but, occasionally, after the necessary interval on which we had insisted had expired, a bombardment would take place. I was present at one, and enjoyed the spectacle most thoroughly. Alicante was the town in question. In the way of defence it possessed a charming old sixteenth-century citadel, as well as two or three little batteries on the beach that could just manage to return a salute. None the less, the Governor of Alicante, on being asked "for his money or his life," with true Spanish chivalry, firmly declined to pay any sort of ransom, manned his little popguns, and prepared for the worst. We, as usual, were anchored between the town and the Intransigente squadron, and after the forty-eight hours' interval had come to an end we retired like "seconds out of the ring," purposely taking as long as possible over this necessary manœuvre. Then the fun began. The Intransigentes, some of whose ships were very heavily armoured for those days (they carried 9-inch guns, which really were 240-pounders), began to bombard, and the citadel and batteries returned the fire. At that time I was midshipman of the foretop, so up there I ensconced myself, and a splendid view I got of the whole proceedings. It was a deliciously comic performance. The Intransigente shooting was so bad that the proverbial haystack would have been quite safe. Indeed, as we saw later when we landed, they could not even hit a town, and barring a few broken windows there was no harm done at all, and no casualties. The shore defenders meanwhile fired little round shots that went skipping along the top of the water until they were tired and sank. It is needless to remark that had they actually hit one of the iron-clad vessels at which they were directed, they would have had no more effect than the classical patting of the dome of St. Paul's would have had on the Dean and Chapter. After a few hours of this performance, the Intransigentes wearied of it and went on to some other coast town to try their luck there, shadowed by another portion of Sir Hastings' fleet. The captain of the foretop, who was a great friend of mine, was much looked up to by his top mates as a sort of encyclopædia of knowledge of all sorts, so I was much amused to hear the following conversation, which, of course, was not intended for my chaste ears, while I was looking through my spy-glass at the bombardment. The captain of the foretop was being interrogated: "Bill, 'oo is that there 'ere Queen of Spain at all?" Bill replied: "The Queen, she's a . . ." and then followed a string of lurid adjectives, leading up to the suggestion that the royal lady in question belonged to what Rudyard Kipling calls the oldest profession in the world.

I did not see much more of the Intransigente Fleet, but not long afterwards it brought its cruising to an inglorious end. The Spaniards succeeded in getting together a few loyal ships under a real admiral, as a means of putting an end to this potential piracy. Just before the expected general engagement could take place, the Intransigente admiral,--who, though doubtless he may have known a great deal about bullocks and sheep, was woefully deficient in knowledge of fleet manœuvring,--succeeded in ramming and sinking one of his own squadron. This untoward incident upset his nerve and that of his companions to such an extent that the whole of his fleet ignominiously surrendered.

Shortly after the Intransigente episode considerable changes were made in the personnel of the senior officers of the _Narcissus_. Rear-Admiral Campbell hauled down his flag and was succeeded by Rear-Admiral Randolph, the Captain and Commander were relieved, and our First-Lieutenant was about the same time promoted to the rank of Commander and left us. With the exception of the ship's company and junior officers, the _Narcissus_ had become almost a new ship, and of course there was the usual grousing that always takes place on these occasions among the junior officers. To our experienced minds nothing that was new _could_ be right, and I must confess that so far as efficient seamanship and smartness aloft were concerned, the old lot could hardly have been improved on. The squadron remained in the Mediterranean, but was no longer closely attached to the Commander-in-Chief, and went eastward for a cruise in the Levant.

Amongst other ports visited was Smyrna, and there a couple of my messmates and I got into rather considerable trouble. The Consul at Smyrna had arranged a special train to give the Admiral and Officers of the squadron a chance of visiting Ephesus, where a number of archæologists were then busy excavating the celebrated Temple of Diana. We, in our wisdom, thought it would be dull work going up with a number of officers, most of whom would be our seniors as the companions of this excursion, so having hired horses, we slipped away early in the morning and proceeded to ride some thirty miles up country to Ephesus. Of course we never dreamt of bothering about a guide or any detail of that kind, but somehow or another midshipmen generally manage to turn up at their destination, and after a delightful ride over a fine grass country, we arrived all right. Meanwhile, unfortunately for us, the Flag-Lieutenant had, in a casual way, mentioned to the Admiral at breakfast that three of the youngsters had started to ride up. The Admiral had been previously warned by the Consul that the country outside Smyrna is infested with brigands, and on account of the bother that it would have given him had anything happened to us, he was full of wrath, which was eventually to descend on our innocent heads. Orders were at once sent ashore to the Consul to inform the Turkish Governor, and altogether such a fuss was made that eventually a squadron of Turkish cavalry was sent out to get hold of us and bring us back. By this time we had about three hours' start, and as, probably, from what I know of Turks, the Cavalry did not hurry over much, they never got near us. None the less, when we arrived at Ephesus our troubles began. We were looking about for some place to put up and feed our horses, preparatory to feeding ourselves in view of our ride back, when we happened unluckily to meet the Flag-Captain, who got into what we thought a most unnecessary state of rage, and ordered us at once to get into the train and go back in that comparatively undignified conveyance to Smyrna, then to go straight on board the ship, and report ourselves as prisoners under close arrest. This was a bore of course, but with my usual philosophy I consoled myself with the reflection that, as a prisoner, I should not have to keep any watch that night, and would have a good night in, which would be infinitely preferable to walking the deck for four hours after a long outing. The first part of the programme was carried out all right, but, to my disgust, when I tried to excuse myself for not going on duty, pleading that, as a prisoner, I was incapable of doing duty, the Commander calmly informed me that I was temporarily released, so on watch I had to go.

Our arrest lasted about a month and came to an end very unexpectedly. Somehow or other (we youngsters, who were naturally the severest of critics, all thought from very faulty seamanship) the _Narcissus_ and another ship of the squadron took the ground rather badly off the coast of Sicily. Of course there was a Court-martial, and to our intense delight our Captain was dismissed his ship and our arrest came to a triumphant conclusion. With the usual pitilessness of youth, we looked upon it as a judgment upon our superior officer, and to round the episode off nicely, I, having been just relieved from watch when the ship went aground, was one of the witnesses at the Court-martial. I am ashamed to say that our delight when the sentence was promulgated was scarcely, to say the least of it, decent, and when the unfortunate Captain returned on board to turn over his command to an acting successor who was at once appointed, he must have almost heard the uproarious cheering in the midshipmen's berth. What brutes boys are!

Nothing particularly exciting happened during the rest of my time in the _Narcissus_. She was paid off in the summer of 1874 on her return to England, and I managed to get some leave whilst waiting for an appointment to a new ship.

In August 1874 the appointment came, and the "new ship" turned out to be the _Audacious_, fitted out at Chatham as the flagship of Vice-Admiral Ryder, a distant connection of my own, who had been appointed to the command of the China Station.