To return to our personal experiences. The rest of the party had remained on the Mirror, and I rather fancy some of them got a little bored, as their time was less exciting than ours. Anyhow, one or two of the men became exceedingly anxious for our return as the dinner-hour approached, as of course the boat could not fetch us off from the Euphrates till all the proceedings were over and the coast clear. We were told when we did get back, which I do not think was unduly late, that Lord Alcester had expressed a somewhat uncomplimentary opinion of women, emphasised with a capital D! However, everyone enjoyed the illumination of the ships, and particularly the searchlights—then somewhat of a novelty and in which the Mirror specially distinguished herself. On Sunday morning our Chairman, Sir John Pender, was very properly anxious that his guests should enjoy “religious privileges”; and as everyone was content that he should have service on board instead of putting us on shore, it was arranged accordingly. There was a distinct rivalry as to who should officiate. We had not a Bishop nor even one of the lesser lights of the Church among our otherwise representative company—the Captain evidently considered that under these circumstances he was the proper person to read prayers, and he produced prayer-books—I suppose that they were provided by the Electric Company—and Sir John distinctly held that as Chairman it was for him, although a Nonconformist, to conduct the Anglican devotions—so he began. The Captain determined anyhow to act as prompter. They got on all right—till Sir John, a little man, stood up to read the First Lesson. This unfortunately began, “And Satan stood up”—still more unfortunately it appeared that it was the wrong lesson, and the Captain ruthlessly pulled him down. Nevertheless we somehow reached a happy conclusion.
In the afternoon some of us, including Lord Derby, were offered a choice of cruising about among the ships or going over to see Lord and Lady De La Warr at a little house they had somewhere on the coast called Inchmery. We chose the latter, and were sent in a tug called the Undaunted. I tried to immortalise the expedition in a so-called poem of which I only quote a few verses—needless to say Lord Derby was the hero:
“There was an Earl—a noble Earl
Who would a sailor be,
And therefore asked two kindly dames
To take him out to sea....
····
“We’ve often heard of Inchmery,
Its charms and crabs are vaunted;
Bring round the tug and cast her off,
That splendid tug Undaunted!
“The splendid tug sailed fast and far,
She bore as fair a band
As ever dared the heaving deep
And sighed to gain the land.
“She bore our Only General,
Whose prowess must be granted,
For he can always go to sleep
And always wake when wanted.
“A great Colonial Governor
Who would have ruled the main,
Only emotions swelled his breast
Which he could not restrain.”
As to the above, Lord Wolseley explained to us that he shared a characteristic with Napoleon and I rather think Wellington—namely, that he could always go to sleep in a minute when he so desired, and wake with equal celerity. He exemplified this by retiring into the little cabin of the launch when the waves became somewhat restive, and fell fast asleep immediately, seated on a bench. The poor Colonial Governor, Sir William Des Voeux, was less happy—he had to lie prostrate at the bottom of the launch during the short transit until we landed.
The De La Warrs gave us an excellent tea, and we then strolled among the rocks on the shore, where it was supposed that the great Lord Derby wanted to find crabs:
“The time speeds on—and now at length,
By new-born terrors haunted,
Soldier and sage demand the tug—
‘Where is the good Undaunted’?
“What object meets their straining eyes,
From aid and rescue far?
Dauntless perhaps, but useless quite,
She’s stranded on the bar.
“The Captain smiles, ‘It wasn’t I,’
The General’s out of reach,
The noble Earl sits down to play
Aunt Sally on the beach.”
It was a fine sight to see Lord Derby (uncle of the present Lord Derby), regarded by most people as an exceptionally solemn statesman, sitting tranquilly on the shore throwing stones—a sort of ducks and drakes—into the sea—quite unmoved by the tug’s disaster.
However, Lord De La Warr came to the rescue with a launch which took us safely back to the Mirror—minus Sir William, who had found the tug quite bad enough and declined to trust himself to the launch. He remained for the night at Inchmery, and I presume, like the rest of us, found his way back to London next day.
KNOWSLEY