While the Prince of Wales was receiving the honors of the western continent, the midshipman brother was on his way to South Africa. When he landed at Cape Town, the English governor accompanied him on a short tour through the English possessions, during which he laid the first stone of the famous breakwater in Table Bay. He was cheered and feasted and received with all the honors that could be devised so long as he was on land; but when he returned to his vessel, he was no longer treated as a prince; for on shipboard he was simply a midshipman and in no wise different from the other naval cadets. When the chief of an African tribe came to visit the ship, he saw the young Prince bare-footed and helping the other midshipmen to wash the decks. The chief went away wondering, and a little later, he and his councilors sent to the English a most interesting letter. It read:
"When the son of England's great Queen becomes subject to a subject, that he may learn wisdom, when the sons of England's chiefs and nobles leave the homes and wealth of their fathers, and with their young Prince endure hardships and sufferings in order that they may be wise and become a defense to their country, when we behold these things, we see why the English are a great and mighty nation."
When the two brothers returned to England, they found that their sister Alice had followed the example of the Princess Royal and had become engaged. The fortunate man was Prince Louis of Hesse. Prince Albert wrote to his daughter in Germany of "the great Alician event," saying, "Alice and Louis are as happy as mortals can be."
Not long after these cheerful times, a deep sorrow came to the loving heart of the Queen. In the midst of the days that were so full of care for her children, her home, and the duties of state not only in England, but also in Africa and Asia, the constant thought of the Queen had been her mother's comfort. When the daughter could not be with her mother, letters were sent every day, and frequently several times a day, and nothing was neglected that could add to the Duchess's ease and happiness. For some time she had not been well, and in the spring of 1861 came the dreaded summons to her bedside. In a few hours she was gone. "Oh, if only I could have been near her these last weeks!" wrote the Queen to King Leopold.
Save the sovereign herself, there was no woman in England whose death would have affected the whole country so deeply. Statesmen recalled the days when the Duchess of Kent was left alone in a strange land, without means, disliked by the reigning king, and weighed down by the responsibility of educating a child to stand at the head of the nation. In the character of their sovereign, they saw proof of the able, devoted, conscientious manner in which this sacred duty had been performed; and the address of sympathy sent by Parliament to the sorrowing Queen was as sincere as if it had been written by a personal friend, and not by a body of lawmakers. "It is a great sorrow to me not to have Féodore with me now," wrote the Queen to King Leopold; but neither he nor the Princess Hohenlohe was able to be present at the last services.
"I cannot imagine life without her," said the Queen sadly; but nevertheless, life had to go on. Others may sometimes stop to mourn, but the duties of a sovereign may not be neglected even for sorrow. A new cause of anxiety had arisen that came nearer home than even the sufferings of the Crimean soldiers. War had broken out in the United States, and the supply of cotton to England was rapidly diminishing. If the cotton supply failed entirely, the mills of England would have to stop; many thousands of spinners and weavers would have no work; and the sufferings of the manufacturing districts would be intense. The government made an earnest effort to increase the amount of cotton imported to England from India; but the emergency was so sudden that even during the first few months of the war, there were many honest, hard-working people in England who were sorely in need.
When autumn came, the Queen was free to go for a little while to the beloved Balmoral for the rest and quiet which she so greatly needed. The simple life of the Highlands did more for her than anything else could have done. On this visit, Prince Albert, the Queen, the Princess Alice, Prince Louis of Hesse, with Lady Churchill and General Grey in attendance, went on two of what the Queen called "Great Expeditions," that is, trips of two or three days by carriage and by pony. To the Queen these trips were as fascinating as they were novel. The party tried to keep their identity a secret, and sometimes they succeeded: Prince Albert and the Queen called themselves Lord and Lady Churchill: the real Lady Churchill was now Miss Spencer, and General Grey became Dr. Grey. They were as excited as children in a new game over playing their parts properly, and the struggles of the two men-servants to remember not to say "Your Majesty" and "Your Royal Highness" amused them immensely. "The lady must be terrible rich," whispered an awe-struck woman to one of the servants, "for she has so many gold rings on her fingers." "And you have many more than I," said the aggrieved monarch to Lady Churchill. Two or three times they stayed all night at little village inns. The Queen wrote in her journal that at one of them the bedroom given to her and the Prince was hardly more than large enough for the bed, but she found no fault with it, and called it "very clean and neat." The dinner was "nice, clean, and good" according to her description, for this sovereign of Great Britain, with several magnificent palaces of her own, was so ready to be pleased with what was done for her that she could be contented in the tiny inn of a Highland village. At a second inn, which seems to have been particularly poor, she admits that there was "hardly anything to eat," but closes her account less like the ruler of millions than like a half amused and half disappointed little schoolgirl, "No pudding and no fun. We soon retired."
The efforts to avoid being "found out" were like a continual frolic. The royal party trembled when they heard the distant sound of a drum and fife, but felt safe again on being told by a little maid at the inn that it was "just a band that walked about twice a week." Sometimes they came to tiny villages where they were "suspected;" and at last, on getting up one morning, they heard the tread of somewhat irregular marching, led by a drum and fife and bagpipe. There was no escape then, for they were found out at last. A company of volunteers was drawn up in front of the door to do them honor; the women of the village stood by with bunches of flowers in their hands; and the landlady was glorified by a black satin dress with white ribbons and orange blossoms. There was nothing to do but to bow with all gratitude and drive away as fast as possible.
Such a woman was Victoria of England, ready to be pleased with the smallest things, praising what was good, saying little of what was not good, and enjoying every little pleasure with a childlike zest and simplicity. And yet, this gentle little lady understood so perfectly her rights and duties as monarch of Great Britain that when her Secretary of Foreign Affairs persisted in being quite too independent in his methods of transacting business, she did not hesitate to write to him the following very definite sentences:
"The Queen thinks it right, in order to prevent any mistake for the future, to explain what it is she expects from the Foreign Secretary. She requires: