'They were all well aware that the Ashantis had invaded our allies' country, and had perpetrated many horrible cruelties. Our representative on the coast sent remonstrances and threats, but these were all in vain until backed by picked battalions. Two hundred marines were first sent out. They landed at a most unhealthy season, and most of them died. Sir Garnet Wolseley then arrived on the scene, accompanied by British officers, and the result was that the Ashantis were driven back beyond the river Prah, and within fifteen miles of Kumasi. On the 4th February, King Koffee gave instructions to his bodyguard that any man who ran away would have his head cut off. But even King Koffee himself had to run before the British bullets. He did not think that the lives that were lost, or the money that was spent, were given in vain, because it would show those barbarous nations that the glory of old England was not to be trampled upon with impunity—that if people would invade our territory and commit murders and crime, the retribution would be terrible. The British lion took a long time to rise. He was a grand old animal in his way; but when he did rise, the vengeance would be speedy. He believed that the King of Ashanti bitterly regretted the day that he first invaded the British Protectorate.' He thanked the company for the high honour they had done him, and concluded with a few jocular remarks as to his connection with the town and district. He could assure them, he said, that if fortune should smile on him, and if on a future occasion he should return from some campaign as a successful soldier, he should be disappointed if he was not entertained by them in a similar manner. He was proud of the district—of the county which gave him birth. He had often said to himself that he would spend the latter days of his life in Portobello. It might be that yet he would take the position of a town councillor of the Burgh. He had no doubt he would make a most excellent civil magistrate, and be a terror to evil-doers! In afterwards replying to the toast of the House of Niddrie, Lieutenant Wauchope referred to the long connection it had with the district, and 'expressed the hope that as it had never brought dishonour upon its name, it would never do so in the future. So far as in him lay, he would always try to sustain its honour.'
It is perhaps not wise to attach too much importance to after-dinner speeches, but there is a ring of sincerity of purpose in these last words, which in the light of after events gives them an importance they might not otherwise have. Wauchope lived up to his ideal standard of a chivalrous knight, and nobly upheld the honour of his name. What Chaucer five hundred years ago wrote of his imaginary knight, we to-day may say of our real one:
'He nevere yit no vileinye ne sayde
In al his lyf, unto no maner wight,
He was a verray perfight gentil knight.'
Father and son
Wauchope's father was unfortunately unable to be present on so auspicious an occasion on account of the state of his health, but he was much gratified by this public recognition of his son's services. The latter, still in indifferent health, with the slug-wounds in his chest giving him no little trouble, had, however, a long period of rest, and was much of the time at Niddrie. His attention to his father was very marked while at home—father and son being frequently seen arm in arm walking through the grounds.
CHAPTER IV
DEATH OF WAUCHOPE'S FATHER—ORDERED TO MALTA—REMINISCENCES—RELIGIOUS CONVICTIONS—CYPRUS—APPOINTMENT AS CIVIL COMMISSIONER OF PAPHO—REMINISCENCES—SIR ROBERT BIDDULPH—THE SULTAN'S CLAIMS.