It was on a journey from London to Alderbrook, Mr. Ralli's beautiful place in Sussex, that I first saw Lord Kitchener. We were a week-end party and went down together in a saloon carriage. The figure which next to Lord Kitchener's stands out clearest is the late Lord Glenesk's still in the vigour of his versatile powers and accomplishments and attractions. The occasion was the more interesting because Lord Kitchener had then lately returned from Egypt, and from that victorious campaign which he, and he alone, had planned and carried through from beginning to end in strict fulfilment of the scheme framed before the actual preparations for it had been begun. This also might induce our German military friends to reconsider that chief-of-staff opinion above quoted.
It was known that this second hero of Khartoum—Gordon being the first—was to travel by this train. It was an express, and there was no stop before Guildford. But consider the enthusiasm of the British people when they have a real hero. The stations through which the train thundered at forty miles an hour were crowded with people. They could not get so much as a glimpse of their idol, but they stood and cheered and waved their hats to the train and the invisible hero-traveller.
When we reached Guildford six or seven thousand people thronged that station. They hurrahed for "Kitchener," and as the cries for "Kitchener" met with no response, they were raised again and again. Lord Kitchener sat in a corner, buried in a rough grey overcoat, silent and bored. He had no taste for "ovations" and triumphal greetings. Lord Glenesk told him he really must show himself and acknowledge these salutations. So Lord Kitchener rose, with an ill grace, walked to one of the open doors of the saloon, raised his hand with a swift military jerk to his bowler, and retreated. The tumult increased but he would not show himself a second time. The cheers rolled on without effect. The idol would not be idolized. It was not ill-temper but indifference. He was in mufti and it was the soldier the multitude demanded to see. In truth, Lord Kitchener's appearance at the moment was not military. It was remarked by his fellow-passengers that he showed to little advantage in his grey clothes, none too well fitting. When evening came he was another man, just as unmistakably the soldier as if in full uniform.
He was at that time brooding over his Gordon College scheme for Khartoum. He wanted £100,000, and he doubted whether he should get it. In vain his friends urged him to make his appeal.
"No," said Lord Kitchener, "nothing less than £100,000 will be of any use. It is a large sum. I should not like to fail, and if they gave me only part of the amount I should have to return it."
He was told that his name would be enough. It was the psychological moment. Delay would only injure his chances. Lord Glenesk offered him £1000 across the dinner table, and other sums were offered there and then, and the support of two powerful newspapers was promised. Still he hesitated, and still he repeated, "I should not like to fail." At last one of the company said:
"Well, Lord Kitchener, if you had doubted about your campaign as you do about this you would never have got to Khartoum."
His face hardened and his reply was characteristic of the man:
"Perhaps not; but then I could depend on myself and now I have to depend on the British public."
But he did ask for the money and got all and more than all he wanted with no difficulty whatever. It appeared that the British public also was to be depended on.