In the early days of the club only two instances of blackballing seem to have occurred. One was in the person of a noble Duke who had been scratched off the list on account of not paying his annual subscription, who, when he sought re-election, was excluded as a matter of course. The other individual was the owner of a yacht like a river barge, with a flat bottom, and he was rejected more in joke than otherwise, it being reported that his yacht was two months on her voyage from the Thames to Cowes, and that, moreover, the bulkhead and chimney in the cabin were of brick!
The candidates of that day, as may be judged from their almost invariable success in the ballot, were generally of a highly acceptable description. The same, perhaps, can hardly be said of some in recent years, when, in accordance with the spirit of the age, certain individuals, whose only claim to social consideration lay in their wealth, have made attempts to force the Squadron portals.
One of these received what was perhaps the most severe rebuff ever sustained by a candidate, in the shape of no fewer than seventy-eight black balls, which figure, it was said, would have been increased to eighty had his proposer and seconder attended the election. It should be added that the name of the candidate in question had been submitted for election at the instigation of a highly important personage whose suggestions it was impossible to ignore.
A prominent figure at the Squadron from about 1834 to 1882 was the late Mr. George Bentinck, well known as Big Ben. Mr. Bentinck was very bluff and outspoken, and when in Parliament he once administered a violent lecture to both front benches, shaking his finger at the distinguished offenders who sat on both, and saying: “You know you have all ratted; the only difference between you is that some of you have ratted twice.”
He was no fair-weather yachtsman, and had the greatest contempt for people who did not live on board their vessels, who employed captains or sailing-masters, and who confined their yachting to the safe waters of the Solent. He had no notion, as he said, of a Cowes captain who always wanted to be ashore with his wife, so he commanded his own ships with the strictest discipline, and with the thorough respect of his crew. When in harbour, his first officer always knocked at his cabin door and reported eight bells. “Are the boats up?” was Mr. Bentinck’s inquiry. “Yes, sir.” “Very well, make it so;” and after that hour there was no going ashore for anybody. He was always delighted to take friends on a sea-voyage, but could never be induced to give any particulars as to where bound or the probable length of the cruise, and very much resented an inquiry on either point. People, accordingly, who accompanied him always settled their affairs for a reasonable period, not knowing when they would return. One of Mr. Bentinck’s trips from Cowes to Gibraltar took forty-two days owing to bad weather, and on another voyage he declared that his yacht, the Dream, once shipped twenty tons of water in the Baltic. A somewhat unflattering caricature of Mr. Bentinck is preserved in the club-house at Cowes.
Another well-known member of the Squadron was Lord Cardigan, of Balaclava fame, who exhibited considerable eccentricity as a yachtsman. Whilst out sailing one day, his skipper said: “Will you take the helm, my lord?” “No, thank you,” was the reply; “I never take anything between meals.” Lord Cardigan was certainly not much of a sailor, and, according to tradition, was accustomed to appear in a costume which included military spurs. He was also, according to all accounts, a man of somewhat unconciliatory temper, thoroughly imbued with a high sense of the importance of his great social position. He was born in the closing years of the eighteenth century, and was at strife with most of his acquaintance throughout his career of seventy-one years. He was very late in choosing the army as a profession, as he entered the service in 1824, at the age of twenty-seven, and by 1830 was a Lieutenant-Colonel, promotion being easy for a rich nobleman in the days of purchase.
Whilst the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes occupies a unique position as the chief yachting club and authority in the United Kingdom, it cannot boast a history dating back as far as an Irish yacht club—the “Royal Cork”—which traces its origin from a very ancient yachting club existing at Cork as far back as 1720. This would seem to have been a highly convivial institution, for one of the rules ran: “Resolved that no admiral do bring more than two dozen of wine to his treat, for it has always been deemed a breach of the ancient rules and constitution of the club, except when my lords the judges are invited.”
At that date the rules and constitutions were described as being ancient, and some of the customs connected with the club (curious records of which are in the possession of the Royal Cork Yacht Club) were picturesque and curious.
Once a year the “Water Club” took part in a ceremony, something like that performed by the Doge of Venice, when he was wedded to the Adriatic. A contemporary writer thus describes this function: “A set of worthy gentlemen, who have formed themselves into a body which they call the ‘Water Club,’ proceed a few leagues out to sea once a year in a number of small vessels, which for painting and gilding exceed the King’s yacht at Greenwich and Deptford. Their admiral, who is elected annually, and hoists his flag on board his little vessel, leads the van and receives the honours of the flag. The rest of the fleet fall in their proper stations, and keep their line in the same manner as the King’s ships. This fleet is attended with a prodigious number of boats with their colours flying, drums beating, and trumpets sounding, which forms one of the most agreeable and splendid sights your lordship can conceive.”
The rules of this club dealt largely with conviviality. Rule XIV, for instance, laid down “that such members of the club as talk of sailing after dinner be fined a bumper.”