“My Dear Sir,—I have had the honour to lay before her Majesty the Queen the address from the ballast-heavers of the Port of London, which you have forwarded to me for presentation. Her Majesty has been deeply touched by this spontaneous testimony to the active benevolence of her beloved husband, and amongst all the tokens of sympathy in her grief, which she has gratefully received from all classes of her people, no one has been more gratifying to the Queen, and no one more in harmony with her feelings, than the simple and unpretending tribute from these honest, hard-working men. I am commanded to request that you will assure the ballast-heavers that the interest in their welfare, so especially displayed by him whose life was employed in endeavouring to benefit the people of this country, is fully shared by her Majesty, and that her Majesty rejoices to hear of the happy change in their moral and social condition. The Queen has the greatest pleasure in complying with the request contained in the address, and has ordered two prints of the Prince Consort, one in uniform and one in ordinary dress, to be framed and presented, to be hung in the room in which the ballast-heavers wait; to these her Majesty has added one of herself, as the Queen would wish, in the remembrance of these grateful men, to be associated with her great and good husband, whose virtues they have so highly and justly appreciated.
“Believe me, sincerely yours,
“C. B. Phipps.”
“Fredk. J. Furnivall, Esq.”
Nor was this the only occasion during the year on which the Queen manifested her vigilant interest in the lot of her poorer subjects. In July a wretched woman named Geneive had been forced by her husband to walk on a rotten tight rope, suspended thirty yards above the ground, at a Foresters’ Fête in Aston Park, Birmingham. The rope broke, and the poor creature, who was far advanced in pregnancy, was dashed to pieces in the most shocking manner. Yet the fête was continued, the Committee callously determining “to go on with the programme, omitting the dangerous parts.” On the 25th of July the Mayor of Birmingham was somewhat startled to receive from Sir C. B. Phipps a letter in the following terms:—“The Queen has commanded me to express to you the pain with which her Majesty has read the account of a fatal accident which has occurred during a fête at Aston Park, Birmingham. Her Majesty cannot refrain from making known through you her personal feelings of horror that one of her subjects—a female—should have been sacrificed to the gratification of the demoralising taste, unfortunately prevalent, for exhibitions attended with the greatest danger to the performers. Were any proof wanting that such exhibitions are demoralising, I am commanded to remark that it would be at once found in the decision arrived at to continue the festivities, the hilarity, and the sports of the occasion after an event so melancholy. The Queen trusts that you, in common with the rest of the townspeople of Birmingham, will use your influence to prevent in future the degradation to such exhibitions of the Park which was gladly opened by her Majesty and the beloved Prince Consort, in the hope that it would be made serviceable for the healthy exercise and rational recreation of the people.” The Mayor explained that when he became a patron of the fête he did not know that a dangerous exhibition was contemplated, and though Aston Park was outside his jurisdiction, he promised to use his influence to prevent such exhibitions from being held there in future.
On the 11th of August the Queen left London for Antwerp, from which she proceeded to Laeken with the King of the Belgians. From Belgium she went on to Gotha, where she stayed at the Castle of Rosenau till the 7th of September. On the 8th of the month her Majesty journeyed to Kranichstein, near Darmstadt, and spent the day with the Princess Louis of
THE QUEEN UNVEILING THE STATUE OF PRINCE ALBERT AT ABERDEEN.
Hesse. Leaving at night, the Queen was in Antwerp early next morning (9th), and on the 10th at Greenhithe, whence the Fairy, steam tender to the royal yacht, conveyed her to Woolwich. Driving to Nine Elms, she took train to Windsor, greatly pleased by the hearty greetings she received from crowds of people at the chief stations on the way. The autumnal holiday was, as usual, spent at Balmoral, where a kindly and sympathetic family party gathered round the Queen. Prince Louis of Hesse and the Princess (Alice) stayed with her at the Castle. The Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia, with their family, were lodged hard by at Abergeldie. The Princess Louis of Hesse devoted herself to her mother, and with characteristic energy endeavoured to dispel the heaviness of heart which was again settling on her. For this purpose she urged the Queen to resume the old open-air life among the mountains, from which she had derived incalculable benefit in times past. The Princess therefore organised an expedition to Clova, which her mother was induced to join. The party consisted of the Queen, the Princess Louis of Hesse, the Princess Helena, the Queen’s coachman, Smith, and her gillie, John Brown, and “Willem,” a little black page-boy in the service of the Princess Louis. The excursion was marred by an alarming accident which befell the party on the way home. The coachman lost his way in the dark, and about two miles from Altnagiuthasach the carriage was upset—the Queen being flung violently on her face to the ground. “Alice,” writes the Queen in her “Journal,” was “soon helped up, by means of tearing all her clothes to disentangle her; but Lenchen (Princess Helena), who had also got caught in her dress, called out very piteously, which frightened me a good deal, but she was also got out with Brown’s assistance, and neither she nor Alice was at all hurt. I reassured them that I was not hurt, and urged that we should make the best of it, as it was an inevitable misfortune.... Meantime the horses were lying on the ground as if dead, and it was absolutely necessary to get them up again. Alice, whose coolness was admirable, held one of the lamps while Brown cut the traces, to the horror of Smith, and the horses were speedily released, and got up unhurt.” The Queen’s common-sense advice to “make the best of it” was taken, and the Royal party encamped in this desolate mountain solitude, while Smith was sent on to get another carriage. Then the Princesses discovered that their mother had been bruised severely on the face, and that her right thumb was sprained. “A little claret,” the Queen says, “was all we could get either to drink or wash my face and hands.” Luckily, the groom, who had gone on in front with the “shelties,” or rough little mountain ponies, which the Queen and her family use for hill climbing, got alarmed at their long absence, and he very sensibly rode back to see if any accident had happened. When he came up the Queen insisted on mounting at once and riding all the way home, which she reached after ten o’clock at night, to find the Crown Prince of Prussia and Prince Louis of Hesse at the door of the Castle anxiously looking out for her. A week after this accident (13th of October) the Queen was present at the inauguration of Marochetti’s statue to the Prince Consort at Aberdeen. “I could not reconcile it to myself,” she said, in replying to an address from the subscribers, “to remain at Balmoral while such a tribute was being paid to his (Prince Albert’s) memory, without making an exertion to assure you personally of the deep and heartfelt sense I entertain of your kindness and affection, and at the same time to proclaim in public the unbounded reverence and admiration, the devoted love, that fills my heart for him whose loss must throw a lasting gloom over my future life.” It was a mournful ceremony for the Queen, whose emotion was so great that she had to depute Sir George Grey, the Minister in attendance, to read her reply. Dense crowds of people filled the streets, but forbore to cheer, greeting the Royal widow merely with silent and respectful sympathy. In a letter to the Lord Provost of the city, the Queen, on her return to Balmoral, assured him how fully she appreciated the consideration which was shown for her feelings, not only by those who took part in the ceremony, but by the townspeople generally, “on an occasion which was one of severe and painful trial” for her. During the months of September and October the Princess Louis of Hesse was in attendance on the Queen, who was much cheered and benefited by her affectionate companionship. But her visit came to an end in October, when the Princess, in a letter to her Majesty written from Buckingham Palace, on her way to Darmstadt, says of her sojourn, “It was such a happiness to speak to you, and in return to hear all you had to say, to try and soothe you, and try to make your burthen lighter.... I can only say again, trust, hope, and be courageous, and every day will bring something in the fulfilment of your great duties which will bring you peace and make you feel that you are not forsaken, that God has heard your prayer, felt for you as a loving Father would, and that dear papa is not far from you.”[176] The 14th of December—the anniversary of the Prince Consort’s death—was passed in deep seclusion by the Queen at Windsor. As the year closed the country was relieved of all anxiety as to the Cotton Famine in Lancashire. The crisis had, indeed, passed early in summer, and the nation no longer feared that the calamity would prove unmanageable. The history of the Cotton Famine may be termed a history of agreeable disappointments. It was predicted that the prostration of trade in Lancashire would deal a mortal blow at English commerce—that the revenue would dwindle to a vanishing point—that the problem of sustaining vast masses of pauperised labour, whose pauperism must be but the harbinger of general bankruptcy among their employers, would prove insoluble—that their starvation would breed pestilence and lead to outbreaks of violence and crime, ending with seditious attacks on the Government and all institutions that upheld law and order. Already it has been shown that commerce, so far from declining, flourished apace during 1862-63, and that the revenue increased so rapidly that Mr. Gladstone actually remitted taxes.
The problem of relieving the distress was solved with ease and simplicity. There were no epidemics of pestilence, and, save in Stalybridge, no riotous disturbances. The noble resignation, the heroic patience of the sufferers, and their perfect confidence in the sympathy and the helpfulness of their countrymen, in fact compelled the admiration of the civilised world. In the month of December, 1862, there were 500,000 cotton operatives receiving relief in Lancashire, and the loss in wages from lack of employment was estimated at £168,000. Cotton then came in, though in small quantities, and some mills were able to run. Emigration and the transference of labour to other employments also relieved the pressure, so that in June, 1863, only 256,000 persons were receiving relief in the afflicted districts. At the end of the year this number was reduced to 180,000. So far from the health of the people suffering, it rather improved. There was less infant mortality than usual in the cotton districts, possibly because female operatives, being thrown out of work, were able to devote more attention to their children.[177] Enforced