Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

After the royal party had returned from supper, I noticed the Prince of Wales and Lord Houghton in deep conversation. Lady Lawson, having been let into the secret of the intended caricature, found me a convenient place near one of the pillars, where I watched him unobserved. Of course H.R.H. was amused to see our manœuvres.

Meanwhile, Lord Houghton was, judging from his expression, telling a wicked story to the Prince, and leant forward so that it should not be heard by those near. As he approached the point he became convulsed with laughter, and drawing still nearer, in his eagerness to make it understood, he slid to the end of the chair, and was about to whisper it to the Prince when the cushion, which was not fixed, gave way, and he fell to the floor with his legs in the air. The Prince of Wales picked him up, and looked at me, as much as to say, "Here is your chance." So that I went away with two ideas in my head, one of the entry in the wonderful uniform, and the other of the episode of falling off the chair. I made my caricatures in full colour and presented them in due course to the Princes, the Prince of Wales being very much amused to find that the same idea had occurred to them both, and I received a letter of thanks and full appreciation. Not long after, on going into the Beefsteak Club, I found the sole occupants of the room were Prince Leopold and Whistler, who was monopolising the Prince's attention by reading aloud extracts from a letter he was concocting, with the intention of administering a sound snubbing to a tradesman who had sent in an exorbitant bill. Jimmy, who was priding himself far more on his literary composition than the creation of one of his masterpieces, was chuckling over the pungent satire and barbed phrase with obvious appreciation, but the Prince was looking a little bored, and, by way of changing the subject, he turned to me and said that he had only just received the caricature of Lord Houghton, and how delighted he was with it.

An altogether very different type of peer was the old Marquis of Winchester, hereditary bearer of the Cap of Maintenance, whose office it is to carry the Cap on state occasions, such as the Opening of Parliament. On the last occasion on which Queen Victoria opened Parliament in person, I recollect this Marquis, who was the last remaining representative of the old Georgian type of beau, and of most picturesque appearance, make a striking figure in the group. It was the only occasion on which I was present at the ceremony, and I remember that as the Queen was going up the steps of the throne, she slipped.

In the early spring of 1882, having a troublesome cough which I could not shake off, I was ordered to take a trip to Tangier.

It was indeed a novel idea to me, having travelled so little, to see so primitive and interesting a place as it had been described to me, and with a portfolio of unfinished Vanity Fair cartoons to complete while away, I set off on a P. and O. for Gibraltar. I arrived there in a dense mist, which, however, passed off in a few hours.

I had a letter of introduction to Colonel Whitaker, who was in command of the Artillery at this time, and having ascertained that there was no boat to take me to Tangier for two or three days, I promptly presented my letter, which was answered with equal promptitude, inviting me to dine at the regimental mess on the following evening. I, of course, accepted, and had a thoroughly good time. Next day I called upon him at one of the charming villas on the Rock, to thank him for his hospitality.

Anxious to be in the warm and sunny clime of Africa, I now lost no time in getting on board a paddle-boat of sorts for my destination. I didn't like the look of the morning, for it was not one that I had pictured to myself as being appropriate to the occasion. When we were under way, I noticed a depressing-looking group of Moors huddled up together, who, as the vessel proceeded, grew very ill indeed, and this didn't enliven matters. On arriving in the Bay of Tangier, the passengers were landed in small boats, their baggage being seized from them, regardless of instructions, by a collection of officious Moors, who followed them with the porters to their respective hotels.

LORD NEWLANDS. 1909.