With the return of the Nitrate workers to the Pampas, the worst of the strike was over; but Iquique was still distinctly non-normal during the rest of my short stay there.
I was very anxious to get down the coast to Antofagasta to visit the Leonor property and report on it before returning to England, where I was due for duty on the 1st of February; but the difficulty was to find a steamer that was going down the coast, as, owing to the strike of the stevedores, they could not take in cargo. However, I eventually succeeded in getting a passage in a tramp steamer that was going in the right direction. The next difficulty was to get on board, as there was still a transport strike going on, and consequently no public conveyances were available. I wrote to the Intendente and explained my situation as regards having to be back in England by a certain date, and he at once came to the rescue. As far as water transport was concerned, I was quite all right, as Captain Wilson, commanding the Chilean Cruiser Zenteno, was an old comrade of mine and promptly produced a steam pinnace to put me on board my steamer. I shall never forget my triumphant exit from Iquique. At the hour of my departure a most forlorn old pony-victoria, dragged by two equally forlorn mules, turned up at the door of the Casa Clarke, this equipage being surrounded by one of the best turned out and smartest escorts, (of Lancers), that I have ever seen. My luggage naturally filled the inside of the little carriage to overflowing, as well as the so-called box-seat, so away I went, sitting on the top of my pile of luggage, with the escort round me, amidst the laughter and jeers of my kindest of hosts and hostesses, and of my Chairman, who was remaining at Iquique, to finish off his interrupted visit to the officinas of the Tarapaca district.
The rest of my journey was quite uneventful. My steamer took me to Antofagasta, where I passed a few busy days inspecting the Leonor property, that had been recently acquired by the Company on whose board I sat. Our mining surveyor, who had reported on it, had, through no fault of his own, rather let us down. A sufficient proportion of nitrate was present all right, but, unfortunately, the rock that it was mixed up with proved on working to be abnormally hard, and was constantly breaking our crushing-engines, so eventually the property was not looked upon as a first-class paying proposition and was sold. When I was there, the crushing had hardly begun, and the report I sent to my Chairman was more concerned with the buildings of the officina, the managing officers, and the water supply.
I succeeded in hitting off another steamer going south, and a few days afterwards was in Valparaiso. There I only waited for the Transandine train, which, as it turned out, entailed three or four days’ delay,—days very pleasantly spent at Vigna-del-Mar, a charming suburb a few miles out of the town where all the rich merchants have their villas, and where there is also about the best hotel in Chile. Amongst other attractions, it boasted of a race-course, and a little club, where I believe very big baccarat occasionally went on; altogether “Vigna,” as it was always called, was an extremely pleasant place. My journey back over the Andes was extremely like the outward trip, the only difference was that from the Pacific side the pass was crossed over in a four-horsed carriage instead of mule-back. I infinitely preferred the mule, as it was sickening to have to witness the everlasting flogging of the good and willing horses by their brutal drivers. I had another short stay at Buenos Ayres while waiting for the mail boat, and eventually returned to England in the last days of January, just in time to take up a month’s duty as Equerry-in-Waiting.
[CHAPTER XVI]
1910
I had hardly arrived at Buckingham Palace and settled down to work before the news was received of the assassination of King Carlos and of his son, the Crown Prince, in the streets of Lisbon. It was a particularly brutal murder, for Queen Amelie was in the carriage with them, and saw her husband and son murdered before her eyes. The late King Carlos and his Consort had been so very recently the guests of our Royal Family, and were on such very friendly terms with them that the shock must have been felt most acutely. I was in attendance at both the Memorial Services that were held in London, the first of which was a Requiem Mass at St. James’ Church, Spanish Place, and on the following day at St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was said to have been the first time an English Sovereign had been present at a Roman Catholic Service since the Reformation. The Service at St. Paul’s was very beautiful and impressive, and in those days before the war, for many of those present, it was a unique experience to hear the drums of the Guards accompanying the organ in the Dead March; I know of no place where drums are heard to such effect, as under the great dome of Sir Christopher Wren.