The outer world believed him to be the most cautious and prudent of men, weighing every word before he uttered it, and never making a rash remark, whereas he was very much the reverse. I have, for example, heard him discuss the characters of European statesmen with an unreserved freedom that was startling. He was fond, too, of passing criticisms upon great political questions that staggered one by their boldness. I think it was in 1883 that he told me that, in his opinion, there was no future for the Tory party. Conservatism as a force was played out, and the destinies of the country must henceforth be controlled by Liberals. I am trying to give a slight sketch of the man as he really was, and not as he was believed to be by the contemporary public. If he was neither so wise nor so cautious as men thought him, he was infinitely more charming and more human, and all who really knew him mourned his death as a personal loss. When I first met him he was in a state of political transition. Although he had made up his mind to sever his connection with the Conservatives, he had taken no open steps in the direction of the other camp. The first time he ever entered a Liberal club, and made a political speech in it, was when I got him to go to the Leeds Liberal Club to receive an address from the members. He is one of the most distinguished of the figures I associate with Fryston and its gifted owner.
The very last time that I dined with Lord Houghton I had an amusing experience. It was in the late autumn of 1884. Houghton had just met with a rather severe and painful accident. He had been staying at the Durdans with Lord Rosebery, and during the night had fallen out of bed, fracturing his collar-bone. His own account of the accident was that he had dreamt that Mr. Gladstone was pursuing him in a hansom cab, and in trying to escape he had tumbled off the bed. Although in great pain, he made light, according to his wont, of his injuries, and positively went down to Yorkshire the day after the accident in order to attend a meeting of Quarter Sessions. It was only on his return to town, where he was staying with his sister, the Dowager Viscountess Galway, that he consulted a doctor, who found that the collar-bone was fractured, and at once ordered him complete rest. Complete rest was something for which Houghton was not by nature fitted. I went to call on him whilst he was laid up, and he immediately begged me to arrange a little dinner party for his amusement while he was invalided.
The person he was most anxious to secure as a guest was James Payn, and I promised to do what I could to get Payn to dine. But there were difficulties in the way. Payn disliked dining out at any time, and he had, as I have already mentioned, a rooted aversion to evening dress, which, he declared, killed more men than drink. Besides, when he did dine out, he wished to smoke as soon as he had finished eating, and for this reason he objected to dinner parties at which ladies were present. All this I explained to Houghton. "Not wear evening dress? Well, you and he can come in frock-coats. I shall be in a dressing-gown." "And the cigars?" I said. "Oh, well, of course he can smoke if he wishes." "And ladies?" I continued. "That's awkward," said the dear old gentleman, "for this is my sister's house. She must be here. But don't tell him, and then perhaps he'll come." My negotiations with Payn were successful, and on the appointed evening, a Sunday, he and I set forth in a hansom for Rutland Gardens. I remember that on the way Payn, who was in exceptionally high spirits, informed me of the engagement of his daughter Alice to Mr. Buckle, the young editor of the Times.
It was a very small party at Lady Galway's, the only other guest being Sir Frederick Pollock; but the talk was certainly as good as any I had ever listened to. When Lady Galway left the room, I reminded our host of the condition with regard to cigars, for Payn, I saw, was already impatient. Lord Houghton suggested a cigarette, which would by no means have met the views of Payn. Happily I had my cigar-case with me, and this part of the dinner treaty was carried out in its entirety. I still remember the stories of that delightful evening. They were many and striking. Both Payn and Lord Houghton were at their best, and Sir Frederick Pollock, when the opportunity occurred, gave us pleasant recollections of the past. I was only too glad to be a listener. We sat long over our cigars, and it was not until the evening was far advanced that we rejoined Lady Galway. "Now," said she, when we appeared in the drawing-room, "you have been laughing ever since I left you, but there were three distinct bursts of laughter that were louder than any others, and I insist upon being told the stories which you seemed to enjoy so much." We looked at each other in some dismay, knowing full well the difficulty of re-warming cold dishes so as to make them appetising. But Lord Houghton came to the rescue. "My dear." he said, "it is quite impossible that you should be told those stories. They were not stories for ladies." The recording angel, I am sure, blotted out our host's departure from the truth for the sake of the motive which led him to spare Payn the burden of repeating his stories.
I have dwelt upon this dinner because, though I little knew it then, it was my last meeting with my dear and generous friend. Curiously enough, Lord Houghton's last words to me when I left him at night had reference to a lady with whom we both had a slight acquaintance. When I next saw that lady, the open grave in which Lord Houghton's coffin had just been placed yawned between us. Of that memorable dinner party in December, 1884, I, alas! am the only survivor. I corresponded with Houghton during the following spring and summer, but was unable to meet him on any of the occasions on which he asked me to do so, and whilst the summer was still at its height he died at Vichy. Like many another man, I felt that in him I had lost almost the best of my friends.
At the beginning of 1884 I visited Tangier, and spent a month in that curious place, so near to Europe in point of distance and so remote from it in all other respects. Tangier had at one time a reputation as the Alsatia of Europe and the United States. I do not know whether it still deserves this fame, but when I was there there were not a few sojourners in the place who, for reasons of their own, had abandoned civilisation in favour of a country in which law is but a term. On my way from Gibraltar to Tangier I met with an unpleasant experience. The steamer which was to convey me was a miserable rickety boat, called, if I remember aright, the Lion d'Or. It was not so big as a Thames penny steamer, was filthy in the extreme, and overloaded with goods which a number of Arab merchants were taking back from Europe to Morocco. There were three other European passengers besides myself, two of them being ladies. A stiff Levanter was blowing when we started, and the trip, which should have been accomplished in three hours, took eight. I have been out in worse weather, but never in a worse vessel, and more than once in that eight hours' struggle with wind and waves my fellow-passengers and I really believed that our end had come. The captain set a sail, hoping to steady the rolling craft, and it was instantly ripped into shreds by the wind. We shipped heavy seas, and were undoubtedly very near foundering.
Most fortunately, I and the other Englishman on board, a young artist who is now a full-fledged R.A., had taken the precaution to provide ourselves with food, and it was well that the provision was a liberal one, for the two poor ladies, one of whom was a young invalid, had not so much as a biscuit between them. Of course we shared our rations, and were thus saved from hunger during our day of peril. It was dark when we entered Tangier Bay, but all round us was a sea of foaming breakers. A huge flat-bottomed barge was with great difficulty brought out to the side of the steamer, and we were bidden to jump into it at once. At the risk of broken limbs or necks, we succeeded in reaching it, and then, to my dismay, I saw the steamer, with all my baggage on board, moving off, the captain having found that it was too dangerous to remain at anchor in the bay. When we were half-way to the shore the barge suddenly filled with water and sank beneath us, fortunately in so shallow a sea that there was no danger of drowning. My walking-stick, which was a very necessary adjunct, as I still suffered from my accident on Marston Moor, was washed out of my hands, but brawny Arabs seized me and my fellow-passengers, and we were borne safely through the surf to the beach, where we arrived, dazed, breathless, and drenched to the skin.
My travelling experiences in Tunis and Turkey had prepared me for the rush which was made upon us by all the loafers of the place, shrieking in Arabic, and eagerly claiming us as their spoil. But the ladies had never been out of England before, and were naturally terrified by the wild scene, following as it did upon their narrow escape from drowning. They were going to an hotel in the town, and I escorted them to it. Then I set out on my walk to Bruzeaud's Hotel, beyond the city gates and the Soko. I was in a sorry plight when I arrived there, but nothing could exceed the kindness of my reception, not only by the host, but by the Englishmen in the house. They placed their wardrobes at my disposal, and did everything they could to make me comfortable. My lost luggage did not turn up for nearly a week, but happily I had my money and my letters of introduction in my pocket. On the morning after my arrival I called upon the ladies who had shared my experiences on the previous day, and found, happily, that they had not suffered from the shock. I never saw them again; but ten years afterwards, when I was sitting in my room in London, a gentleman who had called upon business was brought to see me. To my great surprise he burst into tears as he took my hand. When he had recovered his composure he explained that he was the father of the younger of the two ladies, and he thanked me, in what I could not but think unnecessarily warm terms, for the trifling service I had rendered to his daughter. His emotion was explained by the fact that she had but recently died.
Among the company at Bruzeaud's Hotel there was a certain Captain W., a retired naval officer, who was something of a character. He had lived long in Morocco, had the highest opinion of its enormous natural wealth, and was longing for the day when England, or some other European Power, would seize and develop it. He had many original theories. He believed, for example, that Gibraltar was a source of weakness rather than of strength to the British Empire, and he had written a pamphlet in support of a proposal that we should exchange it with Spain for Ceuta. I must confess that his idea seemed to me to be a sound one. But Gibraltar looks so grand, and makes so strong an appeal to our national pride, that no English Minister would dare to talk of surrendering it, no matter what he might be offered in exchange. All the same, I do not think that Captain W. was altogether wrong when he spoke of the Rock as a "magnificent impostor."
One day there came to our hotel a typical representative of "Padgett, M.P." He was a member of the House of Commons who, having a couple of days to spare at Gibraltar, had run across the Straits to learn all about Morocco in the space of four-and-twenty hours. In the smoking-room after dinner he aired his opinions with all the confidence begotten of his Parliamentary dignity. He denounced the French, who knew nothing, he declared, about colonisation, and whose government of Algeria was a disgraceful failure. He lauded the noble character of the Arabs, and declared that Morocco needed no improvement, and, consequently, called for no interference on the part of any European Power. Captain W., who had very strong opinions as to the corruption of the Moorish Government, listened for some time in silence to opinions which were eminently distasteful to him. But at last his patience gave way, and he addressed the astonished M.P. in the following words: "You think you know everything about Morocco, sir, although you only landed on its soil this morning. There is one thing, however, that you evidently don't know, and that is, that if I chose to spend a couple of dollars I could have your throat cut before to-morrow morning; and you've talked such nonsense, sir, that I don't know whether that wouldn't be the best thing for me to do." I never saw a Padgett, M.P., collapse more completely than did this unfortunate specimen of the race under a retort which, however wanting in urbanity, was not without very considerable provocation.