The society at Athens was most enjoyable, and the number of times I lost my heart it would be hard to say. In late years, when I commanded the Rapid, a wooden sloop, my very dear friend and most excellent Commander-in-Chief, Sir Hastings Yelverton, used invariably to send me to that station, where I had the honour of becoming acquainted with His Majesty King George and Her Majesty Queen Olga. No words that I can use would be commensurate with the marked kindness and hospitality that I received at their Majesties’ hands. I spent many of the happiest days of my life under their roof, or otherwise in their society; and some who may chance to read these lines will bear me out in acknowledging the debts of gratitude which those who had the distinguished privilege of their Majesties’ acquaintance must have felt for the kindness shown to them on their visiting Athens, and that lovely country-seat, Tatoi. I first knew Athens in King Otho’s reign; and I was there at the coup d’état, when His Majesty was conveyed away in Her Majesty’s ship Sylla, commanded by Rowley Lambert.
From Athens the Princess Royal was suddenly ordered to proceed post-haste to the island of Zea, in the Archipelago, where the Royal Albert, flagship, had sought refuge, having sprung a serious leak in her stern post on the way from Constantinople. We found her with her bows run ashore, and hard at work having the leak repaired. We assisted, and in a day or two were enabled to get her off. A paddle sloop, the Sphynx, took her in tow. We formed the escort, and eventually arrived all together at Malta.
Dear old place! What a time we middies had there! I immediately fitted myself out with new clothes, took a stall at the Opera, and was the young swell to my heart’s content. The performances were very good for second-class singers. Some made their fame afterwards in European capitals, and rose to the zenith of their profession. Balls, parties, and every sort of fun went on during our stay. We used to ride in parties of twenty or more all over the island. Helter-skelter we flew along those hard rocky roads, to the peril of anything that came across our path. Cetta Vechia was the famous rendezvous for luncheon or refreshments, and the orange gardens suffered considerably from our thirsty mouths. The Maltese, apparently, did not mind. Fresh from the war, we were given unlimited licence in our expeditions; and we certainly made the most of it.
The harbour was always astir, transports and ships of war constantly arriving or leaving: all was interest and excitement.
Malta had great fascinations to my mind. Everything was picturesque: a beautiful harbour, with its numerous creeks splitting up the town into several small ones: though under different names, it was all Malta. There were an excellent club, races, cricket, and every sport save shooting, though quails were to be found at certain seasons.
About the middle of April 1856 our stay at Malta came to an end. We left for a cruise in the Archipelago: to pass the time during the long armistice, and also, I imagine, to be handily awaiting events while the peace preliminaries were under discussion.
We had not long to wait. A day or two after we arrived at the island of Rhodes the Spiteful hove in sight, flying the signal, “Have important despatches for you.” These turned out to be an order to proceed full-speed to Constantinople, to hoist our guns out, and be off as fast as possible to the Crimea, to take on board troops for conveyance to England. Hurrah! We were indeed glad to find the war at an end and home looming in the near future. Our guns were hoisted out on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus, and one day sufficed to turn the man-of-war into a troop-ship. Eighteen months is not a long time for a sailor to be away from home; yet as a boy, especially after war service, one felt anxious to return to one’s family,—a small warrior full of narrative. My cadet’s time had now expired: so I was able to don “the patch” of white on the collar, and felt as proud as Punch.
From the Bosphorus we made for Katzatch harbour, and took on board a battalion of the Scotch Fusilier Guards, 1260 strong.
We had a fine army at the close of the war. I believe that most of the regiments were on a real war-strength footing. The Scots Fusiliers were a splendid regiment, officered by some of the finest fellows you could possibly meet. Several were great friends of mine for years afterwards; though, as I write this, many of them are gone. Alister Frazer, Trefusis, Astley (the mate), Gordon, Erskine, Gipps,—all had served through the war. Landing at Varna in 1854, they had fought at the Alma, at Inkerman, at Balaclava, and in other actions, and weathered the storm of shot and shell in the trenches during those tedious and trying times. It was a marvel they lived to tell the tale. I believe that only 400 of the men who landed with the regiment at the beginning of the war came home in my ship. Most of the other ships of the Fleet were embarking troops, and every available steamer was chartered from the Merchant Service. The Himalaya bore the palm for size and beauty. She was looked on in those days as simply majestic: nothing approached her in size. She was afterwards brought into the Navy from the P. and O. Company, and for years afterwards she served as a troop-ship with the White Ensign at the peak, and was always, until her last days, considered a perfect vessel: she could be relied on to make her long passages almost to a day. I saw her in 1896, about to be broken up, lying in the Hamoaze at Plymouth; and I could not help feeling a pang when I heard that her days were numbered and she was to be broken up, for a more dutiful vessel has not graced the Royal Navy. On whatever station one happened to be, out would come this glorious old ship, looking as neat as possible, even in her old age.
We in the Princess Royal did all we could to make the time pass pleasantly for the Scots. The Mate (Astley) was always to the fore sky-larking with us mids; and we tried the old game of getting him aloft to lash him to the rigging, so that he should “pay his footing” (as it was called); but he was as nimble as a cat, and we never succeeded.