THE ROYAL PROCESSION
LORD ROBERTS REVIEWING THE PROCESSION AS IT APPROACHES ST. PAUL’S
From the outset of her reign the Queen showed her interest in the first line of defence of her island kingdom, and repeatedly held Royal reviews at Spithead. The most noteworthy of these were in 1856, at the close of the Crimean War, when Britain’s sea-power was displayed in 254 vessels of all sizes—the last occasion when “the wooden walls of Old England” took a prominent part; and in 1887, the Jubilee year, when it was believed that the iron bulwarks of Britain’s shores had attained their ultimate strength and power. Great as was the fleet then shown to Her Majesty’s Royal guests and her gratified people, it was weak compared with the vast array of 26th June 1897, when no fewer than a hundred and sixty vessels flew their pennants to the breeze, and in combined strength and powers, both of defence and attack, surpassed all other fleets which have ever been gathered together at any one corner of Neptune’s domain. These splendid squadrons, ready at a few days’ notice for mobilisation for active service, should need arise, are independent of the 125 vessels which constitute the British fleets in commission in all parts of the world.
THE NAVAL REVIEW AT SPITHEAD, JUNE 26, 1897
Disposition of the Ships.—The ships were anchored, with free space to swing with the tide, in five lines, each extending to rather over five and a half sea miles. In addition to these regular lines, there were, just outside the entrance to Portsmouth Haven, flotillas of small Government craft. The first line, nearest the shore of the mainland, consisted of torpedo boats and, on its western flank, of training brigs, the latter about the only representatives of the pure sailing-ships left to our navy; the second line was composed of destroyers and gunboats; the third line, of third-class cruisers, torpedo gunboats, and gunboats; the fourth and fifth, of battleships and cruisers. A sixth line was constituted by the war-ships sent by foreign Governments in honour of the great naval event and of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee; while a seventh was composed of a representative fleet of our unsurpassed mercantile marine. If the latter be numbered with the British fleet, together with pleasure steamers and yachts which sailed and steamed in and out of the lines the whole day long, it may be reckoned that there were nearly three hundred vessels in the Solent.
It is the centre of this wondrous throng which furnishes the most striking portion of a gorgeous picture, for here at the foot of the steps stand the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, wearing dark purple copes; the Bishop of London, with a cope of salmon pink and gold, and on his head a skull-cap of cloth of gold; the Bishop of Winchester in a gown of dark velvet; the Dean of Westminster and the Canons of the Abbey attired in their coronation copes of purple velvet with gold devices; and the Dean of St. Paul’s and the Canons enveloped in scarlet copes emblazoned with the sacred monogram “I.H.S.,” surrounded by a halo of gold-embroidered tongues of fire. Here, too, is the Archimandrite of the Greek Church in more sable vestments, and a hat with black hangings descending down the back as far as the waist, a style of head-dress closely resembling that of the Archbishop Antonius of Finland. Behind the open masonry of the western portico sit hundreds of guests on rudely-constructed stands, and in the windows and on the roofs of the large business houses that encroach so near to the Cathedral are assembled thousands of eager spectators.
To this great scene of colour and animation the Queen approaches, amid the plaudits of her people, re-echoed by those assembled at the Cathedral front. A railed space is kept clear, while the one carriage containing the Sovereign passes within the enclosure to the foot of the steps, accompanied by those bearing the Royal Princes and Princesses and noble ladies in attendance.
Again the sun bursts forth in radiant beams as the National Anthem is thundered out by the military bands. A copy of the brief service, in morocco binding, is handed to the Queen, and the choir, assisted by the military bands, breaks out into that song of holy praise, “Te Deum Laudamus.” It is a setting composed for the occasion by Dr. Martin, the Cathedral organist, and the music is full of power and beauty. Subdued are the strains where the notes of praise change to those of prayer; first the male voices are heard in stately unison, and then the bright tones of the boys take up the song, but the whole vocal and instrumental strength joins in overwhelming power for the closing words, “O Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded.” All stand uncovered while this is sung, and Her Majesty remains seated, holding a white sunshade over her bowed head, but the Princesses by standing up in their carriages participate in this act of Royal Thanksgiving.