TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Some minor changes to the text are noted at the [end of the book.]

LORD WILLIAM BERESFORD, V.C.

SOME MEMORIES OF A FAMOUS
SPORTSMAN, SOLDIER
AND WIT

“FIGHTING BILL”

Reproduced by permission from “Vanity Fair”

LORD WILLIAM
BERESFORD, V.C.
SOME MEMORIES OF A FAMOUS
SPORTSMAN, SOLDIER AND WIT

BY

MRS. STUART MENZIES

WITH APPRECIATIONS BY
THE EARL OF CROMER &
ADMIRAL LORD BERESFORD
38 ILLUSTRATIONS, ALSO REPRODUCTIONS
OF THE SIGNATURES OF THOSE
PRESENT AT THE FAMOUS FAREWELL
DINNER AT CALCUTTA

HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED
ARUNDEL PLACE HAYMARKET
LONDON S.W.

MCMXVII

PRINTED BY WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND

INTRODUCTION

There are days when we are under the spell of the past, when lovely times, lovely things, and delightful people that have lapsed into “have beens” are again with us, in a mist of memories and dreams, but memories and dreams that have been true and real—to be treasured always.

In my memory there are silhouetted against the horizon of the past a few figures (amongst the many kind friends who have journeyed with me) who stand alone, whose greatness of character singled them from their fellows, others whose splendid works for state or humanity have marked them, but I pause before a figure that would have told us he was nothing in particular, yet few men have been so loved, so universally popular as the late Lord William Beresford, V.C., one of the most charming characters and greatest personalities of the age, a brave and gallant soldier, a loyal and faithful friend, possessing an extraordinarily generous nature. A man has not lived for nothing, and must be something in particular, when his friends can truly say that of him.

I have waited a long time before undertaking this work, hoping some more able pen than mine would give to his old friends and future generations some record of Lord William’s eventful life, a few memories of his many kindnesses and unostentatious charities, his pluck, deeds of daring and unfailing cheeriness.

No such scribe appearing, I have taken my courage in both hands and endeavoured to pay a small tribute to the memory of an old and valued friend, being encouraged by the letter I received (January 16th, 1916) from Lord Beresford, better known and loved by the great British public as Lord Charles Beresford, in which he wrote:

1, Great Cumberland Place,
London, W.,
19th January, 1916.

“Dear Mrs. Stuart Menzies,

“Thank you for your letter. I am so delighted to hear that you are going to write the life of my dear brother Bill; he had the most lovable nature, the most charming character, the pluckiest spirit and most generous mind that I have ever met. He was always thinking of others and never of himself. I shall be delighted to help you in any way that I can.

“May all good luck attend you. The whole family will be most interested in your life of perhaps one of the most gallant officers, noble gentlemen, and charming comrades that ever existed.

“Yours very sincerely,
“Charles Beresford.”

Lord Cromer also, who was for some years associated with Lord William in India, wrote to me saying:

“Dear Mrs. Stuart Menzies,

“As I understand that you are engaged in writing the life of my old and very dear friend, Bill Beresford, I hope you will allow me to bear testimony to his great charm of character, his characteristically national sense of humour, and his staunch loyalty to both his country and his friends. I knew Bill Beresford very well and had a great liking for him. He was a fine gallant fellow with all the pluck and dash of his race and family, and moreover had a keen sense of humour. I was for some years associated with him when he was on the staffs of Lord Northbrook and Lord Ripon when Viceroys of India. He was the cheeriest of companions and the most gallant of soldiers—in a word, one of the best fellows I have ever come across during a long life.

“Very sincerely yours,
“(Signed) Cromer.”

I wish to take this opportunity of thanking the many friends of his and mine who have been so good as to assist me, without whose help I could not have hoped to do justice, even in this small measure, to a life so full of incident, and kindness for all who were associated with him. More especially are my thanks due to his brother, Lord Beresford, Lady Waterford, Edith Lady Lytton, Lord Ripon, Lord Rossmore, Sir Claude de Crespigny, his brother officers in the past, and his contemporaries on the various staffs, to Mr. Arthur Meyrick, also to his old and faithful friend, Mr. Charles Moore.

I have used one or two cuttings from old newspapers, but having no idea what they appeared in, I have been unable to ask permission to reproduce them, therefore ask forgiveness from all on whose grounds I may have trespassed.

I must also ask the indulgence of my readers in the matter of dates, having had to rely on memory to a great extent, aided by a few letters, papers, race cards, photos, etc., being handicapped by there being no mother or wife living into whose store-house of precious letters, and documents, it might be possible to dip, also by so many of Lord William’s intimate friends having left us and passed into the great Silence.

A. C. STUART MENZIES.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

COLONEL LORD WILLIAM LESLIE
DE LA POER BERESFORD, V.C., K.C.I.E.
1846-1900

LORD WILLIAM
BERESFORD, V.C.

CHAPTER I
EARLY DAYS

Early Childhood—Eton Days—Mischief and Whackings—Companions at Work and Play—Sporting Contemporaries of Note—The So-styled “Mad Marquis”—His Bride—Carriage Accident—Ride in Grand National—House of Commons Acknowledgment of Lady Waterford’s Goodness to the Irish during the Famine—Joins the 9th Lancers in Dublin—A Few Sporting Mishaps—Why he Spent his Life in India

The subject of these memories was the third son of the fourth Marquis of Waterford, who married the third daughter of Mr. Charles Powell Leslie of Glaslaugh, M.P. for Monaghan.

The children of this union were five sons:—

1. John Henry de la Poer.
2. Charles William de la Poer.
3. William Leslie de la Poer.
4. Marcus Talbot de la Poer.
5. Delaval James de la Poer.

In 1866 the fourth Marquis died, and was succeeded by John Henry, the first of the five sons mentioned already, and elder brother of the Lord William of whom I write. One of the most delightful characteristics of this family has always been its unity; the brothers were devoted to one another, their home and their parents. To the end of his days Lord William spoke of Curraghmore as “Home,” and of his devotion to his beautiful mother. She must have been a proud woman, having brought into the world five such splendid specimens of humanity, all handsome, having inherited the Beresford good looks, high spirits, and pluck, whilst happily imbued with the pride of race which is the making of great men.

There is nothing snobbish or vulgar in being proud of our ancestry, though it may seem so to those who are unacquainted with their own. Even savages have pride of race, and it has been so since the days of Virgil, and before that. Let us hope it will always be so. It is our birthright, which is well, for it helps men and women to keep straight, sorry to be the first to lower the standard or bring it into disrepute.

Look at the pride of race among the different tribes in the East how strong it is, their castes are profound and deep religions to them, their inherited pride of race, for which they willingly die, rather than suffer any real or imaginary indignity.

This instinct is still strongly marked in our present-day Gypsies, who are exceedingly exclusive and proud of their race, and they will tell with pride, if you know them well enough, that the reason they are, and will be ever more, accursed and hunted from place to place, is because a Gypsy forged the nails used in the Crucifixion.

The Lithuanian Gypsies say stealing has been permitted in their families by the crucified Jesus, because they, being present at the Crucifixion, stole one of the nails from the Cross, after which stealing was no longer a sin. This sounds irreverent, but they do not treat it lightly. The belief has been handed down to them, grown with them, and they seem sadly proud of their history, legend, or whatever it may be.

From an early age Lord William seems to have realised what was due to his family and his race, for with all his high spirits, even in the effervescence of youth, never once has anybody been able to say he brought discredit on his family.

The Beresfords have for generations been keen sportsmen, high-spirited, unspoilt, straightforward gentlemen; using the word in its old-fashioned full significance. Lord William was no exception to this rule, and it has not been given to many to be so universally popular. His worst enemy was himself, inasmuch as he habitually put more work into twenty-four hours than most people would consider a fair week’s allowance. From an early age he loved excitement, courting danger and adventure, resulting in most of the bones in his body having at one time or another some experiences, and I shall always think that but for the juggling tricks he played with his life he might still be with us, and the world the better for his cheeriness, generosity, and loyal friendship.

This is not a proper biography in the everyday acceptance of the term, it aspires to nothing so great. I have neither the competency to entitle me, nor the ambition to urge me to write a formal and stereotyped account of Lord William’s life, but only some memories, full of the little things that matter, small details that bring us closer to the character and introduce us to the personality of the man.

It is not as a soldier, it is not as a statesman that I claim applause for Lord William, though both may be owed, but for his thoroughness in whatever he undertook, his unfailing cheerfulness, his loyalty, energy, and marvellous pluck.

In his early days the principle of—“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might,” must have been driven home, for whatever he undertook, that he certainly did with all his might; but his generosity and his kindliness of nature and his tact must have been born with him on July 20th, 1847, in the quaint little village of Mullaghbrach, in the north of Ireland, where his father was rector until he succeeded his brother, the third Marquess, in 1859. The early days of Lord William’s childhood were spent in this peaceful home with the usual accompaniment of nurses, followed by a German governess until he was considered old enough for further instruction, when the Rev. Dr. Renau’s Preparatory School at Bayford was chosen, the present Lord Methuen being there at the same time. After which, when eleven years old, that is in the year 1858, he was sent to Eton, first to the house of Mr. Hawtry, and then into Dr. Warre’s.

LORD WILLIAM AT ETON, AGED 11

It is interesting to note that the present-day actor is a relation of Mr. Hawtry of Eton fame. It was through the Eton Hawtry’s persuasions that the Prince Consort founded a prize for modern languages at the College.

Lord Cheylesmore, Sir Simon Lockhart, and Lord Langford were at Dr. Warre’s house with Lord William, the two latter being among the Doctor’s earliest pupils. Lord Langford says, “Bill was never out of rows of different sorts.” While Lord Methuen tells me he remembers seconding a boy named Allen at his tutor’s in a fight with Lord William, adding, “And it was a very hard fight,” but being senior to Lord Bill he saw very little of him while there. Dr. Warre-Cornish, Vice-Provost of Eton, said, “I always liked him. His Eton record is chiefly connected with schoolboy sports and skirmishes with masters at Windsor Fairs, and other places. He kept many bulldogs and was of a turbulent disposition.”

The gas works were close to Dr. Warre’s house, and behind them was the rendezvous of those who had any differences to settle. Lord Langford says, “I think Lord Bill often paid a visit there!” and adds, “On one occasion he captured a polecat and tied it to the leg of a chair in Dr. Warre’s house.” We can well imagine the breathless moments in store for the household. Various surreptitious journeys were taken to feed it and make sure of its safety. Then there was the exciting time of changing the animal’s quarters and attaching it, in spite of protestations, to a certain chair!

History does not relate what happened, but something entertaining, no doubt. After being a year at Eton, Lord Bill heard of the death of his uncle, and that henceforth his home would be at Curraghmore.

While at Eton he seems to have been chiefly conspicuous for his love of sport and fighting, his high spirits, ready wit, and popularity with all. He worked as much as was necessary and no more, for he loved the river, running after beagles, paper, or any other form of sport, more especially a fight. Happily in his time the battles were not so serious as they were in 1825 when Lord Shaftesbury’s brother, Francis Ashley, was carried home to die after fighting for two hours with a boy named Wood.

Like a few other men one could name who have been educated at public schools, and later held important and responsible posts, he could not always depend on his pen carrying out his wishes and spelling properly. Long after having arrived at years of discretion, shall I say? he constantly wrote to an old friend as “My dear Jhon,” meaning John. One day we were talking about certain clever people being unable to spell properly and chaffing him about it; nobody enjoyed a joke against himself better than he did. Somebody asked him, “Bill, why don’t you write the word you are uncertain of down on a piece of paper with all the variations as they occur to you? The look of the word would tell you which was right?” He replied, “I always do write it down on a piece of paper and never doubt its being right.” After which there was nothing more to be said, and we decided it would all be the same a hundred years hence, therefore it did not matter; and at any rate he had my sympathy. He agreed with Yeats, the Dublin poet, who sang:

“Accursed he who brings to light of day

The writings I have cast away;

But blessed he who stirs them not,

But lets the kind worms eat the lot.”

Certainly Lord William’s letters were short and sweet; he did not commit more to writing than he could help, thereby proving that he was a wise man.

Five years were spent at Eton, and they were spoken of as happy ones. Even at that early age his passion for racing betrayed itself and led to trouble, for on one occasion the attractions of Ascot became too much for him. Knowing that if he asked for leave to go it would be denied him, he took French leave, and received a whacking on his return, which reminds me that before Lord William’s time a certain flogging block belonging to the College disappeared one day, having been kidnapped by one of the Beresfords, the third Marquess, I think, when he was at Eton, and is now in evidence at Curraghmore, or was a few years ago. As far as I can gather there was no hue and cry after that interesting piece of furniture, and the next time there was any whacking to be done another block was found to be reigning in its stead; so presumably there was a supply kept in the store-room among the pickles and the jam.

Lord William’s contemporaries, besides those already mentioned, were the present Sir Hugh McCalmont, afterwards a brother officer and life-long friend, the late Lord Jersey, and the present Lord Minto. Lord William was fag to both the latter in succession, Mr. Charles Moore, another life-long friend, and, I believe, Lord Rossmore.

At the age of sixteen, Lord William left Eton and went to Bonn to study French and German under a tutor named Dr. Perry, others studying there at the same time being the Hon. Elliot and Alec Yorke, and the Hon. Eric Barrington, who tells me he was also with him at Eton, where “his principal reputation was that he and a friend of his had been subjected to more floggings within a certain time than had previously been recorded by anyone else.” Sir Eric says when he found Lord William at Bonn: “I was both surprised and delighted to find Bill Beresford there, not having hitherto associated him with foreign languages.” Some amusing accounts are given to me also of the Bonn days, where he says: “Our tutor had a peculiar way of accustoming us to the use of the German tongue, as, though we had a resident German tutor in the house, we were strictly forbidden to make any German acquaintances in the town, and were enjoined on our word of honour to talk German to each other during certain hours every day. A worse practice could hardly be imagined. Nevertheless, Bill undoubtedly acquired a certain facility in chattering, which he afterwards told me was most useful to him with the Dutch during the South African campaign.” Again speaking of Lord William he says: “His nature was exceedingly lovable, and he was very popular with his fellow pupils and tutors, whom, however, he took no pains to conciliate. During one altercation with his German tutor, the latter was heard to say, ‘Beresford, I loved you once, but I despise you now!’ which diverted us greatly at the time.”

From accounts of those times it appears that it was the habit of Dr. Perry to give a gala supper the night before breaking up for the holidays, at which all the instructors were present. On one of these occasions a certain student at the University who had been giving Lord William lessons in Latin, and who was much attached to him, made the following speech in English with a very strong German accent: “I have heard of Merry old England, but I have never heard of the Merry old Ireland. I wish to propose the toast of the Merry old Ireland and the Merry old Beresford.”

To amuse himself at Bonn, Lord William used to boat with his companions on the Rhine, and took special delight in the company of an English livery-stable keeper, who kept a certain number of riding horses of inferior calibre, with which he was intimately acquainted, riding being his favourite recreation.

I am afraid Lord William constantly broke Dr. Perry’s rules, and was frequently being sent away in consequence; but his mother, Lady Waterford, said she took no notice of the letters telling her of her son’s dismissal, as they were invariably followed by others recalling the sentence. Dr. Perry was really much attached to his unruly pupil, and his pupil had a very loyal feeling towards him, and was the means once of saving his life. Sir Eric Barrington tells me the story, and I feel I cannot do better than repeat it in his own words.

“Our Easter holidays were short and spent in expeditions to Switzerland or the Tyrol. In the spring of 1866 Dr. Perry took six of us to the latter. We were to walk across a pass with two guides, carrying our knapsacks. We walked for ten hours with very little food; the guides became exhausted and refused to go any further, but Dr. Perry was determined to reach the village we were making for. He misunderstood the directions of the guides and lost his way. We boys were exhausted also by this time, so stopped at a small hay-hut, where we resolved to stay the night. Dr. Perry went on in the dark, and attempted to descend the mountain-side alone. Beresford became uneasy about his safety, and went off to look for him. The rest of us settled down and went to sleep, when we heard Beresford shouting he had found Dr. Perry, but could not persuade him to return, as he had sighted the lights of the village in the distance. Still uneasy, Beresford started off again with a friend in the early hours of the morning to look for Dr. Perry and see if all was well. After some time he thought he heard a faint cry, and looking over the side of the mountain descried the object of his search some way down sitting astride an old tree stump, which had mercifully broken his fall, but still in a most perilous position, and trying to keep himself awake by digging his fingers into the decayed wood. From a cottage nearby, Beresford managed to get a rope, but it proved too short, so he set off for the village, where he found his companions and the guides had arrived. Though feeling thoroughly tired out and done up, he insisted on returning with the guides to show them where to find Dr. Perry, and to help in the rescue. He was released with difficulty and after some hard work.

“Dr. Perry always felt he owed his life to Beresford’s perseverance, and on that account was disposed to show leniency when his high spirits led him into mischief on future occasions.”

Bill’s main characteristics were courage and loyalty; it was impossible not to be warmly attached to him.

It having been decided that the Army was to be the profession of Lord Waterford’s third son, after leaving Dr. Perry, several other tutors were requisitioned to put the necessary finishing touches to his military education, after which he passed very creditably into the Army at the age of twenty, joining that popular regiment, the 9th Lancers, as a cornet in 1867.

They were a merry crowd in those days. Among Lord William’s boon companions in the regiment were the present Lord Rossmore, otherwise known as “Derry,” Captain Candy, “Sugar Candy,” Captain Clayton, “Dick,” the present Colonel Stewart Mackenzie, “The Smiler,” General Sir Hugh McCalmont, and the Hon. Charley Lascelles, who could do such wonderful things with horses owing to his good hands and sweet temper; and many more too numerous to mention, not a few of whom, like Captain Candy, Captain Clayton, and Mr. Lascelles, have moved on into another room, where their friends can no longer see them.

It is an interesting fact that all good sorts and popular men get nicknames attached to them, it being a sign of their value and the affection borne them by their comrades. Not often are selfish prigs called by nicknames, possibly they may be known behind their backs as “The Swine” or “The Prig,” or some other uncomplimentary epithet which can only be used sub-rosa, for who could so address them to their faces?

Among his friends, who were legion, Lord William was known as “Bill.” His brother, Lord Charles Beresford, is always called “Charlie” in the most affectionate way by even the crowd in the streets, who all love him and look upon him as their own.

Those were grand happy days when Lord William first joined the 9th. He and his young friends had the whole world before them, life and health then being a matter of no consequence, no consideration, for in the arrogance of youth who takes thought of the morrow? If only when people are young they could be persuaded to take a practical view of life and map out their days, not spending strength too freely, or trying nerves too highly, but keeping a little in reserve, something to draw upon. Uncontrolled spirits often lead to disaster early in life. The Irish are especially buoyant and their mad spirits infectious and lovable.

In later years Lord William often spoke of those early days, referring in affection or admiration to many of his sporting contemporaries, among whom were Mr. Garret Moore, who between ’67 and ’69 rode many winners in Ireland and elsewhere. (He died in 1908.) Roddy Owen, a great winner of races, especially in India and Canada up to 1885, after which he surprised people at home a little by winning the Grand National on Father O’Flynn in 1892, Sandown Grand Prize two years running and, if I remember rightly, the Grand Military on St. Cross. Poor “Roddy,” as everybody called him, died in Egypt on active service in 1896, mourned and regretted by everyone who knew him.

Colonel Meysey Thompson, who had known Captain Owen all his life, wrote some charming lines “In Memoriam” when he died. I do not remember them all, at any rate not correctly, but one verse I know ran:

“May the date palm’s stately branches

Above thee gently wave;

May the mimosa’s scented wattles

Bedeck with gold thy grave.”

But as I am not writing Roddy Owen’s life I must hurry on, especially as poking into the pigeon-holes of the past is apt to bring on fits of the blues.

Captain Bay Middleton, another great friend, however, must not be forgotten. He was fond of cricket as well as hunting and horses. A member of the Zingari, Captained by Sir Gerard Leigh, and while in Ireland they played the 9th Lancers. I do not remember who won, but when the game was over Lord William, to amuse his friends, suggested a run with the drag hounds, managing to find mounts for all; they rode just as they were, in flannels. Needless to say the fun and enjoyment were great.

It was delightful to hear these boon companions living over again some of these times amidst happy laughter and friendly recriminations, though perhaps sometimes tinged with regrets for the days that were gone. Captain Middleton died in 1892, so another old friend passed out of Lord William’s life. It was in April, I think, when Captain Middleton was riding at quite a small fence (as is so often the case), that his horse pecked, throwing its rider forward, and, as almost invariably occurs when a horse is in trouble, threw up its head, trying to recover itself, and in so doing broke Captain Middleton’s neck. He was no doubt a great man on a horse, and as a rule they went kindly with him, but I have seen him at times by no means gentle with them, I am sorry to say, and not always when the horse was to blame.

Another great friend I must not pass over was Captain Beasley, called “Tommy” by Lord William, who rode in twelve Grand Nationals. I have only mentioned a few of the names that recur to me; it would take many volumes if I were to enumerate all his great friends, for few men had so many.

At any rate the fun in those days was certainly fast and furious, some of the practical jokes being distinctly drastic though considered very amusing at the time. I doubt if in these days they would be considered jokes at all. It does not follow that what was considered funny and witty by one generation will be considered the least amusing by the next, any more than what was true yesterday need be true to-day, and often is not.

On one occasion when his friend, Captain McCalmont, was driving him from Cahir Barracks to Clonmel, while passing through the town of Cahir, Lord William asked if he would mind pulling up for him to do some shopping. When he returned with his purchases they consisted of a sack of potatoes; this was planted at his feet, and as they continued their drive he amused himself by throwing potatoes at everyone they met. Some smiled and seemed pleased with the delicate attention and gift of potatoes, others, however, were not, therefore a crowd soon gathered and embarked on reprisals. The potatoes were coming to an end, but his blood being up, he purchased more and continued the battle. As they proceeded along the ten miles to Clonmel, news of the battle had evidently travelled ahead of them, for in places they found people waiting for them armed with missiles, including brickbats. It now became a question how they were to get away themselves. However, the Irish understand one another, and all the country was fond of the Beresfords, from whom they had received many considerations and benefits. At that time, in the eyes of the people, the Beresfords could do no wrong, so it ended, I am told, quite happily. In the autumn of our days it seems a very long time since we were so full of beans that we could do such mad things, the result of animal spirits.

Lord William’s uncle, the third Marquis, has been called the “Mad Marquis” owing to the extraordinary things he did, probably from the same overflow of spirits from which Lord William suffered when throwing potatoes at peaceful pedestrians on the road.

The so-called “Mad” Marquis certainly did some very astonishing things, but purely, in my opinion, from devil-me-care fun and spirits, for when married to the beautiful Louisa, daughter of Lord Stuart de Rothsey, whom he passionately loved, he settled down after sowing his wild oats, and became a model husband and landlord, beloved by the whole countryside.

It appears to be rather fashionable to think everyone is mad whom we do not understand, or even perhaps when they are superior to ourselves in courage or intellect.

I leave it to my readers to decide if he earned the sobriquet, if they think a man who was so exceedingly devoted and tender to his wife, and so full of consideration for his countrymen, could be rightly termed the “Mad Marquis.”

When he brought home his bride to Curraghmore, seeing a crowd of country folk and tenants collected to greet them, he leaned over his wife and lifted her veil so that all might admire, so great was his pride in her.

Soon after their marriage, when driving his wife, one of the horses became restive while descending a steep hill. The only thing to be done to avoid a bad accident was to turn the horses into a hedge at the side of the road. Lady Waterford tried to get out, and in so doing fell, hurting her head, causing concussion of the brain. Her devoted and alarmed husband carried his unconscious wife in his arms down the hill, through the River Clode, back to the house, that being the shortest way, so that she could be properly attended to more quickly. For several days and nights he scarcely left her; it was hardly possible to persuade him to come away even for food; and when the doctor said all her beautiful hair, that he admired so much, must be cut off, he would allow no hands to do it but his own.

CURRAGHMORE

Like all the Beresfords, the third Marquis was handsome and loved sport in every form, especially fox-hunting; he hunted the Curraghmore entirely at his own expense. It was a sad day when his mount, May-boy, made a mistake over a rotten wall, which put an end to all his hunting.

It must have been from this uncle that Lord William inherited his love for steeplechasing, for we hear of the Marquis in 1840, when it was first becoming the fashion for gentlemen to ride in chases, riding in the Grand National. He died in 1859 without any children, and was succeeded by his brother, Lord William’s father, as fourth Marquis.

In 1847 (the year Lord William was born) Lord and Lady Waterford devoted most of their time and much money in endeavouring to relieve the distress in Ireland caused by the famine. The Marquis imported shiploads of wheat for the people, and Lady Waterford’s goodness was so great that the House of Commons felt constrained to acknowledge it.

In return for this, these excitable people in the following year, under the influence of agitators, became so rebellious to law, and order and to their best friends, that Curraghmore had to be fortified against them. The Fenians declared they would capture Lady Waterford and carry her away to the hills.

This alarmed her husband so greatly that he took her to her mother, in England, for safety, returning himself to Ireland to protect the home he loved so dearly, and if possible save the people from themselves.

To return to Lord William. The 9th Lancers were stationed at Island Bridge Barracks, Dublin, when first he joined, which for an Irishman was all that could be desired. Then on from Dublin to Cahir, which is not very far from Waterford and Curraghmore; a troop of the 9th were quartered at Waterford and half a troop at Carrick-on-Suir, close to Curraghmore. For a time Lord William was with the Waterford troop, and it was a curious turn of fortune’s wheel that brought H.M.S. Research to Waterford harbour at this time with Lord Charles as a middy, or at any rate a very junior officer. Lord Marcus, in the 7th Hussars, was also at home on leave, so the brothers were together and there was a very happy gathering.

All the officers of the 9th and the Research were constantly at Curraghmore, where they were always sure of a welcome, many carrying away with them into foreign lands an affectionate gratitude for Lady Waterford, who had made a home for them all when in the neighbourhood.

9TH LANCERS IN DUBLIN, 1867

Back row, from left to right: Lieut.-Surg. Longman, Riding Master Crowdy, Capt. F. Gregory (A.D.C. to Lord Lieut. of Ireland), Capt. Cave, Capt. Hardy, Lieut. Gaskell, Cornet Stewart-Mackenzie.

Second row: Cornet Willoughby, Cornet Lord Wm. Beresford, Paymaster Mahon, Lieut.-Col. Johnson, Capt. Erskine, Lieut. Palairet, Lieut. Green, Cornet Percy, Adj.; Quarter-Master Seggie, Major Rich in plain clothes.

The 9th Lancers had a pack of harriers when at Cahir, Lord William acting as one of the whips. He had begun riding as a very small boy, on a pony called The Mouse, which was shared by the three brothers, each taking it in turn to ride. From this humble little mount he was promoted to other ponies, on which he soon began to execute little jumps, and ride about the country during the holidays. Before many years had passed over his head he became a follower of the Curraghmore hounds and other surrounding packs, often seeing more of the fun on his pony than some of the field on famous horses, partly owing to the plucky way he “shoved along” and to knowing the country well, also partly to the happy way ponies have of turning up unexpectedly and accomplishing wonderful feats by scrambling and crawling along places where bigger horses cannot find foothold. The old Curraghmore, now the Waterford, hunted a country of about thirty miles from east to west, and twenty miles from north to south, its boundaries being Tipperary, Kilkenny, and Wexford, and the sea on the south. Having thus graduated in horsemanship, by the time he joined the 9th he was known as a good man on a horse.

He naturally loved horses and dogs, and had many, being a good judge of both. In consequence of the number of the latter he usually had about him, Captain Fife, of the same regiment, when compiling an alphabetical list of rhymes in connection with his brother officers, on coming to the letter B, wrote:—

“‘B’ stands for Bill,

Many cur dogs are his,

Good-tempered but hasty,

And easily ris’”;

which, must be admitted, is a magnificent effort, even if it does not scan very well.

Witnesses of the fun in those days say they can never forget the delightful time when all the brothers were at home together. Each a sportsman, each a wit, full of merriment and pranks, and all especially delighted when Lord Charles danced a hornpipe for their amusement. How Curraghmore must have ached for their voices when they had, as the old song says, “all dispersed and wandered far away.”

It was when stationed at Cahir that Lord William began crumpling up his bones owing to various tosses of sorts. At this time he owned a very fast trotter, which could do sixteen miles an hour when requested. He started one night with this fast trotter in a dogcart to cover the three miles from the barracks to the station, taking an English guest with him to catch the 10.30 train for Dublin. The road was very dark and overshadowed by the trees of Cahir Abbey Park. Sir Hugh McCalmont (then Captain McCalmont), a brother officer already mentioned, was likewise performing the same journey bound for Dublin; both started at the same time. Lord William set the pace, and was soon out of sight and hearing. Added to the darkness, it was pouring with rain. After journeying some little way Captain McCalmont was held up by cries issuing from the gloom. Someone was shouting. He pulled up in time to find his friend with his guest, his fast trotter and some dogcart about the road. Lord William in his haste, combined with the darkness, had driven at top speed into a cart, somewhat to the surprise of the driver. The cart also looked as if taken by surprise, in places. Having satisfied himself that no one was killed, though all were more or less damaged, Captain McCalmont continued with his “crawler,” as he called it, to the station and caught his train, which is more than the fast trotting party did.

Trifles of this kind, however, never worried Lord William, for his spirits were unquenchable.

One of the fastest runs with hounds he could remember, in those days of scanty judgment, was when out with the Curraghmore hounds in the northern part of the country. The fences were not very big, but the pace was great. Lord William and Captain McCalmont were riding a bit jealous, I think; after racing for about twenty minutes, they both tried to fly a bank, with the natural result when jumping blown horses. Captain McCalmont’s gallant little mare did not get up for some time; she wisely lay still to recover her wind, but Lord William had been so struck by her performance that he shouted, “I will buy her”—and he did. But horses when asked to do too much, sometimes break their hearts, and the mare was never quite the same again.

Whenever sport was to be knocked out of anyone or anything Lord William was sure to be there. Nothing came amiss to him, fisticuffs, American cock-fighting, hunting, racing, polo, the latter only just becoming popular in England.

It was about this time that he came into his share of the family fortune. He considered it so inadequate to his needs, that he decided to spend the capital as interest. This is how he described it to me one evening, years later, in the grounds of the Taj at Agra.

“So inadequate to my needs was the interest on my share, that I decided to use my capital as income so long as it would last, and rearrange my life again when it came to an end. I started a coach, a stud of hunters, some racehorses, and laid myself out for a real good time. I managed to hold on until just before the regiment was ordered to India. Then, as the fateful day drew near, I thought I would have one final flutter at the Raleigh Club. A turn up of three cards at £1000 a card! I won the lot, was able to pay up all I owed and clear out to India, cleaned out, but a free man as to debt.”

I do not feel I am betraying any confidence, as he told the story to several people, and really it is an amazing example of what pluck and daring, combined with determination, can do. A lesson in resource and audacity that a young subaltern should arrive in India a penniless soldier, and yet reach the height of social and official fame combined with pecuniary comfort, as he did, in a few years. To sit down with premeditation and map out such a wild scheme, and then be able to bring it off and win the odd trick, was rather wonderful.

Possibly what he suffered during those years when he was riding for a fall made him reckless, risking his life more frequently than he otherwise would have done, thinking it was bound to be a short and merry one, so what matter? Or, like others I have known when riding for a fall, would not give himself time to think.

Some of the extraordinarily kind things I have known him do for young men when in financial difficulties, though not overburdened with cash himself at the time, leads me to the belief that he remembered his feelings when the crash of his own arranging was drawing near, assisted perhaps by a little luck, which saved him.

Considering that he was not a rich man, it was wonderful how lavish was his unselfish and large-hearted generosity. I verily believe no living soul ever went to him in trouble and was sent “empty away.” Yet he could never bear his left hand to know what his right hand was doing. It really ruffled him if he ever heard of it again. Nevertheless, some of those near his left hand did know what his right was doing, more often perhaps than he guessed.

Having explained the rather important financial position at this time, we can return to the daily happenings, able to see some reason in much that would otherwise seem of little consequence, but which meant a good deal to Lord William, we can also admire more sincerely the brain that evolved the scheme and carried it out.

Some will no doubt think, and possibly say, that the affection we all had for Lord William has made me picture a faultless man; this is, of course, not so, and it is not difficult to recognise his failings, which he shared in common with the rest of mankind, but I do claim for him that they were none of them mean, little, or contemptible, and we do not always like people less on account of their faults. Generosity may be called foolishness: pluck, foolhardiness: morals, not such as would be considered a proper rudimentary system for teaching in elementary schools: but if, after all that has been said, a man can count hundreds of deeply attached friends, and not one can say he ever did a dishonourable action, or willingly hurt another’s feelings, I claim that man is great.

Lord William was an admirer of beauty and good taste; add to this, as the cookery books say, his particularly charming manner, that would woo the birds off the trees, and his good looks, it is small wonder he was much loved by the fair sex.

CHAPTER II
GOOD-BYE TO ENGLAND

Coach driving Exploit—The Badger Bet and How It was Won—The Raleigh Club and the Garçon Glacé Episode—Some Merry Frequenters of the Club—Regimental Racing—The Tenth Hussars’ Steeplechases, Exciting Race Between H.R.H.’s Horse and Lord Valentia’s—Aldershot Coaching Accident—Polo at Woolwich—Sale of 10th Hussars’ ponies—Friendly Altercations at York—The Three Brothers’ Race—Au Revoir to Merry England

In addition to being a consummate horseman, Lord William was an accomplished whip. When in Cork some foolish person made him a bet that he could not, at any rate, drive his coach down the steep and precipitous steps leading from the barracks, thinking they had at last found something he could not possibly do. He, however, closed with the bet at once, saying that he would bet them even money he would. What sum was offered and taken I do not remember hearing, but have been given to understand it was fairly heavy, as the feat was considered impossible and really offered mostly in jest. Imagine everybody’s feelings when next day the coach, with the wheels inside, Lord William strapped to the box, and the four horses well in hand, were seen tobogganing down the steps, and what is more, accomplished it in safety, winning the bet.

Making bets was always a weakness of Lord William’s. He acknowledged it was a fool’s argument, but loved the excitement, moreover generally won, which was an assistance to the exchequer—a matter of some consideration.

It would fill volumes to give accounts of all the mad exploits of those times. Captain Candy was a constant companion of Lord William’s, and many of the thrilling adventures of those early years were shared between them. They appealed to one another, being equally generous and open-handed. Many still living can remember the lavish hospitality dispensed by Captain Candy, though it is the fashion with some to forget the hand that helped them. No one wanting a mount went without, so long as Lord William or Captain Candy had one standing in their stables. Both were riding for a fall, but wished all within reach to share their joys while they lasted.

Hunting from Cork one day these two were riding close together when Captain Candy, in taking a fence, found to his dismay that he was jumping down a quarry, where he landed through the roof of an old woman’s cabin, causing some splutter and consternation among the inhabitants, who thought it must be the Fenians! One side of the cabin had to be pulled down by Lord William before horse and rider could be extricated. Strange to relate, no one was much the worse. I think it would be a toss up which broke most bones during their sporting careers. I myself saw Lord William break his collar-bone twice and dislocate his shoulder three times on separate occasions. Indeed, such small affairs became scarcely matters worthy of comment with him.

From Ireland the 9th Lancers went, in 1868, to Newbridge, then on in ’69—Hounslow; ’70—Aldershot; ’72—Woolwich; ’72—York; ’74—Colchester; ’75—out to India, and stationed at Sialkôte, after which a new leaf was turned over in Lord William’s life, and the writing on the page took another form.

He had a very uneventful time while the regiment was at Newbridge, but while at Hounslow he was a good deal in Town, where his clubs saw him fairly often. At Pratt’s one night he was talking to some friends about a pet badger he had that could hold its own against any dog. Someone, I think it was Captain “Chicken” Hartopp of the 10th Hussars, said they would like to see the animal, to which the owner replied, “So you shall. What do you bet I will not walk down to Hounslow and bring it back here by ——?” naming some incredibly short time in which to accomplish the mission. Considering it almost out of the question that this could be done in the time, a very respectable sum was bet, and off started the badger owner to fetch him, the bargain being that he must walk both ways. It was therefore necessary to do some smart heel and toe work, which he carried out faithfully, keeping a watch on the time as he went along. The badger, as far as history relates, does not seem to have shown the least surprise at his master turning up in the middle of the night in once immaculate, but now very dusty, evening dress, and hurrying off with him in his arms through the lamp-lit West End, to the amazement of policemen and a few belated wayfarers. They both arrived within the stated time, the bet being won, though the badger lost a beauty sleep.

The old Raleigh Club was a great institution in those days, much frequented by the frisky men of the time, and all young officers quartered within possible reach. It was quite the thing in night clubs. Its doors opened at dusk; when they closed, I do not know, probably shortly before business people in the suburbs were eating their early breakfasts. At any rate, nobody was anybody, who did not belong to this club, which was approached by a tunnel, adding mystery and charm. Within these portals huge sums of money changed hands, highly flavoured stories circulated, and cards figured largely; so did swearing, if I may believe what I am told. In fact it was considered a sign of military efficiency.

One of the great surprises of my life was finding out, after I married, that some of the most sedate-looking and highly proper people I had been brought up amongst, who looked as if they would faint if anyone said “Damn!” in their presence, were, in reality, constant visitors at this club, and other popular rendezvous of fame at that time, while their wives imagined they were seeing the boys off to school, or some other highly domestic duty. As it was put to me, some of these elderly friends of my early youth were among those who “kicked up the most row.”

There was that great fine Irishman, the late Colonel King-Harman, most majestic of men and model parent, who came to children’s parties and danced with poor awestricken me, my feet seldom touching the ground, but my heart full of admiration for so king-like a being. The Raleigh knew him as one of the merriest, always ready for a rag.

Lord Alfred Paget, equerry to Queen Victoria, whom I used to admire so much when I was a child, sat in front of us in church one winter in the Isle of Wight. His commanding carriage, handsome dark eyes, and beetroot complexion fascinated me; and he was so decorous and good in church, with a pew full of daughters all apparently reverencing him as I did, for he spent such a long time bending over the pew and gazing into his hat when he came into church. And the gallant way in which, without a smile, smallest hesitation, or fluster, he disentangled the bonnets of two ladies who got mixed up in front of him one Sunday. It came about through the lady in the front pew getting up from her knees before the lady in the seat behind her had completed her devotions. Consequently, when she did get up the spangled aigrette in her bonnet mixed itself up hopelessly in the veil and sweeping plume of the head-dress in front of her. Both tugged and pulled, growing redder in the face and angrier each moment. My eyes were riveted on the couple, appalled, wondering whose headgear would be pulled off first, when the gallant equerry, without moving a muscle of his face, reached over with his long arm and gave one healthy tweak which separated the two bonnets, while a shower of tinkling bugles fell from the aigrette to the floor, but still no sign of mirth on the deliverer’s face. While walking home after the service my father congratulated him on the speedy way he had freed the ladies, but Lord Alfred was not unduly mirthful even then, when out of church and all was over. Yet he too was no stranger at the Raleigh.

Oh, yes, and there were many more who took part in those festive evenings of long ago. Lord Hastings, a friend of Lord William’s, and like him most generous, in his case too generous to last, unfortunately; Colonel Valentine Baker, afterwards Baker Pasha, with his gentle voice and tragic history; Colonel Shaw of the London Fire Brigade and patron of the Gaiety Theatre: all of whom I had regarded with youthful awe and reverence.

It was in the Raleigh that Lord William and one of his brothers, Lord Marcus, I believe, or both of them, for some reason, or perhaps for no reason, put the hall porter into the refrigerator. The heat of the man’s body, or his language, caused the ice to melt, so one of them drew from the tap some water into a tumbler and sent it with his compliments to a friend in the smoking-room, describing it as “Garçon Glacé.” The porter was left in a little too long, and there was some trouble afterwards. This became known as the “Garçon Glacé” incident. Everyone thought it funny except the waiter, and he had to be pacified. Derby week was the time when the Raleigh excelled itself.

Cards never really fascinated Lord William as racing did, and in later years he seldom touched them, but in the ’sixties and early ’seventies there was an epidemic of high play which nothing seemed able to restrain. If cards were forbidden for high stakes at clubs the members used to hire houses and play, or go to hotels, even play in their bedrooms if nowhere else was available. Sharp practice, however, was not in vogue at that time; it followed later, many stately homes being broken up in consequence.

Poor old Raleigh! I wonder if to-day any of the ghosts of the past re-visit it and look on in wonderment at the changed conditions. Now, it is a club for overseas soldiers, who seem to have caught a little of the infection, for during the heavy snow-storms of the early part of this winter (1916) the present club men gathered on the roof and hurled snowballs at the passing taxi and ’bus men, while a crowd gathered to watch the fun. The cabmen and other recipients of the missiles seemed to enjoy the joke, glad to see the soldiers amusing themselves after their strenuous time at the front. Truly change is the order of the universe, one of its most unalterable laws, and we must march with the times, in step to its music. Much as we may look back on the golden “have been” days, we must not allow ourselves to become old derelicts, towed along in the wake of progress, but adapt ourselves to the many changes, though never ceasing to regret the loss of friends and playfellows of the olden days.

Early in ’69 Lord William began taking an active part in regimental races, also in any others where he saw a chance for any of his stud. On April 1st that year he ran a horse in the Queen’s County Steeplechases, the Scurry Stakes, 1 sovereign each with 20 added. Distance 2½ miles.

Four horses ran:—

The Fenian won in a canter, Joe Miller second, and The Isle fell.

I have an idea that the Captain Morgan riding Bashful was none other than the well-known Captain Freddy Morgan, brother of the Lord Tredegar of Balaclava fame, who, in the great charge, rode a horse called Mr. Briggs, on which he won a steeplechase before going out and another on his return, both being among the lucky ones.

I think this was the first year Lord William appeared as a winning owner. This success was followed very quickly by another on April 27th in the Subalterns’ Cup, presented by Mr. Palairet of the 9th Lancers, added to a sweepstake of two sovereigns each. Distance two miles.

The Fenian won by a length, Mr. Herbert’s Mephistopheles second. An Irish account of this race was very Irish. I give it verbatim: “Betting 6 to 4 on Mephistopheles, 5 to 4 against Fenian, was a most curious affair throughout. Mr. Herbert on Mephistopheles was winning in a canter, but on the end of the enclosure (paddock presumably) showed a great disposition to bolt, and a great desire to follow the Nigger, who had been pulled up and was returning home by a short cut to the enclosure gate. Mephistopheles suddenly stood still next the palings to follow the Nigger in, and the Fenian came up in time before Mr. Herbert could get his horse going again, and gained the verdict, amid much excitement, by a length.”

Judging by the rather curious account Mephistopheles ought to have won, but refused to play the game, giving the Fenian an opportunity his rider was not slow to take advantage of. But then it is just those off-chances that constitute the excitement and uncertainty of racing.

Lord William did not have a mount at this meeting, and only won the above race, although several of his horses were entered.

Maid of the Mist carried his colours ridden by Captain Clayton, but was nowhere in it. Captain Candy won riding his own mare Rosebud. In another race Captain Clayton rode Lord William’s Cyclops, which fell. This again was won by Captain Candy on his Park Mount. Maid of the Mist had another try in the Four-Mile Handicap Steeplechase, ridden this time by Captain Grissell, but the race was won by Captain McCalmont on Bicycle. In the Flying Plate, Mr. Herbert rode Mumbo for Lord William, but Captain Candy won on Strasburg. To put the finishing touch to a most successful day’s racing for Captain Candy, he secured under the circumstances the inappropriately named Consolation Plate with Cracker. That was a “Sugar Candy” day with a vengeance. Riding in six races he won five, and was second in the sixth. A record for professional or amateur.

No one was more pleased with his friend’s successes than Lord William, for they were fast friends, and when Captain Candy married the sister of his likewise friend and brother officer, Lord Rossmore, he acted as best man.

It was generally known about this time that the then Prince of Wales was interested in racing, and had been for some time, but owing to Queen Victoria’s objection to the Royal colours appearing on a racecourse, His Royal Highness had been running his horses under other people’s names. In fact, in 1876 Royal won him the Grand National in Captain Machell’s name, long before Ambush II was thought of. His Royal Highness also had a share in Lord “Joe” Aylesford’s horses. Therefore, when the Prince’s racing colours appeared at the 10th Hussars’ Steeplechases, while they were stationed at Hounslow in 1871, I think, it was a day of great excitement, the Prince being in the regiment at the time.

There was no public announcement of the meeting, it being a semi-secret affair held at Down Barn near Southall, within easy reach of their quarters at Hounslow. Consequently there was no big crowd. Nevertheless, it was quite an historic meeting; the rows of drags that lined the course reminded those present of Ascot. The judges were Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar, Lord William Beresford, and Lord Rosebery. The card of the day’s racing contained only five events.

Everyone was anxious to see the Royal colours win the Challenge Cup for bona-fide hunters; distance about three miles.

The entries for this race were:—

The Prince drove down from town with Colonel Kingscote in attendance. Captain Rivers Bulkeley and that popular old sportsman, Major Chaine, were the stewards, while Mr. Smith-Dorrien, whose name as a general is so intimately connected with the War, was the most courteous of secretaries. The idol of the hour after the Prince was Captain Rivers Bulkeley, as being the first to wear the famous Royal purple and gold braided jacket with gold and black cap. He must have felt a very proud man, but unfortunately like Humpty Dumpty he had a great fall. At the brook Champion, the Prince’s horse, came to grief, he and the favourite Vent Piece fell together, the riders remounting, and in at the finish. Champion managed to regain so much ground that hopes were raised once more of a Royal victory, but in the last half-mile he showed distinct signs of having taken too much out of himself at the brook, so was overtaken by Wellington, who won for Lord Valentia by ten lengths. Champion second, Punkah third.

It was a great day. I wonder how many good men and true who were there would be able to answer the roll-call to-day?

There were a number of well-known people there besides the Prince of Wales: Lord Westmorland (the handsome Frank) and Lady Westmorland, the Earl of Cork, the Earl of Rosebery, Lord Fitzgerald, Lord Carrington, Lord Clonmell, Lord Charles Ker, Sir George Wombwell, Colonel and Mrs. Owen Williams, and many others.

When the 9th Lancers were at Aldershot, a good deal of mild racing was the order of the day. On one occasion, when Lord William was tooling his coach on to the course, in his endeavours to avoid a runaway carriage and pair, behind which sat a screaming and frightened lady, he managed to upset the coach without seriously damaging any of the occupants. The late Lord Kinnoull, who was on the coach, described it to me. He said he never saw anything so splendid as the way Lord William handled the ribbons. The road was narrow, on the left was a bank with roughly put up rails on top, while speeding towards them on the right-hand side of the road was the runaway carriage. The coachman had lost all control, yet my informant declared if the clatter of the galloping hoofs and the screaming lady had not frightened the horses in the coach, all might have been well. As it was, there was an alarming cracking noise from the wooden railings on the left, a great lurch, and the coach turned over. After this it was difficult to say exactly what did happen, except that there was a general mix up, and the poor lady in her runaway carriage continued her career down the road. It was characteristic of Lord William that he was more concerned about the fate of the screaming lady than with his own predicament.

So far Lord William had only been a winning owner. His first appearance as a winning rider was across the Long Valley at Aldershot. I give the race card.

9th Lancers’ Steeplechase

Aldershot, April 27th, 1872

The Subalterns’ Cup, added to a sweepstake of 2 sovereigns each with 10 added. Three miles.

Star-gazer won, which was a creditable performance, being his second race that day, and taking into consideration that he fell in the first. The earlier race he had taken part in was the Regimental Cup, which was won by Captain Willoughby on his good horse Langar. He won many races for his owner, who always rode him, including a great point-to-point at York, when the Duke of Clarence was present. Captain Willoughby was of great repute in the 9th on account of his performances in the pig-skin as a steeplechase rider and polo player; also Major McCalmont, a great judge of a horse. He once bought what he thought a likely looking animal out of a thrashing-machine for £45, which turned out a brilliant and valuable steeplechaser. The present-day General, D. M. G. Campbell, was also in the regiment at that time; he has been wounded twice in the present war, and is still out there at the time of writing, with what remains of those who were present at Mons.

It may interest present-day race-goers to know that in ’72 the “chases” were run at Aldershot the reverse way of the course, though on the same land as at the present time, finishing at the bottom, instead of the top of the hill. There was then no Terraced Mount for the officers and their wives.

Lord William worked hard at this meeting, having seven mounts, winning one race, and being second in another. Star-gazer does not sound like a very comfortable mount for “chasing.”

From Aldershot the regiment went to Woolwich, but I know very little of that time. Polo was in vogue, and some good games were played, it being then in its youth as far as England was concerned, though it had been played for centuries in Persia. The Manipuries first introduced it to the British in 1862, on the Calcutta racecourse. After this it was taken up by the 11th Bengal Lancers, but it was not played seriously in England until 1874, when the 5th Lancers became enthusiastic, after which it became fashionable.

The Manipuries, who love the game, play it in the streets of Upper Bengal, on scraps of ponies about twelve hands high, playing just as they feel inclined, with both hands and short mallets. At first when the game was played by the English, the rules were somewhat slack; everybody played on what size pony they pleased, crossed and recrossed each other, besides other curious things.

Now the rules bid for greater safety and greater enjoyment, though I remember as late as 1883, or thereabouts, at Lucknow, where the 10th Hussars were then playing, they habitually sent down to the ground a doolie or two for the removal of the sick and wounded after a game. A doolie is a sort of hand ambulance, carried by natives. In India the ground is so hard that if anyone gets a fall it is like coming down on pavement. It is a mystery to me how the ponies’ legs stand it, and the 10th played a fast game.

They made a great name for themselves at polo, and when they left the country their ponies were all put up for sale. People came to the sale from far and wide, for the ponies naturally carried a reflected glory from the prowess of their riders. I well remember the sale. Of course there were some valuable ponies sold which had made names for themselves, but there were not a few that had done nothing very great, and their owners were staggered at the big prices they fetched, simply because they belonged to the 10th, and people therefore thought they must be good polo ponies.

When one of the officers came to say good-bye to us, he gave a most amusing account of the bidding and some of the bidders. Speaking of one of his ponies that I knew very well and used to ride sometimes in paper-chases, he said: “You know the poor old pony cannot gallop faster than I can kick my hat.” This was embroidering a little. It was a handy little beast and had played in many a game of polo, helping out the stable on occasions though by no means one of the owner’s best; nevertheless it realized a price that trebled what had originally been paid for him, and after a couple of years’ work.

9TH LANCERS’ POLO GROUPS AT WOOLWICH

Left to right. Standing: Capt. Clayton, Mr. Palairet, Capt. de la Garde Grissell, Capt. Fife

On ground: Lord William Beresford, Mr. Moore

During the early days of polo there used to be sad accidents, and sad rows too sometimes; the amenities were not so refined as they are to-day, though even at polo I have observed occasionally a soft answer may turn away wrath.

From Woolwich, Lord William went with his regiment to York, and to this day the period the 9th Lancers were quartered there is remembered as a red-letter time, for they were a great social success. At that time the neighbouring country houses were more often in the occupation of their owners than they are now, and Yorkshire could boast of its old-fashioned hospitality and love of sport. I have heard the north country accused of being boorish and stiff, but this is a matter of opinion with which I, personally, do not altogether agree.

An amusing incident happened outside the solemn old club which stands close to the Lendal Bridge at York. Lord Rossmore went into the club one evening just in time to see one of the servant girls from the kitchen regions make her escape from a young man who was evidently annoying her. She fled down the area steps; Lord Rossmore collared the youth, and began giving him a lecture of an improving nature. At this moment, who should come out of the club but Lord William. He at once scented battle; without having the slightest idea what it was about, but longing to be in it, he cried, “Let me have him, Derry. Oh, do let me have him.” “No,” replied the other, jealous of his capture. “I found him; he is my man.” They became so absorbed in the argument as to who should make the prisoner’s teeth chatter that the man took the opportunity to make his escape. Looking round and discovering his loss, Lord Rossmore indignantly reproached his friend. “Now look what you have done!” he cried; “this is what comes of trying to steal my man.” Then as the absurdity of the whole thing struck them, they laughed until their sides ached. After which Lord William apologised profusely for having spoilt “Derry’s” sport, and losing his man.

It was on that same Lendal Bridge, on another occasion, that Lord William and the late Mr. Joseph Leeman, M.P., as a matter of detached interest spent an hour one night, or rather early one morning, struggling desperately to see which could put the other over the high balustrade of the bridge into the river below. Each in turn would get the other up to within an inch or two of the top preparatory to a bath in the Ouse, which always looks particularly uninviting just there. Lord William made one splendid effort regardless of popping buttons and bursting braces to get Mr. Leeman up, and thought at last he had accomplished it, but down he came with a rush. A wrestle then ensued all across the road, each trying to get hold of the other in just the right position; the game then began again, this time Lord William being perilously near the top. At last, quite exhausted, they adjourned to Mr. Leeman’s rooms at the Station Hotel, and finished the night (?) there—of course, the best of friends the whole time.

There is another York story, though I cannot vouch for its accuracy; I only tell it as it was told to me. A certain youth joined the regiment who, it was considered, wanted teaching a thing or two, and who at that time they did not like. His clothes did not please them, his face did not please them, in fact nothing about him pleased them. So, while he was out of his room one evening, they, with much difficulty and the help of many people, persuaded a lover of thistles to walk upstairs into his bedroom, where it was put to bed. A large cock with a strong voice was also thrust, protesting, into the dirty-clothes-basket, where it presently fell into a brooding silence of despair. When the unfortunate owner of the room returned he had many exhausting moments with the donkey before he successfully turned it out of the room and could go to bed. At dawn he was awakened from a refreshing sleep by the clarion notes of the cock issuing from the clothes-basket, and he began to wonder if the claret of the night before had disagreed with him, or if it was all a horrid nightmare. This story may, or may not be true, but I knew the youth in question, and that he was not popular then. It is pleasant to be able to remember that, some years later, when he died of consumption, his sterling good qualities and unfeigned good nature had made him so much liked that his loss aroused universal sorrow in the regiment.

In ’74 the regiment moved from York to Colchester, where Lord William seemed to get a great deal of leave, part of which he spent helping his brother, Lord Charles, who was standing for Waterford in the Conservative interest at the request of his eldest brother. They had great fun together, but this has been described in Lord Charles Beresford’s own book.

It was in this same year that the memorable brothers’ race was run at Curraghmore on the Williamstown course. The race is a matter of history now, but I have seen quite lately a controversy about it in the sporting Press, some declaring that Lord Waterford took part in it, others that he did not. Only three took part in the race: Lord Charles, Lord William, and Lord Marcus. Again, there are folk who think it was all arranged beforehand who was to win. Wrong again. Nothing was further from the minds of any of the trio; each meant to win, and each thought he would. The race was run at the Curraghmore Hunt meeting. Three miles. The brothers had a private sweep of 100 sovereigns each.

Anyone not knowing the sport-loving proclivities of the Irish cannot picture the excitement there was in the country over this event. Even the peasant women who knew nothing about racing but something about men, bet on their fancy, some for the one with the curly hair, others for the brave blue eyes, and so on.

Each of the brothers had to ride 12 stone and be on his own horse. The Beresford Blue was worn by them all. Lord Charles, being the eldest, donned the black cap, which sounds rather as if he were condemning someone to death; the others wore white and blue caps respectively to distinguish between them.

THE FAMOUS BERESFORD BROTHERS’ RACE

(1) LORD WILLIAM; (2) LORD MARCUS; (3) LORD CHARLES

Lord Charles thought he had a winner in the black thoroughbred he brought over from England for the race, named Night Walker, which had been bred by a man named Power, the sporting tenant of the course. Lord William rode his grey mare Woodlark, and Lord Marcus a bay gelding, The Weasel. I like to picture these affectionate, sporting brothers jogging off to the starting-post, all eager and happy.

They got away well without delay, and at a cracking pace. Riding boot to boot, charging each fence side by side until near the winning-post, all riding straight and square like the sportsmen they were. Soon the buzz of voices ceased, and a tense silence made itself felt, for the last fence was being neared, and still all were abreast, but now it became apparent that Night Walker had done enough. The struggle then remained between the Weasel and the Woodlark, the latter winning by a short head, so the crowd had some excitement in return for their long journeys and, in many cases, the night spent on the course to secure a good place.

Lord Charles thought his horse got a chill coming over on the boat, and was therefore not up to his best form. Lord Marcus remarked that while each fancied himself enormously he enthusiastically eulogised the other. The photograph of the race here reproduced is taken from the picture hanging at Curraghmore, Lady Waterford kindly having had it taken for me to use in this book. Other races were ridden in that day by the brothers, but not as winners. The tall hat and pink coat worn by Lord William in one of these races inaugurated, I believe, the now common custom of riding in pink at hunt meetings.

The Beresfords all seem to have the whisper understood by horses and dogs, for they have been able to make them do some wonderful things. Lord William’s uncle once jumped a hunter over a dining-room table at Melton one night for a bet. Lord Charles, in his book, tells the characteristic story of his having led a queer-tempered thoroughbred from the road in Eaton Square into the house, along a passage, round the dining-room table, and out again, without disaster. The only sign of rebellion or annoyance on the part of the horse was to kick at the fire in passing just by way of salutation, and to show there was no ill feeling. This enterprise, of course, Beresford like, was for a bet.

At many gymkhanas I have seen Lord William do extraordinary tricks and feats of horsemanship, but of that later.

To return to Colchester, “the brothers’” race being over. On July 25th of that year, the 9th sent a polo team to Hurlingham, where they played against the Blues. In the second contest, Lord William made the first goal for the regiment, and again in the third. The Lancers won. The Prince and Princess of Wales were present, and were much interested in the game.

On September 10th a “Horse Fête and Polo Match” took place between the 9th Lancers and 7th Hussars. The 9th won, eight goals in succession, the handsome cup presented by the Borough consequently falling to them. One of the goals was won by Lord William.

Monday, October 10th, saw the ponies at Tattersall’s, the regiment being under orders for India. Among those of Lord William’s, Madge fetched 62 guineas, Toothpick 36 guineas, The Wren 42 guineas, The Gem 60 guineas, Little Wonder 50 guineas, Madame Angot 20 guineas. Very different to the prices such ponies would command to-day. Before leaving the old country a dinner was given to the regiment by its former officers to wish them luck and au revoir.

CHAPTER III
JOINS VICEROY’S STAFF

What he Might Have Been—A Happy Exile—Lumtiddy Hall—Unsuccessful Journey to Pay Calls—Appointed to Staff of Retiring Viceroy—First Summer at Simla—Appointed A.D.C. to Lord Lytton—Annandale Racecourse—Birth of The Asian—Dinner to Its Sporting Owner—Winner of Viceroy’s Cup—Delhi Durbar, 1887—Mighty Preparations—A Terrible Accident

It is easy to imagine with what mingled feelings Lord William left England: relief at being freed from the money difficulties that oppress a young man in a swagger regiment in this expensive old country; affectionate regret for the splendid days that were done; the happy family gatherings, before all were scattered; still cherishing some of the ideals of youth to which there is always a sacredness attached. Children usually build mental universes round themselves, and at the age of twenty-eight hope has not died in the heart; that child of happiness still keeps it warm. Lord William, not being one of those who wear their heart on their sleeve, was of the merriest on board ship, full of courage and good resolutions, determined to map out his future on safer grounds than hitherto.

I have often heard it remarked that Lord William might have gained and filled almost any great position in life that he chose, owing to his talents, perseverance, and charm of manner, if it had not been that he was obsessed by his passion for racing and horse-flesh. It is said “he might have been a great soldier”; my reply is, he was. Again: “He might have been a great statesman.” I reply, that in a measure he was. To be the right-hand man of and Military Secretary to three successive Viceroys, and a capable A.D.C. to three, speaks for itself. What more could he desire, unless it was to be Viceroy? which would not have appealed to him in the least. Some of his friends have said they regretted his not having entered the Diplomatic Service, which shows how little they understood him, for nothing could have been less attractive to him, or more foreign to his nature, than a life of trying to make black look white; though an adept at bamboozling people for their own advantage, and smoothing rough corners for their happiness, to bamboozle them to their detriment, and smile with the face of a truthful prophet while so doing, would have been impossible to him; also he was much too loyal for that profession, who proverbially, as a class, are not given to standing by one another. Any question that he had to decide he would gladly have done with his fists, or sword, but not by parliamentary inexactitudes. Besides, who among those who knew him would have liked to see him any different from what he was?

India appealed to Lord William, he liked it from the first. Perhaps he, more than some, felt the loneliness inseparable from landing in a strange country for the first time, with a career to make out of nothing; far from the help and glamour of home associations, feeling rather like goods on a market stall, from which the ticket describing their merit and value has fallen, leaving the said goods to prove their own merit, and so create their own price.

Starting a life in any new country, individuals are only a number to begin with. Yet India is one of the kindest to strangers, there is something in the atmosphere that melts the Northern “stand-off” attitude. All are exiles, which forms a bond of sympathy, uniting them into one big family, so to speak. It is good for all to find their own level; travelling assists them, gives them a new education. There is much to be learned in a large mixed cosmopolitan concentration, where princes, rajahs, judges, generals, police, subalterns who know everything, old men who believe nothing, middle-aged men who suspect everything, all rub shoulders, look well groomed and comfortable, yet all with the same longing for home in their hearts.

At Bombay, Lord William met his brother, Lord Charles, then in attendance on the Prince of Wales; this meeting was a great pleasure and took the chill off the landing.

Sialkôte is a pleasant station, more shady than many, boasting fine trees and a certain amount of vegetation. A charming bungalow was secured and shared by Captain Clayton and Lord William. These stable companions were greatly attached to one another; the former had a good influence over his wild-spirited friend, who quite recognised and appreciated the fact.

LORD WILLIAM BERESFORD AND CAPTAIN CLAYTON

The bungalow was christened “Lumtiddy Hall.” In the photograph the tenants are seen sitting in the verandah, the servants standing outside. I do not know why people always collect their servants and stand them round the front door in India when having photographs taken. It is not the habit at home. I think it must be with a view to introducing the drapery and surroundings of our new lives to our relations elsewhere to whom we send the pictures, more than anything else. At any rate everyone does it, and the native servants like it; indeed now I come to think of it, I am not sure that it is not an arrangement of their own.

Some of the things I shall have to touch on will not be new, I dare say, to readers familiar with India, but there are other friends of Lord William’s to whom the customs and etiquettes are unknown; they may like to have some idea of his life, duties, pleasures and general surroundings, also the way he fulfilled his obligations. Among the latter I must not forget to mention the dutiful way he and his brother officer, Mr. Charles Lascelles, started paying calls after the fashion of the country. Armed with an alarmingly long list, they rode out determinedly from the mess on their ponies. The first bungalow they came to, where they intended to pay their respects, had straw laid down along the road and up to the door. Lord William pulled up, frowning wisely: “We had better call here another day,” he announced, after deep thought. “Why?” asked Mr. Lascelles innocently. “My dear fellow! don’t you see all this straw down? Someone must be ill; having a baby or something most likely,” replied the sage.

Horrified at the thought, and impressed by his friend’s knowledge and insight, Mr. Lascelles agreed fervently, and they rode on to the next bungalow. Here again they found straw laid down.

“Surely they can’t all be doing the same thing at once, can they?” said the astonished Mr. Lascelles.

“You can never be sure what they do out here,” replied the other. “In any case you can’t be too careful.” So they rode on.

To their amazement they found straw at each bungalow, so they returned to the mess to announce the discreet reasons for their failure. The mess was delighted, and it was not till some time after that the two were informed that the straw was there to prevent the prevailing dust from entering the bungalows.

New-comers in India find the rules appertaining to paying calls at times amusing. The first thing that appears strange is the conventional calling hours, being among the hottest in the day, when quite possibly the people being called on are trying to keep cool by lying in baths or under punkahs. A clatter of hoofs is heard, followed by a voice shouting, “Qui Hie!” which means “Somebody.”

There ought to be a servant or two sitting on the verandah, but at times they are not to be found, their beloved hubble-bubbles having enticed them away. So the callers continue riding round the house shouting for “Somebody” plaintively until “Somebody” is found, and a few well-chosen words addressed to him in the visitor’s best Hindustani. Calling out there is altogether an unconventional art.

“LUMTIDDY HALL”

I remember once at Sitapur, where all the officers of a newly arrived battery of artillery dutifully called on us, with exception of a Mr. Ross, who happened to be a particular friend of my husband, so that his non-appearance caused us some surprise. At last he came and apologised for not having been before by saying that he had been awaiting his turn for the calling suit of clothes. Being youngest, his turn came last! Poor soul; he was afterwards frozen to death in the Afghan War. Found dead, still sitting erect on his horse.

To return to Lord William; India was not long in finding out that a good sportsman and a judge of racing had arrived in its midst. Before many weeks had passed he had made himself felt, and was to be seen officiating as judge at some pony races. His first appearance in the pig-skin was in October of the same year (1875), when he rode a raw, hard-mouthed horse named Clarion for a friend in the Grand Military Chase, having amongst his opponents that well-known splendid horseman Frank Johnson, who won on a horse called Ring, Clarion being third. After this he continued to ride a number of mounts for friends and acquaintances.

It was about this time that Lord William was appointed A.D.C. on the staff of the retiring Viceroy, Lord Northbrook, who was being succeeded by Lord Lytton, one of Disraeli’s appointments. While learning his new duties at Calcutta, Lord William did a little racing, winning the Corinthian Purse on a black Waler called Dandynong, for his friend Captain Davidson, the Prince of Wales being present at the time. It did not take him long to master the duties of an A.D.C. or to become popular, for he really commenced a new era in the social life of India. Things began to hum, and everyone began to enjoy the races, dances, picnics and paper-chases he inaugurated. He was soon surrounded with friends.

When Lord Lytton took over the Viceroyalty he retained Lord William as A.D.C. on his staff. In April of that year, Colonel Colley, who was Military Secretary to the Viceroy, wrote, in a letter to Lady Lytton: “Lord William Beresford is full of fun and go, and is being placed in charge of the stables.” So he was already doing the work and fitting into the corner for which he was so admirably suited.

The summer of ’76 was spent at Simla, his first introduction to the place where he was to spend so many summers of his life.

In a letter written home at this time, he speaks of being happy with the Lyttons, and pleasure at having the management of the horses.

9TH LANCERS’ MESS, SIALKÔTE, 1876

Lady Lytton, referring to this time, says: “I noted that Lord William managed the stables admirably, and our coachman Wilson was very happy under him”; from which it may be inferred that Wilson was a good servant, or he would not have been happy under Lord William’s eye, for he was very particular, and would not be content unless everything was properly turned out and in perfect order. It may not be generally known that only three people are allowed to have carriages in Simla, namely, the Viceroy, the Commander-in-Chief and the Chief Commissioner of the North-West Provinces. The Viceregal party are often the only ones to avail themselves of this privilege. The rule sounds a little selfish and high-handed, but it is explained by the fact that there is only one road where it is possible to drive, and that one is very circumscribed. The inhabitants of the station live in houses dotted about the hillside, approached in many cases by scrambling paths, up which people have to be carried in janpans (a sort of chair slung on bamboo poles and carried by four bearers), ride, or in a rickshaw, a sort of bath chair pulled by native servants.

Carriages are therefore white elephants in the hills; and even for riding it is necessary to have sure-footed and quiet ponies.

There are so many books dealing with Indian life I feel that it is rather superfluous to explain that the official residence of the Government is, during the summer, at Simla, and at Calcutta in winter. Lord Lawrence, the Viceroy in 1863, first started Simla as the official summer residence, taking all his assistants and council with him, the reason that this particular station was chosen being that it was the only place in the Himalayas, or indeed any of the Indian mountains, where there was sufficient accommodation for the followers in his train. It was also easy of access and had a good road to it, compared with those of the other hill stations. Of course, like most innovations, it met with a certain amount of grumbling from those who considered they could have chosen a better spot, and each successive administrator tried to go one better by suggesting some other place. Up to now, no other place has been found more suitable, so it may be taken for granted that Lord Lawrence made a wise choice. Anything less like a government house, at that time, than the Viceregal Lodge, rejoicing in the name of Peterhoff, it would be difficult to imagine, being nothing more or less than a glorified bungalow, standing on the edge of what in England we should call a precipice, and in India a hillside or khud, and with very little ground round it.

Having heard that there was a racecourse, Lord William, in his first spare moments, went to see it, finding this dignified title applied to a small, more or less flat piece of ground lying between two hills, the roads to it being zigzag paths, hollowed out by the mountain torrents during the winter and monsoon, to which a little assistance was given by the authorities to make them safe. No carriage could get there, nevertheless this little spot was a source of joy and health to many, for here every Saturday races were held, occasional cricket matches, and other health and pleasure giving exercises, to which all the inhabitants and visitors thronged. All the world and his wife used to go, also other people’s wives, for there are always any number of grace widows in the hill stations, whose husbands are unable to get leave to accompany them, or at any rate only for a short time. Annandale was the name of this little basin where the races were run at that time. I was introduced to it a few years later, and thought its primitiveness added to its charm. There was no such a thing as a grand stand, or even an un-grand one. People sat about on the hillside to watch the racing. There was a small shed, if I remember rightly, where Reigning Royalty could shelter, should the necessity arise, which formed a sort of holy of holies where they could carry out the exclusiveness necessary to their position, so odious and trying to many of them.

Now there is a gorgeous thing in pavilions, as will be seen by the photograph, but I do not feel any ambition to go there, liking the memory of Annandale as it was in earlier times too well to have any desires for buildings comfortable or otherwise, in that historic little corner. After a race meeting there was a general scramble up the hillside again to dress for dinner and the evening’s amusements, of which there were plenty; Lord William took care of that; theatricals, dances, concerts, Christy Minstrel performances, and at times quite classic and dignified oratorios, besides endless private parties and social gatherings.

Government House has to fulfil its obligations, and give a certain number of dances and parties, so has the Commander-in-Chief and the Governor of the North-West Provinces, this being one of the things they are out there for. Some live up to the letter of the law, so to speak, others are full of hospitality and private enterprise, especially those with young people of their own out there with them.

On August 6th there were great rejoicings, a son being born to Lord Lytton, who was away in the hills at the time in connection with his work. Lady Lytton, in a letter speaking of the many kindnesses of their A.D.C., says: “Lord William rode twenty-six miles to Fagoo with letters (to Lord Lytton), and brought me back the answers and congratulations the same evening,” which is just the kindly sympathetic thing he would do.

The work and responsibility attached to the life of a Viceroy is great and anxious. It is well that he should have sympathetic workers under him who will relieve him, as much as possible, of all unnecessary worries and anxieties. Lord William felt this keenly, and all the Viceroys he served under expressed their gratitude for his never-failing thoughtfulness and unselfish devotion.

When it is realised that this one man, with his handful of councillors, keeps in touch with 207,000,000 Brahmins, 9,000,000 Buddhists, 62,000,000 Mohammedans, 2,000,000 Sikhs, 1,300,000 Janns, 94,000 Zoroastrians (Parsees) and 8,000 Jews, not counting the 8,000,000 of the aboriginal tribes whose religion I do not know, considers all their grievances, studies carefully all their superstitions and traditional etiquettes, managing to keep all more or less happy, it seems a superhuman task.

That such comparative contentment reigns is eloquent of the amount of thought and care devoted to the smallest detail of government. Lord Lytton came to the country knowing little of it or its people, but quickly made a study of both, and was deeply interested.

It has always struck me that Lord Lytton’s way of expressing himself was exceptionally charming. His letters home, and to the Queen during anxious times, are delightful to read. Lord William described him as a most considerate Chief, and regretted that he was not stronger, as he was so keen, and worked so hard, that he exhausted himself. The years of the Lytton administration were full of anxious and busy times.

In October, Lord William found time to ride a race or two at Dehra, winning one, thanks to good judgment and riding, on Red Eagle for a friend, also the Doon Chase on Commodore for Captain Maunsell.

A little later, at Umballa, he rode for Mr. George Thomas, and won a hurdle race on Fireman. On returning to Calcutta from Simla he was elected a steward of the Calcutta races, having already joined the Turf Club. Among the other stewards for the year were Lord Ulick Browne, the Hon. W. F. McDonnell, and Captain Ben Roberts.

It is a matter of regret that in the early years of Lord William’s sojourn in India, there was practically no sporting paper to chronicle his many endeavours and triumphs; the only thing of the kind being a rather superannuated Oriental Sporting Magazine, which was more or less in a moribund condition, although run by good sportsmen, some of whom were, perhaps, growing a little out of touch with the views of the rising generation. It was not until 1878 that The Asian was started as a sporting venture, by an energetic person called Mr. William Targett, who, though he knew nothing about horses, felt that he was filling a long-standing want, which the success of his paper proved to have been a correct and business-like surmise. The paper may still be doing useful work for all I know, although it has lost its original and popular proprietor, whom Lord William liked so well. While speaking of The Asian and Mr. Targett I think the following little story is interesting.

Mr. Targett was at home in 1894 on one of the holidays he allowed himself every three years. The time was drawing near for his return to India, so some of his oldest friends in this country convened a little “au revoir” banquet at the Victoria Club in Wellington Street.

Fully a hundred sat down, all good sportsmen hail-fellow-well-met. Mr. Targett was evidently much pleased at the kindly feeling that had prompted his friends to give him this send-off. All were in their places except the intended president. Suddenly the door flew open and the voice of the arranger of this merry meeting announced: “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce your chairman, Lord William Beresford.” Many present knew he was in England, but few that he was in London, therefore little did they expect his presence. This surprise was arranged between Lord William and Mr. Meyrick (the well-known writer of “Sporting Notes” in the Sporting Times) with a view to giving the proprietor of The Asian pleasure.

Mr. William Targett was delighted, and grasped his lordship’s hand, saying: “What, you here, Bill!” The quick reply came: “Yes, Bill; I’m here and so pleased at the invitation!” Wherever Lord William was, there it was lively, and this feast lasted three good hours, until he was obliged to keep what he referred to as an “austere appointment,” but at the end of his response to the toast of his health he took the whole room into his confidence with the concluding sentence: “Gentlemen, while you are thinking about your Christmas dinner, Targett and myself, with good luck, hope to be on the Calcutta racecourse; and I must tell you that this week I have, I think, purchased the winner of the Viceroy Cup—Metallic—for my old friend Orr-Ewing. Good night and good luck to you all.”

One jubilant and well-known Umballian present shouted: “I am betting on the Viceroy’s Cup. Who wants to back his lordship’s tip?” He quickly found customers. The recounter of this story to me added that he risked a little bit, and was pleased to find on the following Christmas week that Metallic had won, and he therefore the better off by a “tenner.” It was kind of Lord William to find time to give his little Calcutta friend this pleasant surprise, considering that every one of his own friends and relations were clamouring for his time.

But to return to 1876 in the East. At the close of the year, all official India, and a great deal of the unofficial, gathered at Delhi for the Proclamation of the Queen as Empress of India on January 1st, 1877. This entailed unceasing work on the Vice-regal staff, and all Government officials, both civil and military. The assemblage was to last fourteen days, and the heads of every departmental government in India were to be present, besides 14,000 troops, seventy-seven ruling princes and chiefs, and 68,000 people were invited and actually stayed in or around Delhi.

Only those who have been in the vicinity of, or engaged in, the preparations for any big gathering in India can imagine for a moment the amount of galloping and fuss, the thraldom of official red tape and etiquette to be punctiliously observed, the number of contradictory orders, the hurt feelings and notes of explanation that are flying about; most of this galloping, between head-quarters and heads of departments, being carried out by the A.D.C.’s.

At last everything was growing shipshape, and people left off saying, “I told you so,” even began to smile furtively once more, for all was in readiness. The Rajahs’ gardens were laid out elaborately round their different tents and camps, each vying with the other to have the best and most attractive display. The elephants had arrived and were amiable and docile. The Rajahs’ horses in readiness, with magenta tails and gorgeous trappings. The jewels laid out and counted. Everything, in fact, ready for the great day. Therefore a little relaxation was considered consistent with good form on the part of the staff and officers in waiting for the great event, consequently a game of polo was arranged for Christmas Day.

This chance game, a thing born of a few spare hours in the midst of the pomp and glitter of Eastern rejoicing, was destined to prove the blackest sorrow of Lord William’s life. Captain Clayton had become to Lord William, what is perhaps the most irreplaceable thing in the world, his best friend, and during this game their ponies cannoned into one another. Captain Clayton’s fell; its rider was picked up unconscious, and died the same night.

THE DELHI DURBAR, 1877

Poor Lord William was wild with grief, and Captain De la Garde Grissell, an old friend and brother officer of his, who was in the camp with the 11th Hussars, was sent for to the Viceroy’s camp to stay with Lord William during the night. Captain Eustace Vesey and Captain Charles Muir sat up with Captain Clayton until he died at midnight. Captain Grissell tells me that they were so anxious that none should do anything for their dear friend but those who had known and cared for him, that he and Captain Vesey made all the arrangements—in India everything has to be carried out so swiftly. There was no undertaker, so a soldier made the coffin and Captain Grissell himself screwed down the lid, both he and Captain Vesey being greatly overcome. The funeral was next day, and a most impressive sight, all the troops at the Durbar taking part. A military funeral is at all times impressive, indeed harrowing, to those who mourn the loss of one who has shared their lives, but it becomes doubly so when the circumstances have been so tragic. He was buried in the graveyard behind the ridge held so long by us during the Mutiny, and he lies with the 9th Lancers who fell at that time and are buried close by.

All the rest of the time Lord William was in India he used to go away by himself on the anniversary of that terrible accident and visit his friend’s grave. So great had the grief been to him that he always felt that he must be alone on that day; alone with his grief and the spirit of his old friend. He did not want to speak; not because there is anything in life too sacred to say or tell, but much too sacred to parody. But the world and all its shows will not stand still for us while we grieve, and Lord William with his good pluck struggled to perform his duties at the Durbar, working so hard that he only had time for a couple of hours’ sleep out of the twenty-four. The strain was too much for him, and he fainted while sitting on his horse and had to be carried away.

His heart and courage were always too big for his body and strength. Captain Clayton had been his life-long friend, and what made him feel it even more, was the thought that through his pal’s death he had gained his troop.

The actual Durbar appears to have been a success, and the Maharajahs and Princes were so pleased that they each wished to present a bejewelled crown to the Empress Queen, but Lord Lytton, with some of his well-chosen phrases, expressed appreciation, and explained that it would not be expedient, for in the first place the Queen would have a crown for nearly every day in the year, and secondly, it might lead to jealousy and heart bitterness, better avoided, which explanation appeared to be conclusive and void of offence.

On Friday, January 6th, Lord Lytton held a review of all the troops, preceded by a march past of those attached to the native Princes in Delhi.

At this time Lord William was still hard at work studying the etiquettes, ritual, superstitions, religions, and dignified ceremonials so dear to the heart of Orientals, who are all great observers of ceremony. The study fascinated him, and proved of great use later in assisting those he worked for; knowing what to avoid and where to give pleasure. No one can hope to fill any responsible position in India who has not studied and had long education in these matters, and this was so quickly grasped by Lord William, that to the end of his days the Rajahs were among his most faithful friends and admirers.

By January 15th the Viceroy was back in Calcutta, and Lord William riding in races again. He had one of his bad falls in a steeplechase, hurting his nose considerably, besides receiving other injuries. As usual he tried to make light of them, but collapsed and had to be carried home.

Before closing this chapter it will be interesting both to Captain Clayton’s and Lord William’s friends who may not already be acquainted with the fact to know that there is a marble tablet in the church at Curraghmore, placed there by the fifth Marquis of Waterford:

In affectionate remembrance of
William Clayton Clayton,
Captain, 9th Lancers.
For many years the dearest friend of the House of
Curraghmore.
Born April 23rd, 1839. Killed while playing polo
at Delhi, Christmas Day, 1876.

Another instance of the respect and affection with which Captain Clayton was regarded at Harrow-on-the-Hill, where he was educated. There is a white marble cross in the churchyard, the inscription on the base being:—

In loving memory of
William Clayton Clayton,
Captain, 9th Queen’s Own Royal Lancers.
Born April 23rd, 1839.
Killed while playing polo at Delhi, India, Dec., 1876.

Oh, the merry laughing comrade,