With the exception of Prince Alfred, the Queen\'s children had married according to the German proverb, "The oldest must leave the house first." The next in age was Prince Arthur, or the Duke of Connaught. He married in 1879 Princess Louise of Prussia with the usual magnificent display at St. George\'s Chapel. The real home welcome, however, was awaiting them at Balmoral, where they arrived a few months later. When the train came to a standstill, there stood the Queen and Princess Beatrice, with the Royal Scots for a guard of honor. The Queen gave the bride a bouquet of heather, and they set off for the castle. At the end of the Balmoral bridge was an arch of moss and heather with a motto in flowers, "Welcome to Balmoral." There stood the castle guests, and there were all the tenants, the women in their Sunday clothes, the men in kilts, and the pipers playing their best and loudest, while the children tossed flowers into the carriages and shouted their welcome.
Of course a cairn had been begun in honor of the marriage, and two or three days later the happy party went to visit it, the Queen on her pony and the others walking. There was a speech of congratulation made, and the health of the young people was drunk. "The health of the Princess Beatrice ought to be drunk," Brown declared, and that was done with so many cheers that even the dogs objected to the tumult and began to bark. After the cheering, each one of the party walked up to the cairn and laid a stone upon it. One of the stones in the foundation was already marked with the names of the Duke and Duchess and the date of their marriage.
Three years later St. George\'s Chapel was again ablaze with the splendor of another royal wedding, that of Prince Leopold, the eighth child of the Queen, to Princess Hélène of Waldeck-Pyrmont. In the evening a state banquet was given, and some of the guests were much amazed when, just before the Queen was to rise from the table, her two Scotch pipers in their full Highland costume appeared at the door and marched twice around the room, playing merry Scottish airs.
The home of the newly married couple was to be at Claremont, the place where the little Princess Victoria had so enjoyed herself. It had been granted to King Leopold when he married Princess Charlotte, but on his death it again became the property of the Crown. The Queen now bought it for the King\'s namesake. She had given to her son the title of Duke of Albany, and some of the superstitious among her subjects shook their heads at that, for so many who had borne the title had met with misfortune or even with early death.
The wedding celebrations were hardly over before the Queen\'s thoughts were centered upon Egypt. The Khedive of Egypt was a great borrower, and to fill his ever empty purse he had offered England some seven years previously his shares in the Suez Canal for $20,000,000. England had been very ready to buy them and also to guarantee that people who had loaned money to this spendthrift should not lose their interest. In 1882 some of the Khedive\'s subjects rebelled against him and got control of the government. To maintain taxation and so pay the promised interest, England must support the Khedive and put down the rebels.
The Queen hated war as badly as her predecessor Elizabeth, but as soon as she saw that it was necessary, she had no patience with delay or poor preparation. She sent directions continually to the War Office, now about arms, now about blankets or food or the comforts that would be needed in the hospitals. She never had the slightest sympathy with indecision or lack of promptness, and the moment that she thought of something that ought to be done for her soldiers, she sent a message to the Minister of War. During one day she sent him seventeen.
Windsor Castle
Windsor Castle.
The troops sailed. Telegrams were frequent, and on a Monday morning in September there came to Balmoral one marked "Very secret." It was written in cipher and said, "Determined to attack the enemy with a large force on Wednesday." There could be no report of the battle for two days at least, but the Queen and her family tried hard to be brave and cheerful. More than once the Queen slipped away from them to pray that her son might return to her in safety, for the Duke of Connaught was in Egypt in command of a brigade. Wednesday morning a telegram came, "The army marched out last night." A second arrived a little later, "The enemy has been routed at Tel-el-Kebir, but fighting is going on." "Louischen," the wife of the Duke, was with the Queen. They could think of nothing but the husband and son, far away beside the Nile. Any moment might be the fatal one. They almost fancied they could hear the boom of the cannon. Never was a morning so long, but at last the word came, "A great victory; Duke safe and well; led his brigade to the attack." The Queen hurried to find "Louischen," and threw her arms about her neck. "How glad and proud and thankful we can be!" she exclaimed with tears, not of sorrow but of joy.
That afternoon the Duke of Albany and his wife arrived, and then there was a double rejoicing. After the drinking of healths of bride and bridegroom, John Brown stepped forward and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let us join in a good Highland cheer for the Duke and Duchess of Albany; may they live long and die happy!" and then there was such cheering as made the woods and hills ring.
Twenty-six years before, when word had come of the fall of Sebastopol, a bonfire had been lighted on the top of Craig Gowan, and now there was another in honor of the Egyptian victory. It was very dark, but no one cared for that. The two princesses and many of the people in the house walked up to the top of the hill with the pipes playing jubilantly. There the bonfire was lighted, and the Queen watched from the windows and listened to the pipes and the cheering. When the princesses came down, they all had a little supper together "in Louischen\'s room."
With all these family celebrations, indeed with almost every action of the Queen\'s life, John Brown was closely associated. In private and in public he was the attendant of his sovereign, ever on the watch to save her, not only from danger, but from the least annoyance. On one occasion, the Queen\'s carriage stopped in a village after dark, and curious people thronged about. One man actually held up a lantern to get a plainer view of her face, but all that met his eyes was the rugged, determined features of John Brown, for the faithful man had calmly put himself between the Queen and her inquisitive subject. On another occasion, a woman pushed up to the carriage and stood leaning upon the wheel and staring at the Queen. John Brown thought it a waste of courtesy to be gentle with such a person, and he growled "Be off with you!" like an angry policeman to a crowd of troublesome ragamuffins. In 1883 this faithful servant died. There could hardly have been a time when the Queen had more need of him, for by a fall on the staircase at Windsor she had become unable to walk or even to stand.
During the months of her lameness, she prepared for publication a volume of extracts from her journal for 1862 to 1882. The dedication read, "To My Loyal Highlanders, and especially to the memory of my devoted personal attendant, John Brown." She was as modest about this book as about the first one, and with the copy that she presented to Tennyson she sent an almost shy little note saying, "Though a very humble and unpretending author, I send you my new book, which perhaps you may like to glance at. Its only merit is its simplicity and truth."
The Queen\'s lameness did not prevent her from making her usual spring visit to Balmoral in 1884, but the most unusual precautions were taken to insure her safety. Within two or three years the Emperor of Russia had been assassinated, and in London several attempts had been made recently to blow up public buildings with dynamite. Generally when the Queen traveled, her time-table was known, and people were at every station to give her welcome. An engine was always sent before the train to make sure that the road was clear, but this time, however, the time-tables were kept secret, and no spectators were allowed to gather at the stations. Men were usually at work on the road, averaging one to every half-mile. These men were now supplied with flags to wave as the train came in sight. If the engineer saw a white flag, he knew the way was clear for half a mile; but if the red one was waved, he knew there was danger or some obstruction ahead, and that he must stop at once.
The Queen was still so much of an invalid that she could stand only a few minutes when the day came that she had to be told of the sudden death of her youngest son. He was the only one of the nine children who had not been strong, but the Queen loved him all the better for his sufferings. He was much like his father in mind, and she had hoped that he would be able to act as her private secretary. Even when he was ill, he was so merry and unselfish that all who saw him loved him. He never seemed to realize that there was anything in him to call out their affection and he once said very simply, "I can\'t think why people should always be so kind to me."
The Queen felt that the joy had gone from her life, but she sent to her people the message, "I will labor on as long as I can for the sake of my children and for the good of the country I love so well."
The government of her country gave her little pleasure at that time, for in spite of all that she could do, grave trouble was arising from what she believed was the mistaken course of her Ministers. Egypt had been pacified three years before, but there was revolt in the Soudan. A man named Mohammed had gone about among the wild Arabs declaring, "I am the prophet who was to follow the great Mohammed. For twelve hundred years the world has been awaiting me. Come and fight under my banner." Thousands rose to join him, and Mohammed, or the Mahdi, as he was called, led them against the Khedive. That ruler was helpless to repulse them. England was responsible for the good order of his country, and the Ministers debated the question long and seriously, what to do in Egypt.
"Let us send troops to the Soudan and suppress the rebellion," advised one.
"That is what the Queen wishes," said another, "but it may be that the Soudan is not worth so many lives as would be wasted in conquering the rebels."
"It is not," declared another positively. "Let us attempt nothing but to keep the Mahdi out of Egypt."
"But what of our English and Egyptian garrisons in the Soudan?" That was a grave question, and a long discussion............