I had hardly arrived at Buckingham Palace and settled down to work before the news was received of the assassination of King Carlos and of his son, the Crown Prince, in the streets of Lisbon. It was a particularly brutal murder, for Queen Amelie was in the carriage with them, and saw her husband and son murdered before her eyes. The late King Carlos and his Consort had been so very recently the guests of our Royal Family, and were on such very friendly terms with them that the shock must have been felt most acutely. I was in attendance at both the Memorial Services that were held in London, the first of which was a Requiem Mass at St. James’ Church, Spanish Place, and on the following day at St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was said to have been the first time an English Sovereign had been present at a Roman Catholic Service since the Reformation. The Service at St. Paul’s was very beautiful and impressive, and in those days before the war, for many of those present, it was a unique experience to hear the drums of the Guards accompanying the organ in the Dead March; I know of no place where drums are heard to such effect, as under the great dome of Sir Christopher Wren. [355]
ON BOARD 
Photo: A. Debenham, Cowes]
H.M. YACHT “VICTORIA AND ALBERT,” 1909
H.R.H. The Prince of Wales H.M. King Edward H.R.H. Prince Edward of Wales
 
Probably all my fellow-Londoners will agree with me that the average February is about the most unpleasant month of the year to spend in London, and there always seems to be more influenza and other comparatively minor disorders prevalent then, than at any other time. London was, moreover, apt to be very full in the month of February, for Parliament generally met during the month, and there were always endless dinners, political and otherwise. In 1908 there was a good deal of influenza flying about, so the King was persuaded to go to Brighton for a week, staying during this short visit at the Princess Royal’s house in Lewes Crescent that had been placed at his disposal. Personally, I was very glad to be at Brighton for a week, for there is something about the air there, that revives the jaded Londoner more surely than anything else.
In the month of June I was again on duty, and consequently came in for the visit their Majesties paid to the late Emperor and Empress of Russia at Reval. It was an interesting occasion from many points of view, and looking back on it from these days, I imagine there can hardly be any of the Russians we met during that visit, including the Imperial Family, that have not been murdered by Revolutionaries or butchered by their successors, the Bolsheviks.
On June 5th, the Royal party, consisting of the King, the Queen, and Princess Victoria, embarked on board the Victoria and Albert at Port Victoria. We were quite a large party in attendance, as, in addition to the necessary Private Secretaries and Equerries,[356] Lord Carnock (then Sir Arthur Nicholson, the Ambassador at Petersburg) Mr. Hugh O’Beirne, also of that Embassy, (who, poor fellow, met his death with the late Lord Kitchener on their ill-fated voyage to Russia during the war,) Lord Hamilton of Dalziel, (as Lord-in-Waiting, doing the duty of Lord Chamberlain,) and Sir John Fisher, (then First Sea-Lord, and Principal Naval Aide-de-Camp to the King,) were on board the Royal Yacht. An escorting squadron of our latest type of armoured cruisers, the then well-known “Minotaur” class, was ordered to join the Royal Yacht at Kiel. (Incidentally, it was interesting to notice, during the war, what a singularly useless class of vessel was the armoured cruiser. After a little more than a year’s warfare afloat, we had lost nearly every specimen of that class we possessed, and oddly enough, the Germans were in a similar state; the fact is they were too big and too expensive for cruisers; they carried their main armament far too low, and if they came across anything in the shape of a battle-cruiser they were sunk for a certainty.) On this occasion the Minotaur and her consorts had, I believe, been chosen because they drew too much water to go through the Canal, and though, of course, the Admiralty may have thought it an excellent jest to score off the Germans, by poking fun at their strategic Canal, the joke was not likely to delay the broadening and deepening of that same channel, a work which, carried out at a cost of many millions, was taken in hand very shortly afterwards, and duly completed in time for the long-contemplated war of 1914. The[357] Royal Yacht arrived at Kiel in the evening and was at once boarded by Prince Henry and the usual huge swaggering crowd of Germans, that formed the Teutonic idea of what the suite of a Prince should be. We were duly informed that the escorting squadron had arrived at Kiel, which gave Sir John Fisher a chance of airing the carefully prepared Admiralty gibe about the insufficient size of the Canal, and the magnificence of our cruisers. Much as I always disliked the Germans, on this particular occasion I was rather glad that Prince Henry had also a well-thought-out impromptu ready. He retaliated by chaffing the Admiral about the wireless installation that had just been put up at Whitehall, the news of which extremely recent acquisition had already reached Germany. There could be no secret about an installation that the whole world could see, and from nowhere better than from Carlton House Terrace; but it was instructive to learn how carefully our public buildings were watched by the inmates of the German Embassy.
The Royal Yacht anchored for the night at Kiel, and left next morning with her escorting squadron for Reval. For the first hour or so there was an escorting flotilla of German Destroyers, who were evidently very anxious to show off, and were certainly sufficiently well handled. The next twenty-four hours or so were spent at sea, and nothing can be more agreeable than a long day and night afloat in the Baltic during the month of June, when it is light all night, except for a short hour round midnight, when[358] there is apt to be still a suspicion of pink in the sky.
The Royal Yacht arrived at Reval on the morning of June 9th, and there we found the two Imperial Yachts, Polar Star and the Standardt, the Dowager Empress being on board the one, the other being the temporary residence of the Emperor and Empress and their children. There was also a Russian squadron anchored in the roads, which, augmented by our escorting cruiser squadron, made up a fine show of ships.
Even then, that part of Russia was in a very disturbed state, so much so that none of the suite, or the officers of our fleet, were allowed to land, in case of trouble; and no boats, with the exception of men-o’-war’s boats, were permitted to ply at all in the part of the anchorage that had been assigned to the Royal Yachts of both nations.
The whole visit passed off very agreeably, the Russians in those days being always the pleasantest of people to deal with, but underlying it all there was the feeling that the country we were in was in a very abnormal state. The Empress was palpably in a nervous condition, and no wonder, considering the constant dangers to which her children were exposed. Among the notable people in attendance on the Emperor were Monsieur Stolypin, the President of the Council of Ministers; Baron Zahamelsky, the Governor-General of the Baltic Provinces, besides such personal attendants as General Count Paul Benckendorff and Prince Orloff, who were Aides-de-Camp to[359] the Emperor; the former was also a brother of the well-known and much-liked Ambassador in London. Monsieur Stolypin, as will be remembered, was eventually murdered in the Opera House of St. Petersburg. After many attempts against his life, the assassinating party at last succeeded in its object,—a previous attack on his life, when a bomb was exploded in his house, had only wounded him and maimed one of his children for life.
At the State dinner party I happened to sit next to one of the Russian gentlemen who had held the post of Governor of the Palace for a couple of years, and he gave me an idea of the terrible responsibility that this office carried, in that, amongst other things, he was personally responsible for the safety of the Emperor. But, as I have written in a previous page, I doubt whether there is one of those men, (all of whom were either public servants or else attached to the Emperor’s person during that visit), who is now alive. Of the fate of the members of the Imperial Family, it is unnecessary to write. All Europe has read with horror of the indignities they suffered before being murdered.
But to turn to less gloomy memories: there were the usual State banquets on board the Royal Yachts of the two monarchs; at the one given by King Edward we, of his suite, were much impressed by the amusing way in which he settled a difficult question of etiquette. In Russia the Dowager Empress is of higher rank than the Consort of the Emperor; in England, of course, the reverse is the case. As both these illustrious ladies were dining on board the Victoria and Albert, anchored[360] in Russian waters, it was a rather nice point to whom to give precedence in arranging the seating of the guests at the banquet. Following a precedent set by Solomon, in a reversed sense, the King solved the difficulty by taking both Empresses in to dinner, one on each arm!
After the dinner on board the Emperor’s yacht, the Standardt, a serenading party of singers came off from the shore in a tug, which was then anchored close to the Royal Yachts. They sang deliciously while the guests were smoking their cigars on deck. Of course it was still broad daylight, so that the Royalties were in easy view of the singers, and at the outside a couple of hundred yards off. This appeared to me to be a very risky proceeding, so I sent for an old friend of mine, (now Sir Patrick Quinn), then, the Special Detective Officer in charge of the King, to ask him his opinion. I pointed out to him that in broad daylight, as it was, any disaffected person on board the tug, if prepared to give up his own life, could make a certainty of shooting any member of the two Royal Families that he liked to select. Quinn’s answer was, “You need not fuss, Captain; there is not a man or a woman on board the tug who has not been stripped by the Russian Police and searched for arms before being embarked, and when it comes to searching, the Russian Police do not make mistakes.”
On the 11th the Royal Yacht left Reval for England via the Kiel Canal, the escorting squadron parting company there and finding their way home round Denmark. On our way through the Canal the Kaiser,[361] with that wonderful capacity he has always shown for unsuccessful theatrical effects, arranged that the Royal Yacht should be escorted through the Canal by detachments of Cavalry! It would be difficult to imagine anything more incongruous and ridiculous than was this “cocktail” performance. The German Cavalry, efficient as they are in many respects, do not shine as horsemen, and it amused us enormously to see these unfortunate troopers bumping along the road that runs parallel to the Canal, in their attempts to keep up with the Royal Yacht, which was, of course, condemned to go at her very slowest speed.
By the 16th the Royal party was back at Buckingham Palace; but London was left almost immediately for Windsor, where there was a large gathering for the Ascot Races.
Ascot Races in 1908 was a more than usually brilliant affair. There was an exceptionally large party at Windsor, which filled the Castle to its utmost capacity, and amongst the guests were some of the King’s French friends, such as the Prince and Princesse Murat, the Marquis and Marquise de Gannay, and that very charming man, M. édouard Detaille, (long since dead I am sorry to say), so well known as the very successful painter of military subjects. I had often been to his studio in Paris, which was almost a museum in its way, for he not only managed to acquire Napoleonic relics of all sorts, but had also made a most remarkable collection of the head-dresses of all the regiments of the different armies of that period. In these days it seems almost incredible that men should[362] have fought for years in such enormous and fantastic head-coverings. A great many of them, I believe, were not nearly as uncomfortable as they looked, and even in the later Crimean days our Foot-guards stuck steadily to their bearskin, which were always said to be the only sort of head-dress that the British private did not try to get rid of, if he got the chance. But to return to Monsieur Detaille; he was even then very delicate, and in rather poor health generally, but his kind host had told him that he was to go racing or not, just as he felt inclined, and to take life as easily as he liked in wandering about the Castle, with all its wealth of pictures to interest him. Incidentally, there was one of his own works there, which still hangs in a very prominent position in the large dining-room,—the fine equestrian portrait of King Edward, accompanied by his brother, the Duke of Connaught, at an Aldershot review. The portrait of the King was certainly one of the best of him that ever was painted, and the fore-shortening of the fine chestnut charger that he is riding is masterly; the horse really looks as if he were stepping out of the frame towards the spectator.
Windsor for Ascot Races was rather a strenuous time for the Equerries, whose duties it was to ride to Ascot and back with the Royal carriage. Seven miles does not sound like a long ride, but after a sea-trip, where no exercise can be taken, to ride at a full trot without any chance of changing the pace, at mid-day in the month of June, made me much hotter than did polo at Malta played in the great heat of a Mediterranean summer.
[363]
In March 1909, I once more found myself en route to Biarritz in attendance on King Edward. Only a very short stay was made in Paris, just time for a luncheon with the President at the élysée, as the King was anxious to get to the South. They were pleasant weeks, those five or six that were spent there, for Biarritz was very full and gay, and I came in for some agreeable and interesting motor trips. Amongst others, was an excursion to Pau to see the Wilbur Wright flying-machine. Mr. Wilbur Wright had, I fancy, chosen Pau for his experimental flights because not only is there a nice flat tract of country just outside the town, but Pau possesses, and also thoroughly deserves, the reputation of being one of the most windless places in Europe. When flying-machines were in their extreme infancy, a very moderate breeze was enough to prevent an aviator from making an ascent. On this occasion the elements were kind, and Mr. Wright made two or three ascents, on one occasion taking his sister up with him. In those earlier days of flying, the great difficulty was to get the machine off the ground, and it was met by a combination of about a hundred yards of light railway to take the wheels of the machine, and the erection of a shears with a dropping weight to give the plane the necessary cant-up in the air. Another interesting motor excursion was made to San Sebastian. It is a lovely drive across the Spanish frontier, and full of interest to Englishmen, with its historic memories of Wellington’s advance into France. Besides being a pleasant excursion it gave the King an opportunity of paying an informal[364] visit to King Alfonso, who was then in residence at the Royal Villa at San Sebastian.
By the middle of April, what was to be my last visit to Biarritz in attendance came to an end, and I returned to England, the King having met Queen Alexandra and Princess Victoria at the station of le Bourget, just outside Paris, where now, I hear, is placed the main Aerodrome in the vicinity of that capital. The Royal party changed trains and went on to Genoa for a short cruise in the Royal Yacht.
I was again on duty for the Cowes season, and an interesting season it was, commencing, as it did, with a review of the Home and Atlantic Fleets at Spithead, followed immediately afterwards by the arrival of the Emperor and Empress of Russia and their children in the Imperial Yacht Standardt. The Imperial Family began the official portion of their visit by coming on board the Victoria and Albert, from which vessel the Emperor reviewed the Fleet, which was still at Spithead. The usual State dinners took place on board the two Royal Yachts, but beyond that there were no further functions. The members of the Russian Imperial Family were evidently delighted to be out of their own country, even on a four days’ visit, and it was pathetic to witness the delight of the children at being able to run about the crowded little town of Cowes and look at the shop windows at their own sweet will, after being for so long accustomed to living in a comparative state of siege, where their lives were never safe for a moment. The Emperor and Empress landed one day at the steps of the Cadet College at Osborne, the Empress being[365] desirous of revisiting those surroundings where she had spent so much of her girlhood in Queen Victoria’s time. For the Emperor to make even such a limited excursion as a visit to Osborne and its dependencies, gave great anxiety to Scotland Yard, and every sort of precaution was taken to ensure his safety. A swarm of detectives were posted all round Osborne, and though, as usual, their work was so well done that no one, except “those in the know” even suspected their existence, the fact remains that an unusually large number had to be employed at Cowes and its neighbourhood.
After the visit to Osborne House and its grounds, the Cadet College, then a comparatively new institution, was visited, and the mention of Osborne College makes it almost incumbent on any one who is interested in the Navy to point out that of all the hopeless examples of bad work done in a hurry, there is no more glaring instance than this establishment. (This criticism does not apply to its educational side, which I believe to be thoroughly well looked after.) I had an opportunity of visiting it shortly after it was opened, have seen it several times since, and, moreover, on the strength of having once been in the Navy, I have been pestered by fond mothers on the subject of its most unhealthy condition, ever since. Osborne itself was an undeniably good choice as regards locality, embraced, as the property is, by the sea on two sides, and being within easy reach of the great Naval Establishment at Portsmouth. Unfortunately, owing to the vanity that impels men in authority to get a new thing going without delay, it was built on the lines of a temporary structure, with[366] next to nothing in the way of foundations, and very possibly on tainted ground, the actual site selected being perilously near that of the old stables of Osborne House. The apparent consequences have been that the wretched children, (for the Cadets who go there are little more) are never really well, and there have been constant epidemics of a serious nature. I have been credibly informed that, amongst these epidemics was one of “pink eye” some years ago, a disease that, until the Osborne College was started, was supposed to be peculiar to horses.
But enough of these unsavoury medical details, which o............