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Memoirs of Sir Wemyss Reid 1842 1885

S >> Stuart J. Reid, ed. >> Memoirs of Sir Wemyss Reid 1842 1885




When I met Lord Derby under Lord Houghton's roof he was far too shy to
make any reference to our previous correspondence, yet when the first
painful embarrassment had passed away, he proved a delightful companion,
and his conversation was full of the charm derived from ample knowledge
and marked intellectual power. No man was simpler than he in his
intercourse with those whom he trusted. It was difficult when talking to
him to realise the fact that you were speaking to one who had held the
great office of Foreign Secretary. Instead of laying down the law upon
foreign affairs he seemed anxious to elicit the opinions of other
persons, and he displayed a modest simplicity of manner which was very
striking. He has been described as the incarnation of common-sense, and
the general public believed him to be as full of facts and as dry as a
Blue Book. In reality he had a decided love of humour, and his
conversation, which was illustrated by many good stories, had all the
light and shade, the warmth and colour, that good talk ought to possess.
He was amazingly frank in his criticisms upon men and upon current
affairs.

The outer world believed him to be the most cautious and prudent of men,
weighing every word before he uttered it, and never making a rash remark,
whereas he was very much the reverse. I have, for example, heard him
discuss the characters of European statesmen with an unreserved freedom
that was startling. He was fond, too, of passing criticisms upon great
political questions that staggered one by their boldness. I think it was
in 1883 that he told me that, in his opinion, there was no future for the
Tory party. Conservatism as a force was played out, and the destinies of
the country must henceforth be controlled by Liberals. I am trying to
give a slight sketch of the man as he really was, and not as he was
believed to be by the contemporary public. If he was neither so wise nor
so cautious as men thought him, he was infinitely more charming and more
human, and all who really knew him mourned his death as a personal loss.
When I first met him he was in a state of political transition. Although
he had made up his mind to sever his connection with the Conservatives,
he had taken no open steps in the direction of the other camp. The first
time he ever entered a Liberal club, and made a political speech in it,
was when I got him to go to the Leeds Liberal Club to receive an address
from the members. He is one of the most distinguished of the figures I
associate with Fryston and its gifted owner.

The very last time that I dined with Lord Houghton I had an amusing
experience. It was in the late autumn of 1884. Houghton had just met with
a rather severe and painful accident. He had been staying at the Durdans
with Lord Rosebery, and during the night had fallen out of bed,
fracturing his collar-bone. His own account of the accident was that he
had dreamt that Mr. Gladstone was pursuing him in a hansom cab, and in
trying to escape he had tumbled off the bed. Although in great pain, he
made light, according to his wont, of his injuries, and positively went
down to Yorkshire the day after the accident in order to attend a meeting
of Quarter Sessions. It was only on his return to town, where he was
staying with his sister, the Dowager Viscountess Galway, that he
consulted a doctor, who found that the collar-bone was fractured, and at
once ordered him complete rest. Complete rest was something for which
Houghton was not by nature fitted. I went to call on him whilst he was
laid up, and he immediately begged me to arrange a little dinner party
for his amusement while he was invalided.

The person he was most anxious to secure as a guest was James Payn, and I
promised to do what I could to get Payn to dine. But there were
difficulties in the way. Payn disliked dining out at any time, and he
had, as I have already mentioned, a rooted aversion to evening dress,
which, he declared, killed more men than drink. Besides, when he did dine
out, he wished to smoke as soon as he had finished eating, and for this
reason he objected to dinner parties at which ladies were present. All
this I explained to Houghton. "Not wear evening dress? Well, you and he
can come in frock-coats. I shall be in a dressing-gown." "And the
cigars?" I said. "Oh, well, of course he can smoke if he wishes." "And
ladies?" I continued. "That's awkward," said the dear old gentleman, "for
this is my sister's house. She must be here. But don't tell him, and then
perhaps he'll come." My negotiations with Payn were successful, and on
the appointed evening, a Sunday, he and I set forth in a hansom for
Rutland Gardens. I remember that on the way Payn, who was in
exceptionally high spirits, informed me of the engagement of his daughter
Alice to Mr. Buckle, the young editor of the _Times_.

It was a very small party at Lady Galway's, the only other guest being
Sir Frederick Pollock; but the talk was certainly as good as any I had
ever listened to. When Lady Galway left the room, I reminded our host of
the condition with regard to cigars, for Payn, I saw, was already
impatient. Lord Houghton suggested a cigarette, which would by no means
have met the views of Payn. Happily I had my cigar-case with me, and this
part of the dinner treaty was carried out in its entirety. I still
remember the stories of that delightful evening. They were many and
striking. Both Payn and Lord Houghton were at their best, and Sir
Frederick Pollock, when the opportunity occurred, gave us pleasant
recollections of the past. I was only too glad to be a listener. We sat
long over our cigars, and it was not until the evening was far advanced
that we rejoined Lady Galway. "Now," said she, when we appeared in the
drawing-room, "you have been laughing ever since I left you, but there
were three distinct bursts of laughter that were louder than any others,
and I insist upon being told the stories which you seemed to enjoy so
much." We looked at each other in some dismay, knowing full well the
difficulty of re-warming cold dishes so as to make them appetising. But
Lord Houghton came to the rescue. "My dear." he said, "it is quite
impossible that you should be told those stories. They were not stories
for ladies." The recording angel, I am sure, blotted out our host's
departure from the truth for the sake of the motive which led him to
spare Payn the burden of repeating his stories.

I have dwelt upon this dinner because, though I little knew it then, it
was my last meeting with my dear and generous friend. Curiously enough,
Lord Houghton's last words to me when I left him at night had reference
to a lady with whom we both had a slight acquaintance. When I next saw
that lady, the open grave in which Lord Houghton's coffin had just been
placed yawned between us. Of that memorable dinner party in December,
1884, I, alas! am the only survivor. I corresponded with Houghton during
the following spring and summer, but was unable to meet him on any of the
occasions on which he asked me to do so, and whilst the summer was still
at its height he died at Vichy. Like many another man, I felt that in him
I had lost almost the best of my friends.

At the beginning of 1884 I visited Tangier, and spent a month in that
curious place, so near to Europe in point of distance and so remote from
it in all other respects. Tangier had at one time a reputation as the
Alsatia of Europe and the United States. I do not know whether it still
deserves this fame, but when I was there there were not a few sojourners
in the place who, for reasons of their own, had abandoned civilisation in
favour of a country in which law is but a term. On my way from Gibraltar
to Tangier I met with an unpleasant experience. The steamer which was to
convey me was a miserable rickety boat, called, if I remember aright, the
_Lion d'Or_. It was not so big as a Thames penny steamer, was filthy
in the extreme, and overloaded with goods which a number of Arab
merchants were taking back from Europe to Morocco. There were three other
European passengers besides myself, two of them being ladies. A stiff
Levanter was blowing when we started, and the trip, which should have
been accomplished in three hours, took eight. I have been out in worse
weather, but never in a worse vessel, and more than once in that eight
hours' struggle with wind and waves my fellow-passengers and I really
believed that our end had come. The captain set a sail, hoping to steady
the rolling craft, and it was instantly ripped into shreds by the wind.
We shipped heavy seas, and were undoubtedly very near foundering.

Most fortunately, I and the other Englishman on board, a young artist who
is now a full-fledged R.A., had taken the precaution to provide ourselves
with food, and it was well that the provision was a liberal one, for the
two poor ladies, one of whom was a young invalid, had not so much as a
biscuit between them. Of course we shared our rations, and were thus
saved from hunger during our day of peril. It was dark when we entered
Tangier Bay, but all round us was a sea of foaming breakers. A huge
flat-bottomed barge was with great difficulty brought out to the side of
the steamer, and we were bidden to jump into it at once. At the risk of
broken limbs or necks, we succeeded in reaching it, and then, to my
dismay, I saw the steamer, with all my baggage on board, moving off, the
captain having found that it was too dangerous to remain at anchor in the
bay. When we were half-way to the shore the barge suddenly filled with
water and sank beneath us, fortunately in so shallow a sea that there was
no danger of drowning. My walking-stick, which was a very necessary
adjunct, as I still suffered from my accident on Marston Moor, was washed
out of my hands, but brawny Arabs seized me and my fellow-passengers, and
we were borne safely through the surf to the beach, where we arrived,
dazed, breathless, and drenched to the skin.

My travelling experiences in Tunis and Turkey had prepared me for the
rush which was made upon us by all the loafers of the place, shrieking in
Arabic, and eagerly claiming us as their spoil. But the ladies had never
been out of England before, and were naturally terrified by the wild
scene, following as it did upon their narrow escape from drowning. They
were going to an hotel in the town, and I escorted them to it. Then I set
out on my walk to Bruzeaud's Hotel, beyond the city gates and the Soko. I
was in a sorry plight when I arrived there, but nothing could exceed the
kindness of my reception, not only by the host, but by the Englishmen in
the house. They placed their wardrobes at my disposal, and did everything
they could to make me comfortable. My lost luggage did not turn up for
nearly a week, but happily I had my money and my letters of introduction
in my pocket. On the morning after my arrival I called upon the ladies
who had shared my experiences on the previous day, and found, happily,
that they had not suffered from the shock. I never saw them again; but
ten years afterwards, when I was sitting in my room in London, a
gentleman who had called upon business was brought to see me. To my great
surprise he burst into tears as he took my hand. When he had recovered
his composure he explained that he was the father of the younger of the
two ladies, and he thanked me, in what I could not but think
unnecessarily warm terms, for the trifling service I had rendered to his
daughter. His emotion was explained by the fact that she had but recently
died.

Among the company at Bruzeaud's Hotel there was a certain Captain W., a
retired naval officer, who was something of a character. He had lived
long in Morocco, had the highest opinion of its enormous natural wealth,
and was longing for the day when England, or some other European Power,
would seize and develop it. He had many original theories. He believed,
for example, that Gibraltar was a source of weakness rather than of
strength to the British Empire, and he had written a pamphlet in support
of a proposal that we should exchange it with Spain for Ceuta. I must
confess that his idea seemed to me to be a sound one. But Gibraltar looks
so grand, and makes so strong an appeal to our national pride, that no
English Minister would dare to talk of surrendering it, no matter what he
might be offered in exchange. All the same, I do not think that Captain
W. was altogether wrong when he spoke of the Rock as a "magnificent
impostor."

One day there came to our hotel a typical representative of "Padgett,
M.P." He was a member of the House of Commons who, having a couple of
days to spare at Gibraltar, had run across the Straits to learn all about
Morocco in the space of four-and-twenty hours. In the smoking-room after
dinner he aired his opinions with all the confidence begotten of his
Parliamentary dignity. He denounced the French, who knew nothing, he
declared, about colonisation, and whose government of Algeria was a
disgraceful failure. He lauded the noble character of the Arabs, and
declared that Morocco needed no improvement, and, consequently, called
for no interference on the part of any European Power. Captain W., who
had very strong opinions as to the corruption of the Moorish Government,
listened for some time in silence to opinions which were eminently
distasteful to him. But at last his patience gave way, and he addressed
the astonished M.P. in the following words: "You think you know
everything about Morocco, sir, although you only landed on its soil this
morning. There is one thing, however, that you evidently don't know, and
that is, that if I chose to spend a couple of dollars I could have your
throat cut before to-morrow morning; and you've talked such nonsense,
sir, that I don't know whether that wouldn't be the best thing for me to
do." I never saw a Padgett, M.P., collapse more completely than did this
unfortunate specimen of the race under a retort which, however wanting in
urbanity, was not without very considerable provocation.

In the early summer of 1885 I ventured, for the first time during my
editorship at Leeds, to take a holiday whilst Parliament was sitting. It
had always previously been my rule never to leave my post during the
session of Parliament, but in 1885 everything seemed to be in a state of
profound calm, so far as the political world was concerned. General
Gordon was dead, but the Ministry had survived his loss. It had even
survived the ignominious collapse of the attempt to "break the power of
the Mahdi at Khartoum" which it had professed to make. One knew that
bitter intrigues were in progress behind the scenes. But now that Mr.
Forster was off the scene Mr. Chamberlain seemed bent upon trying
conclusions with Mr. Gladstone himself, and was preaching those doctrines
of an extreme and Socialistic Radicalism which the Conservatives frankly
denounced as being based on the policy of Jack Cade. But time was needed
for the successful development of the new political movement, and
meanwhile public affairs seemed to be running in a very humdrum course. I
thought it, in consequence, a favourable opportunity for carrying out a
long-cherished intention of visiting the Land of the Midnight Sun.
Accordingly, at the beginning of June I went over to Bergen in a Wilson
steamer from Hull. The vessel was crowded with salmon-fishers and their
wives, going to Norway for the summer fishing. I was much amused by the
extreme clannishness of these persons. They absolutely refused to
exchange a word with anybody who was not going to Norway for purposes of
sport. Those of us who, like myself, were going there either for health
or to see the country were regarded by the salmon-fishing people as
intruders, whose presence on the scene was to be actively and rudely
resented. I have travelled much in my time, and have had only too many
opportunities of observing the ridiculous and offensive behaviour of the
English snob when he finds himself in foreign parts; but I do not think
that I ever saw snobbish vulgarity carried further than it was by the
salmon-fishers on this Wilson steamer in the summer of 1885.

For my part, I had no greater desire for their company than they had for
mine, and when I reached Bergen, I speedily transhipped myself to a
native cargo-boat that was announced as being about to start for the
first visit of the season to the North Cape. The accommodation on board
the vessel, though somewhat homely, was comfortable. I had a good cabin,
and soon made friends with the officers. No other Englishman was on
board. We steamed slowly up the coast as far as Trondhjem, and I had
ample opportunities of admiring the fine scenery, as our vessel touched
at almost every small port upon the way. After resting a day at
Trondhjem, we resumed our journey for the North Cape. The passengers were
chiefly Norwegians, most of whom were bound for the Lofoten Islands,
where the great annual fair was about to be held. In the saloon my
companions from Trondhjem were two young Frenchmen, bent, like myself,
upon visiting the North Cape, and an Austrian, attached to the Court at
Vienna, who, for some inscrutable reason, was fired with the same
ambition. We made a very cheery company, and I was able to cast off all
editorial cares in the society of these people, to whom English politics
were of no account. The weather, after leaving Trondhjem, was for some
days positively frightful. It was the month of June, but it rained
incessantly, except when it snowed. It was bitterly cold, and heavy mists
prevented our seeing anything.

The Austrian and I bore the discomforts of the situation as
philosophically as we could. We smoked always, and we read and played
bezique alternately, but our mercurial French friends were less happy,
and on the third day of this detestable weather, on entering the little
smoking-room on deck, I discovered them both sitting in tears, and
bewailing the fact that they were not at home with their mothers. I
laughed so much at their distress that a coolness sprang up between us
which lasted for several days.

Once, indeed, as I find noted in my memorandum-book, the young Frenchmen
revived. It was at one of the stations at which we called. We saw a large
group of people, including several young women, gathered in front of a
building that looked half-church, half-schoolhouse. The Parisians
insisted that they had assembled in our honour; for, as a matter of fact,
they looked upon themselves as being engaged in a desperate and most
heroic enterprise. Accordingly, as we approached the wharf, they brought
out their pocket handkerchiefs, and, waving them wildly, uttered loud
shouts of greeting. To their great chagrin, not the slightest notice was
taken of them. They redoubled their efforts to attract attention, but
neither man nor woman moved a head. Then one of the officers came along,
and drily informed the Frenchmen that the object of their demonstrations
was a funeral party!

I had many other amusing experiences during this little trip, and feel
strongly tempted to inflict upon my readers some extracts from the diary
which I kept during the voyage. But nowadays everybody has been to the
North Cape, and we have all seen the midnight sun. I think I saw it, and
the wonderful scenery of the Lofoten Islands, in my little Norwegian
cargo-boat, under far more favourable auspices than my successors who
have travelled in great tourist steamers, surrounded by all the luxuries
that are now supplied to the passengers on the large Atlantic and
Mediterranean liners. Certainly, one saw something of the people, as well
as of the country, when travelling in this modest fashion; and I still
have the most pleasant recollection of these friendly Norwegians and of
the glorious fiords and mountains of the Far North. But that which
entitles this trip of mine to a special place in these reminiscences of a
journalist is the fact that it cut me off from all connection with
affairs in England at the very moment when those affairs became
unexpectedly interesting.

I had left Hull on the 2nd of June, and after parting from my chance
companions of the _Eldorado_, had not seen a single Englishman, or
heard a scrap of English news, until I found myself at Tromsoe, within
the Arctic circle, on June 17th. The captain of my vessel, knowing that I
wanted to hear what was going on at home, drew my attention to the fact
that a steam collier from Leith had just arrived in Tromsoe Harbour, and
suggested that I should go on board and get the latest newspapers.
Accordingly, I went off in one of the ship's boats to the grimy collier.
It was eleven p.m., but the sun was shining brilliantly. For some time I
hailed the vessel in vain, but at last a black-faced man who was
manifestly one of the officers thrust his head through a port and asked
what I wanted. I told him that I had come to see if he had any newspapers
from home. "I will go and see," he said, in a strong Glasgow dialect, and
presently he returned with a copy of the _Glasgow Mail_ of June 3rd,
and threw it down to me. I was disappointed that he had nothing of a
later date, and after thanking him for his kindness was returning to my
own steamer, when a sudden thought occurred to me, and I said, "Have you
heard any news later than this?" holding up the newspaper. He considered
for a moment, then shook his head reflectively, and said, "Na, I've heard
naething later." So again I started on my way to the ship. I had not gone
more than a yard or two when I heard him calling to me loudly. Once more
I put back. "I forgot to tell ye that they've kicked oot that blasted
auld deevil, Gladstone." "What!" I exclaimed, in incredulous horror.
"Kicked out Mr. Gladstone! What do you mean?" "I mean that they've kicked
him oot of office, and a d----d good job, too."

I fairly gasped for breath as I heard the astonishing news. Here was I,
the editor of an English daily newspaper, away up in the Arctic circle,
separated by days of travel from newspapers or means of getting news, and
I suddenly heard this startling piece of intelligence. I could not credit
it, and eagerly asked for further particulars. But the old tar could tell
me nothing more. He could only persist in affirming and reaffirming his
conviction that Mr. Gladstone's loss of office was the best thing that
could have happened to the country. And this was the end of the great
Ministry of 1880, for the formation of which I had worked so hard, and
which I had so constantly and ardently supported with my pen! I went back
to the _Kong Halfdan_ much excited, and rushing to the captain told
him that I must go back to England at once. He heard my news and
sympathised with my dilemma, but assured me that the earliest mode of
returning to Trondhjem would be by sticking to his ship. I went ashore,
and made further inquiries, only to have the captain's statement
confirmed; so, willy-nilly, I had to go on to the North Cape, bitterly
conscious of the fact that I ought to have been at my post at Leeds. But
a man in a hurry is always the victim of circumstances, and there was
nothing for it but to possess my soul in patience. How eagerly I looked
for further news! It was not, however, until several days later that, on
returning to Tromsoe, I found a mail-steamer going north, and saw an
unmistakable Englishman on the deck, whom I immediately accosted with a
request for information. All he could tell me was that Mr. Gladstone had
resigned on the 12th of June, and that Lord Salisbury on the next day had
been hastily summoned by the Queen to Balmoral and had accepted office.
From Trondhjem I made hot haste by rail to Christiania, and taking the
first steamer for Hull, which to me seemed to make haste slowly, returned
to my own country to face the unexpected fact that a great political
revolution had suddenly occurred, and that the Tories were once more in
power.




INDEX.

A

Addison Road North,
Author's residence in.
Adullamites.
Albrecht, Archduke,
Author's visit to estate of.
American Civil War,
Conclusion of.
Armstrong, Lord,
as a solicitor at Newcastle-upon-Tyne;
as president of British Association.
Arundel Club in 1868.
Aurora Borealis in 1870.
Ayrton, Mr.,
Attack of, on Queen Victoria.

B

Baines, Edward,
founder of _Leeds Mercury_.
Baines, Frederick.
Baines, Matthew Talbot, M.P.
Baines, Sir Edward,
at battle of Peterloo;
M.P. for Leeds;
Knighted;
visits author in Reporters' Gallery;
and loss of ship _Captain_;
defeated as Parliamentary candidate at Leeds;
and Leeds Caucus.
Baines, Thomas Blackburn,
resigns editorship of _Leeds Mercury_.
Baring, Walter,
and Bulgarian atrocities of 1876.
Barran, Sir John.
Barrett, Fenian,
Execution of;
Bathgate, Rev. William, D.D.,
author's brother-in-law, Death of.
Baxter, W. E.,
as Secretary to Admiralty.
Beaconsfield, Lord,
(_see_ Disraeli, Benjamin).
Berlin Congress in 1878.
Berry, Miss Louisa.
Bertram, Mr., Death of.
Berwick-upon-Tweed Station in 1850.
Birmingham Caucus, Formation of,
(_see also_ Caucus).
Black, John, journalist.
Black, William,
joins staff of _Leeds Mercury_;
his loyalty to friends;
his house in Camberwell Road;
stories about his books;
his sympathy with art;
at Century Club;
his chivalrous character;
on sad endings of novels;
his first visit to Leeds;
his failure as a speaker.
Boundary Commission for electoral divisions.
Bow Street Police Court in 1867.
Bradfield,
Bursting of reservoir dam at.
Bradford Caucus and W. E. Forster.
Brett, Police-sergeant,
Murder of.
"Briefs and Papers,".
Bright, John,
at Blackburn in 1865;
at reform demonstrations in 1866;
his last reform speech in 1866;
champions Queen Victoria;
and Cave of Adullam;
appeals for life of Barrett, the Fenian.
British Association at Newcastle (1863).
Broadley, Mr. A. M.,
at Tunis.
Brofft's Hotel, Bucharest.
Brontë, Charlotte,
Mrs. Gaskell's Life of;
author's monograph on;
her attractiveness;
(_see also_ Haworth).
Brontë, Emily, Author's lecture on.
Brontë literature, Author's contributions to.
Bruce, Dr. Collingwood.
Bruce's Licensing Bill, Introduction of.
Buccleuch, Duke of, and Disraeli.
Bucharest in 1878,
extortionate charges at.
Bulgarian atrocities of 1876,
Excitement caused by;
their effect upon our domestic politics.
Burdett-Coutts, Baroness, and reform demonstrators.
Burke, T.H., Assassination of, in Phoenix Park.
Burke and Casey, Fenian prisoners.

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