CHAPTER IV

HE WINS THE V.C.

Hero of Khartoum’s Fame and Tragedy, as Private Secretary--Indian Famine--Lord William and the Jowakis--A Month’s Holiday in Afghanistan--Back in Calcutta--Barrackpore Monument to Lady Canning--Lady Waterford as Artiste--Cawnpore Memorial--Racing--Trouble in South Africa--A Favour Granted--Off to the War--A Friend Left in Charge of Affairs--Some Fights for Queen and Country--Some Fights for Private Reasons--Exciting Moments--Irish Bravery of Man and Beast--Two V.C.’s at Dinner--Receives Reward at Hands of the Queen-Empress--A Shower Bath in Dublin--Some Racing and a Row--A Thrice-run Race--Miller Addresses Lord William

It is not possible to give a correct idea of Lord William’s life in India without briefly mentioning the chief measures proposed and carried out during the different Viceroys’ administrations.

He, of course, made it a point of honour never to criticise or express any opinion on the policy or private lives of those he worked for, but being so intimately connected with the Viceregal Court, both in his official capacity and as a valued friend, all movements, military or civil, naturally entailed work for him, and it must be borne in mind that he not only did what his calling demanded, but at all times laid himself out to be useful to his masters and their belongings.

It is worth pausing for a moment to reflect on the life of an Indian Viceroy; we shall then be able to realise what it must have been to them to have a man like Lord William, with his loyalty, ability, and never-failing sympathy and cheerfulness always at their command. No doubt it is a great honour to be asked to represent the King in India, and a much coveted position, but when we look back at the men who have held this high office, it seems that nothing but patriotism, of the highest order, can have persuaded them to leave their own beautiful and stately homes, where they were their own masters, could live in peace with all they loved around them, and where they could mix freely with their neighbours, for the splendid isolation of the Viceregal throne; not having been trained, as Royalty are, to be approached only through mediums, having to sit upon a pedestal from which they must not descend, no matter what their inclinations, and up which none may climb to greet them, is paying a huge price for the honour. They must often feel very lonely, some I know do, and very homesick.

The choice of the staff is naturally a matter of great importance, and a Viceroy usually selects people with whom he can unbend and associate without infringing precedents and necessarily established laws and customs. Not every man makes a good A.D.C.; it is of no use their having views of their own; they are there to do as they are told. Their duties are not very arduous, unless they like to make them so by doing all sorts of kind and thoughtful things not marked on the day’s programme. How unsuited some are for the appointments they hold, was proved by Captain Gordon (later of Khartoum fame and tragedy), who came out from home as Lord Ripon’s private secretary. By the time he had been in the country a few weeks he resigned, as he could not countenance His Excellency’s policy, and expressed his own views somewhat bluntly, which was disconcerting to everybody in turn.

After this little digression we must return to the time after the Delhi Durbar, when famine was casting a heavy shadow over the land, and Lord Lytton decided he would go and see for himself the extent of the misery and distress; no light undertaking, as it entailed much travelling to visit all the different parts, chiefly in the Madras Presidency, the district that had suffered from the same cause in 1853 and 1854. The affected area covered 2,000,000 square miles, where food was wanted for thirty-six million people.

Unfortunately Lord William was not able to accompany His Excellency, owing to his latest racing accident, from which he had not sufficiently recovered. This was a great disappointment to him, for he may have been happy-go-lucky and devil-me-care in his own private life, but there was nothing approaching it in his official capacity, where he was always keen and full of enthusiasm.

Lord Lytton had arrived in India knowing nothing of it “except its myths,” but was hard at work learning more, being somewhat puzzled but greatly interested. Amongst other matters, such as famine and irrigation, there was the ever-troublesome question of our geographical boundaries amongst the Afghan mountains, requiring close study and attention. It would be pleasant to follow the work done on this tour and its far-reaching results, but it has no place here except as far as Lord William was connected with it, so I pass on, simply stating that after a long and careful study of the famine question, Lord Lytton satisfied himself that periodical famines must be expected, and provision must be made for such distressful times during the country’s prosperity. He appointed a famine commission to enquire into it and report thereon, as to means of irrigation and any other measures possible to adopt. This report was issued in 1880, the year of Lord Lytton’s return to England, and was the foundation of the latter-day system of irrigation, developments of communication, and famine insurance, the benefits of these measures to be reaped by his successors.

In September of the same year (1877) His Excellency returned to Simla. In October Lord William had collected a few promising horses and began entering them under his own name. His colours were carried at the Dehra October Meeting by Oliver Twist, Lucifer, and Firetail. Lucifer was a country-bred, on which Captain Chisholme of Lord William’s regiment won two races for him. A little later, at Umballa, he had a good time, Oliver Twist bringing in the shekels by winning the Drawing-room Stakes, ridden by T. Tingey, the chief professional jockey in India at that time. Lord William rode in all the “chases” at the meeting, but scored no wins. He had a fall in the Grand Stand Plate, but was not much the worse, so remounted and rode in another race the same afternoon. The betting and plunging at this meeting amounted to a scandal, especially as many of the losers were more or less penniless. The settling naturally took a long time; indeed, I have heard that some of the winners never got their money at all. This meeting was the beginning of the break up of a very well-known figure in those days, Captain Frank Johnson, one of the handsomest of men, he being one of the heaviest losers.

Lord William’s attention was now turned towards Jowaki, where the Frontier tribes were growing aggressive, and it became necessary to send troops to straighten matters out a little, and he had great hopes of being allowed to accompany them. Lord Lytton complained to the authorities at home that it was somewhat difficult for him, when so little was known of what we called our frontier, as there were no maps to show where our territory really began or ended.

The hill tribes are always rather a problem. All are muscular and warlike, but many of them acknowledge little tribal control or responsibility, which makes it difficult to know whom to deal with. Their chiefs have no control over them, even when they have chiefs, on which point I am by no means clear. The incessant raids on Peshawar and the district could not be tolerated, so Lord Lytton sent troops with instructions to deliver a night surprise, which, for some reason, did not come off until daylight, thereby losing its effectiveness and warning the tribes of our intentions, which was unfortunate. The first stage of this expedition was consequently a failure. After this little miscarriage of justice and retribution, General Keyes was sent with more troops to punish the raiders. This was called the Jowaki Expedition. Lord William begged the Viceroy to allow him to go with General Keyes. Permission being granted he was happy, for this was after his own heart. The General’s instructions were, to cut off the Jowakis from the other tribes, to prevent their neighbours joining in with them. This was successfully accomplished, and a good lesson taught, as the Jowakis’ losses were severe and ours light. After this, there were only about 1500 rebel tribesmen left to deal with. Finding their strongholds destroyed and most of their land in our hands, they gave in, and sent to make terms. Lord William enjoyed himself, as this was his first experience of active service, for which he received the medal and clasp. After several months of climbing mountains in pouring rain, and struggling across torrents, he returned to Simla, where someone asked him the time-honoured question, “What were your sensations when first under fire?” To which he replied, “I don’t remember what I felt like under fire, but I do remember what it felt like under water--dashed unpleasant!”

Under Lord Lytton’s orders the tribal frontiers were thoroughly surveyed and mapped out, also good roads made in every direction, after which the Punjab frontier settled down to peace and quietude.

So many years have elapsed since Lord William was in India, indeed so many since he died, that I am somewhat handicapped by letters and documents dealing with this, and many other parts of his life, having been destroyed. So many of his contemporaries have passed away, also no wife or mother living, with cherished letters and records to help in these Memories. His brothers, though deeply attached to him, were of necessity much apart, each following his own profession, and therefore not in a position to help much about his foreign service.

After the Jowaki Expedition Lord William returned to his duties on the Viceregal staff, keeping one eye on the Russian influence in Afghanistan, hoping he might have a chance of more fighting. He was longing to be back with his regiment, as they were sure to go if there was any serious trouble, and this there was before long. What is now known as the second phase of the Afghan War came after the hasty treaty of Gandamak. The Khyber Pass Force was withdrawn as far as Lundi Kotal, and Sir Louis Cavagnari, a political officer of some repute, was sent with an escort to Kabul as resident, Sir Donald Stewart’s division remaining at Kandahar. As many people expected, this arrangement did not last long, but they were not prepared for the terrible thing that happened.

While the whole country was waiting to hear of the safe arrival of Sir Louis and his escort, news came that he and all with him had been massacred. Thus began the second phase of the Afghan War. Sir Frederick Roberts fought his way up to Kabul and remained there, trying and hanging a number of people, some say wrong ones as well as right, but it was impossible to help it, and no doubt they all richly deserved what they got, so it was just as well. The 9th Lancers were in the thick of the fighting and Colonel Cleland disabled, so Lord William’s old friend, Colonel Stewart Mackenzie, took command. They had great difficulty in saving the guns by getting them across a twelve-foot ditch, the only possible crossing of which had been blocked by a fallen wheeler and the gun stuck fast. Colonel Stewart Mackenzie endeavoured to execute a charge, the second during the day. Meanwhile the officer responsible for the gun gave orders to unhook and spike it. Colonel Stewart Mackenzie’s horse was shot, and, falling on him, he was rescued with the greatest difficulty.

The accounts of all the deeds of bravery amongst his brother officers made Lord William long to go and share their dangers and hardships, for he loved the “Old 9th,” as he called them. At last, unable to bear it any longer, he asked for a month’s leave. As usual on such occasions, he was tortured by the fear that it would all be over before he got there, so he made elaborate arrangements to do the journey in record time the moment his leave was granted. Booted and spurred, he paced up and down his rooms until the joyful news that his leave was granted was brought to him. He jumped on to a waiting horse and galloped away for Umballa. Fresh ponies were waiting for him at different stages of the journey, which enabled him to catch a train that took him to the rail head of the expeditionary force. Without waiting for food or sleep, he began riding again; here fresh ponies were in readiness for him, and he arrived among his war-worn brother officers scarcely less travel-stained than themselves, after riding day and night for five days, only broken by the train journey. He was in time to accompany Sir Sam Browne, V.C., up the snow-covered Khyber Pass, which he regarded as a refreshing holiday. I give a little sketch sent to me at this time by another friend enjoying the same holiday, which will give a little idea of its pleasures. The Sir Sam Browne mentioned above was destined to be immortalised by the now famous Sam Browne belt. It was the child of the gallant General’s imagination, and first worn on active service during this campaign. Whatever its merits have now been proved to be, it was greeted with contumely and caustic comments by the army, as is customary with all new inventions, but like the Brodrick cap, it has weathered countless storms. I remember men used to speak of it with suppressed passion as “the Christmas tree arrangement.” I do not know why, unless on account of the things supposed to be hung on it.

Soon after Lord William joined him, Sir Sam Browne decided to storm the Citadel of Ali Musjid from the right-hand side of a rocky ridge of some height. General Appleyard at the same time was to lead his brigade up the left side, along a precipitous path, little more than a goat track. Between these two brigades was a deep gorge with rushing water at the bottom. The air was alive with bursting shells fired from the Citadel. The Afghans were engaged in shelling the ridge from end to end, which made it, according to Lord William, “lively.” Shells were even bursting among the advancing columns.

When nearing the Citadel, Sir Sam Browne wished to communicate with General Appleyard on the opposite ridge. Here was Lord William’s chance. He at once volunteered, and General Browne accepted his offer, instructing him to reach General Appleyard as quickly as possible, but to make a detour of the valley to lessen the risk.

“All right, sir,” replied Lord William, who had no intention of making a detour at all. Dismounting, he gave his horse to someone to hold, scrambled down the precipice, and was out of sight in a moment, hidden by the flying earth and smoke from the bursting shells. Reaching the bottom safely, he sat down and took off his boots, partly wading, partly jumping, from rock to rock, arriving safely at the other side. Here he again sat down and lighted a cigarette before putting on his boots and scrambling up the hill, where he delivered his message. He was as calm and collected as when out partridge shooting, in fact calmer than he was sometimes on those occasions, but always with the same fire burning in his keen eyes.

By the middle of December, 1878, General Sir Sam Browne’s column was in occupation of the Musjid, after climbing that stern, sulky-looking Khyber Pass. Lord William’s leave being up, and feeling how good it had been of Lord Lytton to let him go, he hurriedly ate his Christmas dinner with the Headquarters Staff and started on his way back, meeting with some excitement on the way down, as the Afghan hillmen potted at him most of the time from their hiding-places in the mountains.

A month was not long in which to journey to the Khyber Pass, take part in the storming and capture of Ali Musjid, and then return to Calcutta, but proves the old saying that “Where there is a will there is a way.”

Lord William received a medal and clasp and was mentioned in despatches for his share in this campaign.

I do not think a man less brave because he loves doing daring and dangerous things. Certainly he appeals to the imagination no less, though, I suppose, in the last analysis, it is the man who is afraid in his heart, yet does a brave thing by force of will over body, who is the most truly brave.

On his return to Calcutta he took up the thread of life where he had left it, and continued during his lighter moments, racing, dancing and flirting; for he was a veritable butterfly, fluttering from flower to flower and sipping honey in the sunshine. And why not? A little gentle flirtation is good for everyone’s self-respect, and keeps them young. After all, what are a few little silken insincerities? What is flirtation? Simply a social accomplishment, a little mutual sympathy beautifully expressed, and a little repartee. There are not a few who think it is pleasanter to be in sympathy with many than in bondage to one.

When at Calcutta Lord William was fond of spending week-ends at Barrackpore, which is a sort of country residence for the Viceregal people, standing on the banks of the Hugli, and has lovely gardens and grounds, with the advantage of being within a few miles of Calcutta, therefore not much packing up and journeyings required. It was a place much sought after by honeymoon couples. The Vice-reine used to lend it to them, and Lord William had the privilege also of using and lending it when not required by their Excellencies, to those in search of quietness and peace.

After the big official Government residence at Calcutta, this homy countrified house was very restful. All felt the moment they arrived that the official smile might be laid aside for a time and some of the stiffness out of the spine.

There is an interesting monument at Barrackpore erected to the memory of Lady Canning, sister of Louisa, Marchioness of Waterford, wife of the third Marquis, and therefore aunt by marriage of Lord William. Lady Canning was very beautiful, and like her sister very good. Her husband, Viscount Canning, succeeded Lord Dalhousie as Governor-General in 1856, and when she died in Calcutta, November 18th, 1856, from fever caught while sketching in the Terai, was mourned most sincerely by the community at large, to whom she had always been sympathetic and kind. At the time of her death Lord William was fourteen years old. Louisa, Marchioness of Waterford, shared her sister’s love of art and painting, was indeed an artist of merit. Mr. Watts considered her one of the greatest real artists of that time. One of her celebrated pictures hangs at Ford Abbey, a place which she inherited in Northumberland. The picture is entitled “The Miracle of Healing the Two Blind Men.” Some of her book illustrations were also considered by authorities on such matters as excellent. It was Louisa, Marchioness of Waterford, who designed the beautiful monument of a guardian angel which stands to-day over the fateful well at Cawnpore, where the unhappy English people were thrown in alive during the Mutiny. Anyone visiting that station in India cannot fail, when driving through that dusty, sun-dried place, to be deeply impressed by this beautiful white, calm-looking figure, spelling pity and peace. It is difficult to prevent bitter and revengeful feelings taking possession of us as we remember all that happened in that historic place, but after looking at that calm, peaceful and dignified figure, a certain feeling of “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,” takes the place of revenge. It is seldom that a monument appeals to us in that way; many are grand, great works of art and manipulation, but that white angel at Cawnpore is something more. If my brain had conceived the idea and my hand designed it, I should be a proud and soul-satisfied woman.

The Beresford stable was now seldom idle even when the owner was away. In 1879 his horse Telegram was figuring in Calcutta, winning the Alipore Plate. The same horse got beaten a little later by quite a slow mare called Blue Bonnet, belonging to Mr. E. T. Roberts, which was a piece of bad luck, more especially as the cause was the poor beast’s breaking a blood-vessel, which, however, did not prove a very serious matter, as he was patched up and fulfilled his obligations to his owner by winning the Calcutta Cup on the second day of the meeting.

At Dacca, which is about 150 miles from Calcutta, Lord William won at this time a steeplechase with (I believe) Telegram, and it was rumoured that for some unaccountable reason the Dacca steamer was delayed for a day, instead of starting at the advertised time, which was very convenient for Telegram, as it allowed him to be at Dacca in time for the meeting, which would otherwise have been impossible. Everybody wondered how such an unheard-of thing could have happened. I wonder if Lord William could explain?

It was in the January of 1879 that the Viceroy’s anxieties were increased by war breaking out in South Africa. In case any of my younger readers do not know, or have forgotten, about this war, I had better recall the immediate cause leading up to it.

In 1879 Sir Theophilus Shepstone had annexed the Transvaal. Sir Bartle Frere, as High Commissioner, explained to the Zulu King, Cetewayo, that there must be no more arguing about a certain strip of land claimed both by him and the Transvaal Republic, and to avoid further trouble he had better disband his army. This demand, stated as bare, undiluted fact and shorn of parliamentary terminology, sounds rather high-handed, but anybody interested in the history can read the matter up and form his then more mature opinion, as there were other matters of importance attached to the situation without which it would not be possible to form a fair judgment. At any rate Cetewayo, seeing “no sense in it,” as an old retainer of ours used to say when requested to do anything he did not like, began the row by totally defeating the British troops at Isandhlwana on January 22nd, 1879, which was not a good beginning for us, and we felt rather small.

The horrors of that time must be still fresh in the memories of all persons alive now, who were old enough to read and think in 1879. Lord Chelmsford, who was in command, was greatly blamed for his plan of campaign, but he afterwards retrieved his mistakes to some extent by defeating the Zulus at the battle of Ulundi and taking Cetewayo prisoner. That, however, was poor comfort to those whose dear ones had been sacrificed to his mistakes, that is to say if the disaster was attributable to his errors, which I am not competent to judge.

It was at this battle of Ulundi that Lord William so distinguished himself and won the name of “Fighting Bill,” appearing in _Vanity Fair_ in September the same year under that title, though I cannot congratulate “Spy” on the production, for he represents Lord Bill as a “beery”-looking person, which is the last thing he ever looked in life, but in the picture it will be noticed more than any other of his pictures or photos the resemblance in the eyes and upper part of his face to his uncle, the third Marquis.

Hearing of the unfortunate reverse at Isandhlwana, Lord William was “just mad,” to use his own words, to go and fight in South Africa, and the kind, indulgent Lord Lytton again allowed him to go, this making the third time he had been permitted to leave his work on the staff to which he had been appointed. Doubtless His Excellency admired the spirit which prompted Lord William to again ask the favour, and six months’ leave was granted.

Once more we see Lord William happy and “off to the war,” his soul on fire. He succeeded in getting appointed to Sir Redvers Buller’s staff, and left all his affairs in the hands of a brother A.D.C. with whom he had been sharing a bungalow, and who was a great friend, telling him to attend to all his business for him during his absence, and to open all his letters, adding, “If you find any of them beginning very affectionately you need not go on.” The friend who received these instructions was Captain Charles Muir (now Colonel), at that time not only A.D.C., but also commanding His Excellency’s bodyguard.

Lord William knew how to choose his friends, and felt he was leaving everything in safe and adequate hands, that his interests would be faithfully looked after, and all private affairs treated with tact and delicacy. It was an anxious and responsible position for Captain Muir. There were the private letters to be cared for, the official ones to be answered, the racing stable with its inevitable worries of horses going wrong, men going wrong, and the usual everyday matters to be carried out and adjudicated upon, all this requiring considerable discretion.

Lord William arrived at Durban about the middle of April, 1879, after a tedious journey from Aden in a coasting steamer, which, like excursion trains, seemed to stop everywhere with no particular object, and mostly at horribly unhealthy-looking places.

All around the roadstead were the transports that had brought troops from England. This thrilled Lord William to such an extent he could not wait to begin his fighting for Queen and country--that was to follow--so just to keep his hand in he indulged in a fight on his own account in the hotel at Durban, which was cram-full of officers in every branch of the service. This was fight No. 1, before he had reached head-quarters or reported himself; that time-honoured institution he attended to later. Fight No. 2 was another private affair, between himself and a war correspondent named Mr. Fripps, who made some disparaging remark about General Buller, when Lord William delivered a message he had received orders to convey, and which caused the artist inconvenience.

Lord William could not stand this, and said he would not allow anybody to abuse his General, and if they did he would thrash them. Mr. Fripps did not appear the least awed, and suggested when they got back to camp that night they should settle the matter. Amidst the work and excitement of the day Lord William forgot all about the suggested thrashing: not so Mr. Fripps, who turned up before going to bed to see if it was convenient to his lordship to carry out his threat. A fierce encounter ensued, and it was just touch and go who came out on top, when one of Lord William’s arms got rather badly hurt; he wanted to go on fighting with only one arm, but chivalrous Mr. Fripps suggested finishing the fight another day, when he had both arms and it would be fair play. After this they were the best of friends.

Now came the official fighting. Lord William had been hoping for some staff appointment. His lucky star being in the ascendant, the wish was gratified almost immediately, as will be gathered from the above narrative, by General Redvers Buller (at that time Colonel Buller) appointing him, with the sanction of Lord Chelmsford, as his staff officer, in the place of Captain the Hon. Ronald Campbell, who had been killed in a recent battle when fighting against 20,000 Zulus.

Captain Campbell was a difficult man to follow, and Sir Redvers was rather in despair of finding anyone who could fill his place. General Marshall, who knew Lord William better than most people at that time, hearing he had arrived in the country, hastened to bring him to Sir Redvers’ notice, knowing he would be invaluable.

It did not take Lord Bill long to collect his kit and start off on his long journey to join his new Chief up country at Kambula, where he was in command of the irregular Volunteer Cavalry, forming part of Sir Evelyn Wood’s splendid little fighting force, and it was here the Fripps fight already mentioned took place.

Lord William found he was the only staff officer with Sir Redvers, so his hands were soon full. The force of 8000 under his chief were a strange but interesting crowd, made up largely of gentlemen not wanted elsewhere, runaway sailors, Australians, Canadians, and some of the undescribables from South African towns, in fact a cosmopolitan crowd who had volunteered for the period of the campaign for the sum of 5s. a day as pay.

What made Lord William’s work the more difficult was that there were several sub-commands which had originally been forces of their own, all of whom he had to keep up to the mark, work together, make efficient, and content. Every detail had to be arranged by him; also the daily parades had to be inspected.

It was no sinecure being right-hand man to Sir Redvers, for he was a firm, silent martinet, ruling all under him with a rod of iron, and he considered it Lord William’s place to wheel this heterogeneous crowd into line and order. Lord William was, in some degree, of the same way of thinking as his Chief. Both were born fighters, both, at any rate in theory, strict disciplinarians, but Lord William had the happy knack of always drawing the best out of people; his Irish wit, combined with his cheerfulness, was irresistible; even the most cantankerous, the worst funkers, the most lawless succumbed, and became his willing slaves.

June 1st saw Lord Chelmsford’s Army in the Valley of the Umvaloosi, where across the silvery winding river could be seen the Kraal of the Ulundi King, with all its minor attachments surrounding it. Two or three days only had been allowed in which the Zulu Chief had to decide whether he would do as we bid him or not. While the gentleman was making up his mind it was considered wise to find out what sort of ground was in front of our force, over which it was expected we should advance. The orders were that Sir Redvers was to make a reconnaissance across the river without aggravating Cetewayo unduly, before his days of meditation were concluded.

At the appointed hour Lord William and his Chief were to be seen in front of Sir Evelyn Wood’s tent, waiting for the rest of the contingent, made up of all sorts and odds and ends.

Sir Redvers led the way, followed by the rest of the horsemen, Lord William bringing up the rear, to see all was complete. He then galloped forward to join and lead the Scouts, little thinking what stern adventure was awaiting him. General Buller followed with the rest of his party.

Cetewayo, not requiring time for consideration, having quite decided on his course of action, when hearing of our assortment of troops climbing down the bank of the Umvaloosi, at once commenced hostilities, a scattered fire from the Zulus greeting our horsemen. Nothing daunted, they forded the river on the left of a kopje which was evidently being held by the Zulus, and then bending again to the left took it in reverse. The late occupants were seen hurrying through the long grass out on to the open plain in front of our men, who thought they feared being cut off. Lord William and his scouts were pressing on the heels of the fleeing Zulus, some of them not reaching the Kraal they seemed to be heading for.

It looked as if Sir Redvers and his staff officer were going to have an easy time and run straight into Ulundi. This was very exhilarating, and they galloped on close behind the Zulu Chief, who was evidently in command of the fugitives, and possibly from design in their rear. He was a huge, powerful man and a veteran, which was proved by the ring round his head. Suddenly he turned round on the advancing scouts. Lord William being well in advance of the rest, leading his men, could plainly see the Chief marking his distance preparing to use his assegai, and it came. But his opponent was ready, and too quick for him, so dashing aside the assegai, he galloped with his sword up, the point fixed and rigid. The Zulu waited with his shield up. He did not wait long, the impetus given by the pace his horse was galloping carried Lord William’s sword right through the shield and half through the man’s body, entering his heart. He dropped dead, and the assegai was sent home to Curraghmore, where it decorated the corner of Lady Waterford’s drawing-room.

I think we may take it the flight of the Zulus was only to lead our men on, and get them into a tight corner, for suddenly several thousand Zulus appeared out of the long grass which had entirely hidden a deep water-course in which they had been waiting. It therefore became necessary to retreat, and Sir Redvers Buller gave the order to fire a volley and then retire. Lord William and his scouts rode back, followed by many bullets. Two men were killed, and a third wounded, his horse getting away.

Always the first to lead the way into any danger zone, so likewise Lord Bill was the last to leave it. He had been taken by surprise, but was in no way flustered, and with that thought for others for which he was so remarkable, turned for a moment in his saddle, though hotly pressed by the enemy, to make sure all his living men were away and safe; he then discovered the wounded man whose horse had run away, lying helpless and dazed on the ground, but trying to rise. He was a non-commissioned officer, Fitzmaurice by name, and at the mercy of the advancing hordes of savages who were perilously near. Quick as thought Lord William turned his Irish charger and galloped back, threw himself out of the saddle and tried to put Fitzmaurice up on to his horse, but the wounded man was as splendid as his preserver. Realising the delay only meant both being killed--one might possibly escape, but two? It seemed impossible--the Zulus were close on them, so he shook his head feebly, saying, “No,” begging Lord William to leave him and save himself.

Of course Lord Bill would have none of this, and, swearing mighty swear words, yelled at the man, “Come along, you b---- f----” (meaning I suppose “beloved friend”). “If you don’t I’ll punch your b---- (beloved!) head for you.” How characteristic of Lord William. Those who knew him well will be able to picture the fierce way he would say it. Seeing Fitzmaurice was weak from loss of blood and unequal to any exertion, Lord William, though sadly impeded by the arm hurt in the previous private fight, with some difficulty lifted and shoved the man on to his horse, no easy matter on a highly-strung impetuous animal, but it was accomplished, and, hurriedly mounting behind him, galloped for life, but with little hope of escaping, the Zulus following closely. What desperately anxious moments! made doubly so by the wounded man being unable to keep his balance from weakness and loss of blood, twice his weight nearly pulled Lord William out of the saddle, and he felt all was over. Just when beginning to fear he could not support Fitzmaurice any longer, help came in the shape of Sergeant O’Toole, who had seen their danger and rode out in hot haste to the rescue, shooting Zulu after Zulu with his revolver as they came within measurable distance. He then assisted Lord William with his now helpless burden.

It is interesting to note that both those brave men, Lord William Beresford and Fitzmaurice, were Irishmen, O’Toole, who came to the rescue, was Irish, and the horse which bore them into safety was Irish, each so splendid in their several parts; Lord William risking his life to save his countryman, he in his turn refusing to jeopardise his officer’s life, then the plucky Irish horse straining every nerve in response to his master’s bidding, though carrying a double burden of swaying riders. Again, the Irishman that grasped the situation, and without waiting for any word of command, lost not a moment in riding to their rescue, no precious time being lost in wondering what had happened, and if there had been a disaster. Truly a quartet of distinction.

It was hard to tell when they arrived at last in safety who was the sufferer, for all were bathed in gore. Mr. Archibald Forbes, the clever newspaper correspondent, tells the story of how on the afternoon of the same day, hearing Lord William was to be recommended for a V.C., he hurried to his tent to tell him the news, and congratulate him; finding his lordship fast asleep, the sleep of exhaustion, he debated in his mind whether to awake him to hear the good news or let him sleep on and recuperate; deciding on the former, only to be rewarded by having a boot thrown at his head and being told to go to h---- (heaven, I suppose).

Later on, hearing he really was to be recommended for the Cross for Valour, he remarked it would be no pleasure to him unless O’Toole received one also. I wonder how many men there are who would have thought of that? No doubt O’Toole’s promptness had a good deal to do with the ultimate safety of the party, but it was due to Lord Bill’s courage and kindness of heart that the episode occurred, and to him, assuredly, the greater glory.

In a letter written at this time by Lord William to Lady Lytton he says, speaking of his experiences, “They were indeed two days worth living for, and never to be forgotten. I was lucky in the day’s reconnaissance inasmuch that I helped to save a poor man’s life, whose horse fell with him, about 200 yards from 3000 Zulus. He was half stunned and bleeding a good deal. I galloped back to him and with difficulty got him on to my horse (even more exciting than the gymkhana races two on one pony). The Zulus had come to within 50 yards of us when I managed to start off at a gallop with him, never thinking that the pair of us would get out alive, but we did.”

It will be remembered that it was during this savage war that Prince Louis Napoleon lost his life.

When Lord Bill, or “Fighting Bill” as he was now called, returned to India, many people hardly knew him he was so altered in appearance, owing to his having grown a beard. It certainly entirely changed his face, and his friends were glad when he turned up one morning “in his right mind” as somebody expressed it, or, in other words, shaved, and as he was before he wasn’t.

He was of course fêted and patted on the back, but fortunately he was not a nature this would spoil. At one regimental dinner given in his honour while being carried round the table on the shoulders of some of his old pals he espied in a corner of the room a doctor wearing the ribbon (V.C.), so the moment he could free himself from the affectionate attentions of his friends he made a dive for the doctor, and hoisting him on to his shoulders (regardless of the man’s protests, who thought his last moment had come) ran round the room with him on his shoulders, all present now cheering lustily. It is delightful to remember this sympathetic action of Lord William’s, his blood still at fever heat, from the excitement and lust of battle and the appreciation and applause of his countrymen, yet in the zenith of his pleasure and congratulations on receiving the V.C., the moment he caught sight of the ribbon on another man’s breast at once wished him to share in the applause and cheers of the evening. With quick perception and never-failing sympathy with others, he knew in a moment what memories had been stirred in the old hero’s heart, perhaps a little bitterness for the forgetfulness of mankind, and that chivalrous action of Lord William’s turned his night into day, all present drinking to the two V.C. heroes.

There are in this world a certain number of people who are by nature so jealous they cannot bear to hear anybody praised but themselves, who say when others have performed deeds of valour that it is purely a question of chance and luck, that of course everybody would have done the same if only they had the opportunity. No doubt many would like to do great deeds, give their souls for the opportunity, yet when the moment presents itself, fail to recognise it, and so the golden chance is lost. All are not blessed with a quick perception, dashing courage and an uncommonly human heart.

Deciding that a sight of the old country would do him good, Lord William thought he would finish up the remainder of his leave by dashing home. After figuring out the time it would take going and returning, he found he would have just eighteen clear days for enjoyment. They were a great eighteen days, but hardly restful, though certainly refreshing. The first to greet and congratulate him as the ship neared Plymouth was the Prince of Wales, who was in the Sound at the time with Lord Charles Beresford, and His Royal Highness was the first to convey the news to Lord William that the Queen had been pleased to give effect to the recommendation for the V.C., and that he was commanded to Windsor to receive the reward at the hands of the Queen-Empress. This was a happy beginning to the short but well-earned holiday. The Prince was always a good friend to Lord William, indeed to all the Beresfords. It was seldom one of them was not in attendance in some capacity.

A very happy, light-hearted Lord Bill journeyed to Windsor to receive the modest looking but much coveted bronze Cross “For Valour,” Her Majesty pinning it on to the hero’s breast, but not before he had explained to his Queen he could not in honour receive recognition of any services he had been able to perform, unless Sergeant O’Toole’s services were also recognised, as he deserved infinitely greater credit than any that might attach to himself.

The Queen, appreciating this generosity and soldierly honesty, bestowed the reward also on Sergeant Edmund O’Toole of Baker’s Horse, and Lord William was satisfied. He received a great ovation in London, being especially pleased with the congratulations of the Prince of Wales, who, while shaking him warmly by the hand, made one of those individual and graceful little speeches for which he was so deservedly popular.

When the Prince of Wales became King he grew so weary of wrestling with the pins of medals which would not penetrate stiff material, that he designed a hook for fastening these on, to take the place of the pins, which makes it a much more simple and less fatiguing process. The hook is taken back after the hero leaves the “Presence.”

After a great ovation in London, Lord William made straight for Ireland, going first to the Bilton Hotel in Dublin, then a fashionable resort. He asked his old friend the hall-porter if there was anybody he knew in the hotel, and was informed that Captain Hartopp, 10th Hussars, known to his friends as “Chicken Hartopp,” was in the bathroom, so he quietly went upstairs and locked the door on the outside, then turned on the cold douche from the main source, giving the occupant a rather forcible shower bath. This was followed by strong language from inside the bathroom. Lord William was outside listening, and awaiting events. Presently he heard “I thought there was only one man in the world who would dare to do such a thing, and he is safe in Africa.”

But he soon found out his man was not in Africa, but at home, very much at home in Ireland, where he was pleased to find he was not forgotten, but that if he hoped to visit all the kind friends who sent him pressing invitations he would have to cut himself into a great many pieces.

While preparing to return to India, Lord William was staying with his mother in Charles Street. The Prince of Wales was dining quietly with her one night; Lord William came down without his V.C. medal. The Prince at once noticed its absence and told him he believed his mother had given him the V.C., and he should remember it ought always to be worn when in the presence of Royalty. Lord William, of course, went and fetched it.

The holiday was over all too soon, but there was nothing depressed or “dumpy” about his lordship. At any rate the world was not allowed to see it if he was, for up to the last moment he was playing practical jokes and laughing. One of the reasons why he was always happy and pleased, wherever he might be going, was because he was sure of a hearty welcome, but of course that was thanks to his own amiability and cheerfulness.

Returning to India it was pleasant to be told how much he had been missed, and how delighted everybody was he was back again. He was looking forward to the Dehra races, which would be due shortly after his return. His cousin Willie Holmes was managing the meeting. Here he found a goodly collection of cheery souls, amongst them the well-known Mr. Kelly Maitland, Mr. Horace Hayes, and many more. Lord William’s Gazelle managed to beat Mr. Horace Hayes’ Bismillah in the pony race. They then all moved on to Meerut for more racing. At this meeting Mr. Kelly Maitland gave a cup for a three-quarter-mile pony handicap. The handicapping of Sattara, the pony belonging to Mr. Maitland, upset him, for he considered it unfair. It was a little unusual to enter anything to run for his own cup, and so he had better have swallowed his discomfiture and said nothing, but he began airing his grievance at the Wheler Club in the evening, when Mr. Holmes came into the room, and made some pointed remarks about the generosity in giving a cup he was so evidently anxious to win himself. Then the fat was in the fire, everybody talked at once, shouting to make themselves heard, while somebody went into the lottery room where Lord William was busy, and told him Mr. Maitland was calling Mr. Holmes naughty names. This of course could not be tolerated; he must see his cousin was not sat upon by Mr. Maitland or anybody else, so he dashed into the fray, after which matters were not quieter and the hullabaloo ended in the celebrated “Maitland versus Beresford” defamation case, which was tried before a native judge in 1880 and the plaintiff was non-suited. Lord William’s language was as a rule most polished, and personally I never heard him otherwise than parliamentary, but I have been told that on occasions “He could bring tears to the eyes of a cabby from an utter incompetence to compete with him.” I am under the impression this racing row gave him one of his opportunities and he threw in a few new words not generally understood outside Ireland, which added lustre to the occasion, and it is always annoying to have words hurled at you that you do not know the meaning of. It leaves so much room for speculation and possibilities.

There was a little excitement also at the Allahabad races of 1879-80, where he rode his own Pomponius Ego heavily handicapped by the weight of 13st. 7lbs., while opposing him was Daintily, ridden by Tingey, carrying 9st. 7lbs. The latter was declared winner, while Lord William firmly believed he had won, but Pomponius swerved when just on the post, and as several ponies were all up together in rather a bunch it was perhaps difficult to tell exactly. At any rate the judge decided he was fourth. There were ructions over this, Lord William speaking his mind; it was finally agreed there should be a match between Pomponius and Daintily, 1000 rupees a side, the same weights and same distance, only instead of riding his own pony Lord William put up John Irving.

The match was breathlessly watched by a large gathering, and some betting was the order of the day. The result was a dead heat. The owners refused to divide, so it had to be run off again, when Pomponius once more swerved just on the post and was beaten by half a length. So Pomponius’s owner had to pay up and look as if he liked it, which none knew better how to do, for there never lived a more cheerful loser.

Taking it all together Lord William was fairly successful this cold weather with his horses. Telegram won a couple of hurdle races at Agra. The stable did nothing at Lucknow, but in February Ashantee, ridden by Lord William, won the Himalayan Chase at the Dehra meeting. Mr. Abbott tells a good story about this event. Ashantee’s owner had backed him pretty heavily through his pals with Miller the bookmaker, till the horse stood at 2 to 1. Before mounting to go to the post he went up to Miller and put on another thousand. Miller addressed him thus, “Well, my lord, I should be sorry to see a promising young nobleman like yourself cut off at the commencement of a brilliant career, but it would suit my book if you was to break your blooming neck in this race.”

I remember on one of my journeys in a P. & O., Miller and his partner, whose name I forget, were on the same boat journeying to Calcutta. He seemed a very gentle-voiced retiring sort of man, but no doubt could make himself heard and felt when so inclined.

While all the fighting in Afghanistan and South Africa was proceeding, each treading hotly on the other’s heels, the country at home was growing discontented and upset, for it naturally became disorganised, business interfered with, and some discomfort for the inhabitants, which ended in Parliament being dissolved on March 24th, 1880, the Liberal Government being returned by about 120.

The Queen sent for Lord Hartington, then for Lord Granville, and lastly for Mr. Gladstone, who accepted office.