Chapter XV

LAST YEAR OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

“1st Dec.—On board the Messageries ship Niger off Corsica on my way to Egypt, having for the twentieth time shaken the dust of Europe from my feet. The day I started, Tuesday morning, I lunched with George Wyndham. He gave me the latest news of the war. They hope at the War Office to relieve Ladysmith in the course of the next eight days, but not without battles, one or two. They acknowledge now that the Boers are immensely stronger than they thought, that they are fighting according to the latest new scientific rules, and are armed with the newest of new weapons—they are officered in a large measure by Germans, and are holding their own determinedly. George does not make too much of the latest victories, Belmont and Graspan. But it seems to be part of the Boer tactics to invite attack on strong positions, and to hold these as long as they can inflict loss on their enemies—then at the last moment to run, so that, although the position is taken, the victor suffers most, and the Boers reassembling at a preconcerted rendezvous are not much the worse for their defeat. ‘We could not let our men act like this,’ said George, ‘for if they once began to run there would be no stopping them.’ So he by no means considers the matter over, sanguine as he naturally is. Guy Wyndham is still shut up with White at Ladysmith—and he showed me a most interesting letter from him written a month ago, immediately after the defeat of Nicholson’s Nek, or whatever it is they call it. The letter described excellently an attack in three columns delivered by White, all of which failed in the presence of superior numbers, and it seemed to suggest of superior generalship. Guy had been with a detachment of a few hundred men pushed forward into an exposed situation from which it was more by luck than skill that they managed to extricate themselves. One of the officers had suddenly observed that the rest of the column seemed to be in retreat, and after pooh-poohing him at first they observed it too, and Guy volunteered to ride across the open hill under a heavy fire to ascertain the truth. This he did and discovered that the General in command had entirely forgotten the detachment, and sent it no order of retreat with the rest. So Guy had to ride back over the same rough ground with bullets and shells striking the earth all about him. The detachment was not brought in without considerable loss. The letter, very simply written, gave a powerful picture of the haphazard character of modern warfare, and of the extreme helplessness of the units of an army while in action. The letter said nothing of the surrender of the third column, which was perhaps not known at the time by the writer, or it may have been purposely omitted, for what George showed me was a typewritten copy of the letter made for family reading. He was going down with it to his mother at Clouds in the afternoon, where there is naturally a great anxiety. Of the victory in the Soudan, and the death of the Khalifa, he seemed to admit that it, like Methuen’s victories, had been timed to coincide with the Emperor William’s visit to Windsor, just as the Dundee victory was for the Parliamentary vote. Personally, George was in the highest spirits, amply consoled for his disappointment at his not getting the Foreign Office instead of the War Office last summer.

“I have been reading Kegan Paul’s Memoirs, which are extremely interesting. His description of his first school at Ilminster might stand for my own experience at Twyford, a mere hell upon earth—and I notice that the Ilminster master had been a Twyford boy, under Bedford, whom I remember as a very old man living on in retirement, near the school, when I first went there in 1847. The caning cupboards, on either side the head master’s throne at Ilminster, were clearly modelled on the Twyford ones. I received a letter only the day before I left home from old Roberts who used to cane me in them, begging piteously for pheasants to eat in his old age. Now I am reading Aubrey De Vere’s Memoirs. The two books are much on the same lines, and both interest me greatly, recalling memories of people I have known, and phases of thought gone through. Nevertheless Kegan Paul’s is by far the best, being simpler and less literary. De Vere bores one a little with his poems, and his explanations of them. I remember him well when we lived at Mortlake for a year in 1853. He used to come and see my mother while he was staying with the Taylors at Shene. Mrs. Cameron was another of his friends, but Taylor was the central figure. For Taylor, Mrs. Cameron affected a great devotion, and had a portrait of him by Watts hung in a recess of her drawing-room before which a lamp continually burned. De Vere posed as a poet, and we children thought him a bore. All the same I have a very high respect for him now. An homme de bien, if ever one was in the world. Many years later, I came into communication with him regarding the letters of ‘Proteus and Amadeus,’ which he edited at Newman’s suggestion. At one time Newman had almost consented himself to do the editing, for Dr. Meynell, the ‘Amadeus’ of the letters, was much at Edgbaston just then. But for one reason or another the old man changed his mind, and De Vere undertook the thing for him and wrote the preface.

“It was in connection with this that, in 1876 or 1877, I went to Edgbaston and stayed three days at the Oratory. I do not remember if at that time I kept a journal. I think not—and I may as well write here my recollection of the visit. I had stopped at Edgbaston on my way back from the west of Ireland, where I had been staying with Laprimaudaye at Treenlawr, and I had caught a toothache fishing on the Lough which worried me greatly, and I remember distinctly feeling as I knocked at the door that I should be thus hors de combat at the moment of my coming to consult the great man. Nevertheless my distress was vain, for I was shown up to him at once, and, at the instant of touching his hand when he received me, my pains vanished, nor did they return while I was staying in the house. Newman’s was a wonderful hand, soft, nervous, emotional, electric; and I felt that a miracle had been wrought. I told Father Ryder of it at the time, but he charged me that I should tell no man, and I said no word of it to the Saint himself. Newman, though he knew well that I had come to consult him for the good of my soul, and though I had much conversation indirectly with him upon spiritual things, did not attempt to argue out any of the fundamental principles of religious thought, and sought to influence me rather through the heart by his great kindness, and by the confidence with which I was admitted to all the life of the community. It was a touching sight, indeed, to see the old man taking his turn with the rest to wait on us at table in the Refectory—and living his simple life of piety and cheerful unselfishness. The lives of monks and nuns are alone in some accordance with the life of Jesus. All the rest of Christianity is an imposture and an impudent negation of Christ.

“5th Dec.—Arrived at Sheykh Obeyd after nearly two years’ absence. At Alexandria I had to wait some hours, and spent them in the company of Hewatt and his family at Ramleh. I found the Hewatts, to my surprise, very anti-Jingo about the war. There has been another ‘victory’ on the Modder—and another heavy loss of officers and men. I am sorry to see among the killed one of Mrs. Earle’s two ‘splendid sons,’ about whom she wrote to me a month ago. She did not deserve this misfortune, for she was very humane in her ideas, and hated soldiering and all its ways.

“Anne met me at Cairo, and we went on home at once, having the good luck to travel in the same carriage with Sheykh Mohammed Abdu. Of all Easterns, perhaps I might say of all men, my dearest friend, Mohammed Abdu, after having been imprisoned for his Liberal opinions, and exiled by the Anglo-Khedivial restoration of 1882, has gradually become recognized for what he is, by far the ablest and most honest man in Egypt—and they have made him our Grand Mufti, the highest religious authority in the vice kingdom. I gave him an acre of land two years ago, and he has built himself a country house on it, and so is now our nearest neighbour. When we said good-bye on my leaving Egypt last I little thought we should meet again.

“6th Dec.—Coming back here is like rising again from the dead. Everybody connected with the place clearly took it for granted I should be seen in it no more, and acted on the supposition. Nothing very bad has been done, and some changes are for the better, but still they have been made. My gazelles have been sent to the Zoölogical Garden, some of the horses have been sold, the house has been re-arranged. I feel like a guest in it—the revenant—the ghost who has returned. Perhaps it is all the more delightful, for the garden is in splendid leaf, and the trees never had a thicker shade in a more brilliant sunshine. Encroachments in the way of new wells and cultivated fields have been made all round us in the desert, and we are already almost completely cut off from the open plain. But it is the least of the evils that threatened us four years ago. First the sewage farm, and then the building operations. So that the new corn fields may be looked upon as a comparative blessing in an age of unscrupulous progress.

“15th Dec.—Two new Boer victories, or rather British defeats. One at Stormberg, the other at Spytfontein. People will soon be getting angry in London, and perhaps leave off some of their music hall songs. There is a ridiculous swaggering one in the papers, promising Uncle Paul to dine with him on Christmas Day. It reminds me of the Paris cry, ‘à Berlin,’ which became historic.

THE NEW PATRIOTIC SONG Now Sung at the Music Halls and Theatres with immense success. KRUGER’S DINNER PARTY; Dec. 7, 1899 or, We’ll be There.

Written by Fred C. Smale. Composed by Geo. Le Brunn.

Oh, Uncle’s giving a party and he’s asked us all to come,

We’ll be there!

We’re marching up from Durban town, behind the fife and drum

And we’ll be there!

There’s some from Dublin City, there’s some from out the West,

The Devon lads “be vitty,” there’s Gordons with the rest;

Oh, Uncle, don’t you trouble, there is time enough to spare—

We’ll be there!

(Chorus) So please you, Uncle Paul, light the Lantern in the Hall

(We know we’re welcome as the flow’rs in May),

Just keep the pudding hot for the lively little lot

Who are coming up to dinner Christmas Day.

We’ve got some little sailor men, we thought you wouldn’t mind,

They’ll be there!

We are bringing them to see our Uncle Paul so good and kind,

They’ll be there!

They have come across the ocean, they would like some tea and buns,

Then they’ll just give you a notion how they work their little guns.

No, Uncle, dear, they are not at sea—they travel everywhere.

They’ll be there!

(Chorus) So please you, Uncle Paul, just arrange a little ball

(They’re having one or two upon the way);

Majuba some went through, and they want to speak to you,

So they’re coming up to dinner Christmas Day.

Pretoria’s a place we’ve often wanted for to see,

We’ll be there!

The air with us, there is no doubt, will splendidly agree,

We’ll be there!

Perhaps I may just mention, we are coming up in style,

And with the firm intention of remaining for a while;

Still, Uncle, don’t you worry, for mother’s paid the fare.

We’ll be there!

(Chorus) So please you, Uncle Paul, see that there’s enough for all.

There’s fifty thousand Tommies on the way,

And somewhere in a bag they have got a little flag

To stick up in the pudding Christmas Day!

KEITH, PROWSE and CO., Cheapside, E.C.

[N.B. Several of our regiments did dine with Uncle Paul that Christmas Day, but it was as prisoners of war.]

“A torrent of newspaper abuse has fallen on my ‘Satan Absolved.’ The first notices were fairly moderate, but as the war has gone more and more against our Army, they have become more and more vindictive. They began by admitting that the poetry had some eloquence; then it was found clever, but vulgar; then blasphemous, vulgar, and stupid. Now the condemnation is extended to all my poems. It has been discovered that the ‘Songs of Proteus’ were a plagiarism on Meredith’s ‘Modern Love’: and that in the rest of my works I have been ever sinking deeper in the mire.

“17th Dec.—The third and main British army is badly beaten on the Tugela River. MacDonald (John Murray MacDonald), Anne’s cousin by marriage, who is staying with us, declares he shall go off himself to fight. He is a mild semi-Jingo Radical of the school that believes the British Empire has a divine mission to subdue and occupy the waste places of the earth. I have been arguing the Boer case with him for the last ten days. To me it is incredible how any reasonable creature should believe such trash. His wife and her niece Irene Noel are generally on my side. But to-day when I say, ‘Now we ought to make peace with the Boers’ they are all against me. Even Anne thinks that the rights of the blood feud forbid that. Yet what absurdity! War, when it is a war of aggression, as they all admit that this is, is mere murder, and though it is humiliating to make peace on a defeat, it can’t be surely right to go on.

“As to the wisdom of persisting, the Boers are really better soldiers than ours. We had a few good regiments to begin with, but they are pretty well used up now, and the rest is of a feeble kind. Our army, if it can fight, cannot march, and has to stick to the lines of railway. Our superior numbers are consequently of little advantage. The Boers are making a splendid fight for their freedom, and are winning all along the line. Every honest man, English or not, ought to rejoice. Instead of this, we English are in league with the Americans, we, who were the two peoples who have posed as champions of freedom in the world, to subdue two small, weak nations, the Boers and the Filipinos, fighting for their independence, and not a word of disapproval is heard amongst us.

“Young Walter Gaisford, Talbot’s A.D.C., was here the other day, lamenting that the Khalifa and his dervishes had all been killed, so that there would be nobody left to shoot, he complained, even in the Soudan. ‘There is hope, however, that, when the Boers are polished off, we may go on to a war with Abyssinia when more sport will be to be had.’ This is the way our young fellows look at war (‘a high old rabbit shoot’). It is good for them and the world that they have at last met their match. War will be unpopular enough in England soon if it goes on as at present, and there will be a chance then for the weak nations to remain unmolested.

“20th Dec.—Prince Aziz was here yesterday and told me things that were interesting. He was once a lieutenant in the 16th Lancers, and talks intelligently about the war. Gatacre, he says, was always a fool, violent and abusive to the natives in India. He had been certain he would get into trouble when it came to fighting. The Prince holds the British Army cheap. They would never have been able to get to Omdurman but for the Egyptian troops, who did all the work and all the fighting, and in South Africa they were inferior in everything to the Boers. Things have come to a pretty pass when this fat Egyptian Prince can hold such opinions. But they are perfectly justified. Kitchener, as a last hope of saving the situation, has been named Chief of the Staff to Roberts, and is to start at once for the Cape. The Dutch in Cape Colony are in revolt. The English newspapers say there has not been such a position of things since the Indian Mutiny. It is thought old Roberts, who is popular with our rank-and-file, will be able to restore confidence. But he is too old for serious work, and they have shoved Kitchener forward to the real command. I don’t believe either of them is a bit better than our beaten Generals. I had long talks with Roberts in India years ago, and he gave me a poor notion of his intelligence, good old fellow as he is. As for Kitchener, he knows nothing of European war, and his Soudanese experience will serve him little. He has the curse on him of the Mahdi’s head, and deserves to fail. There is a paragraph in the papers this week giving an account of the Khalifa’s end, and how courageously he met it. This man has been uniformly represented as a contemptible coward. Yet he met death as nobly as any of Plutarch’s heroes.

“25th Dec.—Christmas Day. Kitchener has left Egypt. Though he sailed from Alexandria he had not the grace to go to Montaza, where the Khedive was, to bid him good-bye. Yet he has been drawing £6,000 a year latterly from the Egyptian Treasury, and high pay for the last fifteen years. A bearer of the white man’s burden at £6,000 a year!

“29th Dec.—I have received a nice letter from old Herbert Spencer about the attacks made on my poem by the critics, and saying he thinks I was probably right when I told him I thought it would need a foreign army landed on our shores to bring us quite to our sober senses. There is at present a lull in the South African fighting, the Boers waiting to be attacked again and the English not having got their second wind.

“Margaret Talbot came to-day and spent the afternoon. Her husband is in command here of the English garrison, and is, of course, much grieved at the way the Boer War is going. He would like to be there, but at the same time would dread the responsibility of failure where so many others have failed. She described Kitchener’s departure. He was only half an hour at Cairo—the time between one train and another, and said hardly a word to anyone. No one here regrets him, for he has made no friends.

“31st Dec.—The last year of the 1800’s ends disastrously for England, or rather for the British Empire. For England can only gain by the break-up of that imposture. I think now there really is some chance of such a consummation, for we are sending the whole of our armed force into South Africa, where it is likely to become engulfed, and we have got the whole sentiment of the world, civilized and uncivilized, against us.

Thou hast deserved men’s hatred—they shall hate thee;

Thou hast deserved men’s fear—their fear shall kill;

Thou hast thy foot upon the weak, the weakest

With his armed head shall bite thee on the heel.

“Percy Wyndham writes: ‘In this terrible struggle in South Africa we see a picture in little of what will be the close of the present dispensation, to use the language of those who believe in prophecy, when the survivors of Teutonic blood will fight for the mastery of the world—in that struggle the Dutch, South African or Native, will have a look in.’

“Two young British officers were here this afternoon. They are both agog to join the fighting, looking at the whole thing entirely from the professional point of view. ‘If we are not in this show,’ they said, emphatically, ‘we may as well hang up our hats.’

[1900]“1st Jan., 1900.—The Emperor William, the papers say, has issued a rescript, ordaining that the new Christian Century is to begin in Germany to-day. This, if true, goes one better than Carlyle’s Emperor, who was super grammaticam. I find the Moslem centuries go down to the end of the hundreds, and begin again with the year one.

“Mohammed Abdu, our Mufti, was here this afternoon. And to him I read Herbert Spencer’s letter, which immensely interested him, and afterwards described to him my poem. He considers Spencer the first of living philosophers, and has translated his book on Education into Arabic. I also explained to his brother Hamouda my views of the rights of animals, which was one absolutely new to him. Though on reflection he said that it was strictly in accordance with the Koran and Moslem teaching, which enjoins respect to animals, and even to inanimate objects. So that it is forbidden wantonly to deface so much as a stone. In truth, it is Christianity that is really responsible for the brutal attitude of modern man towards animals. No other religion that can be called a religion tolerates it, but our Christian doctors have laid down the atrocious doctrine that beasts and birds were made solely for man’s use and pleasure, and that he has no duties towards them. It is only in the last hundred years that Europeans, having partly freed themselves from Christian teaching, have begun to take a humaner view. The doctrine of evolution has pushed it a bit forwarder, for though it has injured the cause of savage or coloured man as having equal rights with the white man, it has established our far away kinship with the beasts, which was formerly denied. So that there are a few amongst us who begin to doubt our right to bird and beast slaughter. My own view is that wild birds and beasts who do no harm to man have a right to be left in absolute peace. But that those whom we help to breed by giving them protection may fairly pay a certain tribute, just as our tame beasts are made to do, though the higher law would be to let all live. We argue these things nightly at dinner.

“5th to 10th Jan.—We were occupied with a desert excursion to within sight of Ismalia on the Suez Canal and back, our furthermost point being a prominent dark brown rock, which stands some hundred feet above the plain overlooking the Bitter Lake. From this point we marched north north-west to the Sand-hills and the Wady Tumeylat. The following day, the 9th January, Anne and I made a long camel trot of six hours across the gravel plain, crossing Wady Jaffra to another conspicuous rock south of Belbeis, and so on the 10th back to Sheykh Obeyd. It was a pleasant excursion, but contains little worth recording.

“10th Jan.—Mohammed Abdu was here to-day, and confirms to the full the accounts of Kitchener’s dealings with the Mahdi’s head as I gave it last summer in the ‘Daily News,’ especially as to Cromer’s disapproval of it and his dislike of Kitchener. We agreed that at last God’s Providence was moved to anger against these abominations, and that England’s Empire would go the way of all the rest.

“There is a letter in the ‘Times’ just come which I think caps everything yet written for absurd bombast. Its author is old Reid, the naval constructor, a former Gladstonian Radical, and still M.P. It shows to what a pass of self-glorification we English have come, for the Radicals are worse now than the extremest Tories, and I have had to write home to tell them to cease sending me the ‘Daily Chronicle’ and the ‘Manchester Guardian,’ and replace them with the ‘Daily Mail’ and ‘Morning Post.’ The only London paper that speaks a word of sense is the ‘Westminster Gazette.’ Here is the concluding paragraph:

“‘May I add, Sir, that my thoughts search history in vain for any spectacle of national heroism greater than, or equal to, that which Great Britain and her truly noble colonies are presenting to the world at this moment. The crafty and foreigner-aided enemy lies in our territory and across our path, with shell guns on every available hill, and trenches dug between; with barbed wire stretched to protect their cunningly devised lairs, and cover spread to conceal their more or less rebellious persons. Their power to deal out death and mutilation is their delight; their skill in doing so is their pride; and it is known that the flag which they most hate is the Union Jack, the very symbol of freedom and equality throughout the world. They have done their level and their unlevel best to slay our men and lower our flag on our own soil. They are difficult to tackle, for they fight lurking, and fly alike from cold steel and the open field. All that human heroism combined with animal cunning can perform they will do against us, and they will add to these such prayers as even ignoble lips oft dare to address to the God of battles. But have they alarmed us? Have they “frightened the isle from its propriety?” Have they detached one colony from the motherland? Have they caused young or old, citizen or noble, poor or rich, small or great, worldling or worshipful, in any part of this Imperial Realm to shrink or hold back from the encounters, however deadly, to which they have challenged us? No, Sir, there has sprung from every part of the Empire a flame of patriotism and of heroism so high that the whole world is, so to speak, alight with it, and, depend upon it, while we rejoice, the world wonders and admires.’”[22]

N.B. The total Boer population thus described as menacing the British Empire, with its 200,000,000 souls, is exactly that of Brighton.

“15th Jan.—I have been reading Mivart’s article on the ‘Continuity of Catholicism,’ which has raised a tempest against him. It is certainly the most daring declaration ever made in articulo mortis, for poor Mivart is, I believe, dying. If, forty years ago, I had found a Catholic writer equally bold, I should have been saved from much infidelity, but now it is too late. Mivart is clinging desperately to his faith, but it is at bottom an impossible thing to reconcile science with any form of Christianity.

“21st Jan.—A letter in verse about ‘Satan Absolved,’ from Sir Wilfrid Lawson, which is bad verse but amusing:

Brayton, 9th Jan. 1900

Your work on the Devil, dear Blunt, I have read.

What a curious fancy to enter your head!

The World, I admit, is as bad as can be;

But how he’ll make it better I scarcely can see.

I fancy if matters were right understood

There’s a Spirit of bad and a spirit of good,

They’re continually fighting in battle array

Each pulling like mad in a different way,

The one is Jehovah, Jove, Lord, Names like these,

The other is the Devil as bad as you please.

Then between these two powers comes man on the scene,

Where he comes from there’s no one can tell us, I ween;

But still here he is with a body and soul

Designed, I imagine, for filling some rôle.

His rudder is conscience by which he should steer,

But at present it seems to be quite out of gear.

But come, my dear Blunt, do not let us despair.

Even yet we may make something of him with care,

At present he is—you and I never flatter—

At present he is just as mad as a hatter.

His brain has undoubtedly met with a shock,

Which has sent him through Africa running amock.

The nobility, gentry, and clergy of course,

His madness by all in their power enforce,

And all in this country are cutting their capers

At the murders recorded each day in the papers.

Well, in trying my best to hunt these matters out

That the Devil is in it I haven’t a doubt

Well, I will resist him, as long as I can,

And so do my best to emancipate man.

Some good yet we may see when there comes to the front

The excellent doctrine of Lawson and Blunt.

“28th Jan. (Sunday).—A long talk with Mohammed Abdu on the whole subject of mankind and the dealings of the strong with the weak. I find he is as pessimistic as myself. He has been reading the Towra, the Old Testament Pentateuch, lately, and attributes the brutalities of Christianity largely to its connection with Judaism. As to the treatment of dumb animals he quoted to me several of the Hawadith enjoining kindness, and it is certain that wanton destruction of these is contrary to the sentiment of Moslems. Wanton destruction is indeed peculiar to Christendom. Abdu believes in no good future for the human race, and I fear he has as little faith in Islam, Grand Mufti though he be, as I have in the Catholic Church.

“Buller has had another reverse before Ladysmith at Spion Kop. This time it is General Warren who has suffered defeat. I am glad of it. It was he that hanged the Bedouins for the Palmer affair after Tel-el-Kebir. I have written to Leonard Courtney to say I will join the ‘Stop the War Committee,’ and am sending £50. This though with some qualms of conscience, for if the war goes on another six months it really may smash up the British Empire.

“My once dearest friend Lothian is dead. What a grief this would have been to me five-and-thirty years ago! He was the lightest of all light-hearted companions, yet serious too. We made our storm and stress together at Frankfort when Darwinism was a novelty, and solved the riddle of the universe together gazing at the stars. We have gone different roads since then. He to lead an uneventful life of high and various dignities in Scotland, I to adventure in what devious ways. It is only casually that we have met for years.

“29th Jan.—I have written the following in answer to one who had criticized my ‘Satan Absolved’ on the ground that though splendid if intended as a reductio ad absurdum of Christianity, it stopped short of accepting Nietsche’s doctrine of Force. ‘Of course the poem was a reductio ad absurdum. The thing that seemed to me supremely in need of being shown ridiculous was the worship of humanity in any form. I am not a disciple of Tolstoy. He believes in the possibility of improvement, in moral progress, and in a far away Christian civilization. I do not. At the same time I do not mock at Christian ideals. If Man were not the ludicrous, vicious ape he is, but were capable of being converted to a quiet, harmless life without thought for the morrow—or ambition or desire more than to praise God and enjoy himself in the sun like the lilies of the field, the world would be a very happy place, as it was before Man came to disturb it. But of course this will never come to pass. It never even really began. That, however, is no reason for adoring as you say you do Force even tempered by Fraud. There is nothing in the smallest degree admirable in either. If it is true that your worship of Force is to be the creed of the future, and very likely it will be so, it is only another proof of the innate vulgarity of man. Nietsche is an ass. The law of the strongest, as we see it in Modern Civilization, is not the law of Nature, only the law of human nature, which is a very different thing. The oak tree does not monopolize the forest, nor are the flowers which grow there trash. If Nietsche had been as many years as I have in the East he would not talk of the Christian ideal as being a creed of a slave for slaves. He would know it was far more truly the creed of the dervish, of the poor, happy vagrant who scorns property and scorns what we Europeans absurdly call the “dignity of labour,” and who is as free as the birds of the air. It needs Oriental experience to understand this. The place for European civilization is the Paris boulevard; south of the Mediterranean a white skin is only a form of leprosy, and from an æsthetic point of view you might as well plant the New Forest with cabbages as have anything to do with applying the doctrine of Force to the world at large.’

“Mivart has been formally excommunicated by Cardinal Vaughan. It seems to me that if Catholics are really called upon to believe that the first man was the Adam of the Garden of Eden, and that all the books of the Old and New Testaments not merely ‘contain Revelation with no admixture of error,’ but were also ‘written by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost and have God for their Author,’ we may abandon the idea of any possible reconciliation between religion and science. Of course one knew the thing was hopeless, but still there were many Catholics, even priests, who pretended it was not.

“I have had several more talks with Mohammed Abdu. He tells me that several of the high English officials here make money in illicit ways. He is, however, as little in favour of internationalizing Egypt as I am, for that would merely be to exchange one wolf for a pack of wolves. He is bitter against Cromer, whom otherwise he likes, for having established nothing that can survive of indigenous Government when the English Occupation ends—nothing, that is, that can be counted on to work on Liberal and honest lines. There has been a general proscription of the patriotic and enlightened element in the country, and the men pushed forward have been those who had least self-respect and could most surely be counted on for their pliancy.

“5th Feb.—Parliament has met, and the Queen’s Speech has been telegraphed. Pharaoh has hardened her heart, and declares that she will carry the war on to a successful end. Buller has, however, clearly been badly beaten again at Spion Kop and Ladysmith must fall. The famine in India is a new ‘judgment of God’ upon the Empire, and, just as in old times, the stress of the punishment falls on the innocent. There are three and a half millions of people now on daily relief. Yet I suppose not a single official of all that have fattened upon India will forgo a third of his income—or a fourth or a tenth part of it to feed the people—this although they are subscribing and making the natives subscribe to the South African War. It is the ‘divine mission’ we are carrying out of making the world happy!

“Osman Digna has been captured at last and brought in chains to Cairo. ‘A large crowd pressed forward eager to see the dark, long face, brilliant eyes, large mouth, and long grey beard, of a frightened and dignified old man who sat with chains round his sore ankles and swollen, bare feet.’ I quote ‘Our own correspondent.’ This is how the British Empire makes its ‘Roman holiday’! But the hour of vengeance is, I hope, now very near.

“8th Feb.—George Wyndham has made a very able speech in defence of the War Office and his political fortune is made. I am glad of this, though his principles in politics have been up to now abominable. He is no Philistine at heart, and will be sobered both by the defeat of his policy and his personal success, and may end as a great and large-minded statesman. He was wise enough to confine his speech strictly to the War Office, and did not attempt to explain the policy of the war: being a subordinate of very short standing in the Government he will not be held responsible, and people will only see in him what they most appreciate, a very clever parliamentarian defending a bad party cause in the best possible way. The only speech that was sound on the Opposition side was Sir Robert Reed’s, which stated the whole case against the war fully and fairly.

“14th Feb.—I have written as follows to John Dillon in honour of the reunion of the Irish Parliamentary Party:

Sheykh Obeyd, Feb. 14, 1900.

“Dear Dillon,

“I write to congratulate you and the rest of my old friends of the Irish Parliamentary Party on the reunion of the Party, and your resolution to be once more independent of English ones. You know that for the last ten years I have held aloof from politics and have been mute about Ireland. But I cannot help saying now how much I sympathize with you all. The moment certainly has come for a new departure—for Ireland’s one chance lies in the check given to our English plan of a world-wide Empire which has been accepted equally by both parties and which leaves no room anywhere for Nationalism. I think, too, that the iniquity of the war we are carrying on in South Africa, and which both Parties almost equally approve, should make it intolerable for an honest man to remain any longer allied with either. I don’t know which is the more despicable, the boasting Tory who made the war openly for the fun of the thing and to fill his pockets, or the Radical, who has allowed himself to be persuaded that he might bully the Boers cheaply and in accordance with Liberal principles. At any rate I am glad to see Ireland free from both of them. There was always to my mind a certain danger to her high ideal in her connection, however temporary, with our ambitions. Imperialism is very contagious, and Scotch, as well as English Radicalism, has been entirely perverted by it. I have often thought that the ‘union of hearts’ we talked so much about in 1887 might, if it had become a reality, have only led to the perversion of Ireland too. It is best as it is—at least until we English are humbled to entire sanity.

“I shall be glad if you will show this letter to Harrington and Healy and Redmond, as well as to Davitt and O’Brien, as I intend it equally for all. It is a great pleasure to me to be able to think of you fighting once more well together for Liberty as in the days of our old campaign.”

“15th Feb.—Cockerell arrived last night from London very keen for sight-seeing, and to-day Evelyn also came; he is strong for stopping the war, and also approves of my letter to Dillon.

“Mohammed Abdu was here in the afternoon and told me the true story of the military trouble at Khartoum. Kitchener has long been hated by the Egyptian Officers, whom he has throughout ill-treated, allowing the English Officers to behave arrogantly to them, and paying no attention to their complaints. The Egyptian troops have been made to do all the hard work, and have been given no credit, while the black troops have been petted and spoiled. When things began to go badly at the Cape Kitchener got alarmed, and tried to prevent any news of the English defeats reaching the Soudan, but he could not hinder it leaking through. Then fearing a revolt he ordered the ammunition to be taken away on the pretence that it was old and would be renewed, but the Soudanese regiments refused to give up the old till the new was supplied; the Egyptian Officers were suspected of encouraging the refusal and some were arrested. In the middle of it all Kitchener was recalled to go to South Africa, and the thing was patched up by Wingate who is less unpopular, though it is not wholly settled yet. Abdu tells me that the idea now is in the event of the Egyptian Question being brought on by the European Powers to call in Turkish troops to replace our English garrison. This would be a lesser evil than the advent of French or Italian troops, which would only mean the Internationalization of Egypt. Mohammed Abdu knows that it has been talked over among the Ministers and with Lord Cromer. I am inclined to hope that it may really end thus for there seems to be no chance of a simple evacuation in favour of a native Egyptian Government. Abdu has a good opinion of Cromer personally. But says there are a number of shady things done by his subordinates.

“16th Feb.—Buller’s third attack on the Boers and his attempt to cross the Tugela has failed as abjectly as the other two, and we may hear any day now of the fall of Ladysmith; a final attempt I fancy to capture a victory in view of the vote in Parliament for which it has served its purpose, though later it turned into a defeat.

“17th Feb.—To Cairo with Cockerell. The first time I have been there this winter, after seventy-four days at Sheykh Obeyd, so that I felt strange and naked in European clothes. On the road we met Prince Aziz who talked with much intelligence about the management of his property. These Khedivial Princes are all of them shrewd men of business. He also gave us news of the relief of Kimberley, a telegram having come last night. This will have the practical effect of putting that sad villain Rhodes once more on the scene of the world’s intrigues. I am sorry for it.

“I called on various necessary people, including Margaret Talbot in her new official house as the General’s Lady, and on Cromer, who talked to me for half an hour about Nile irrigation, the debts of the fellahin, the famine in India, and such administrative subjects as he talks best on. He is certainly a great man in his official way. We did not touch on any dangerous matters, nor allude in any sort to past differences. Personally I like him much. Amongst the plans he discussed with me was one in connection with the National Bank of advancing small sums of £5 and £10 to the fellahin at 9 per cent., to enable them to get out of the hands of the Greek usurers, who charge them thirty and forty per cent. This is precisely the scheme the Nationalists of 1881 had, and its adoption by Cromer is another proof of the foresight of those poor patriots whom we cannoned into silence. With the single exception of constitutional government, I believe every article now of the National Programme has been adopted by us.

“24th Feb.—The MacDonalds and Irene, and her brother are gone to Greece, after staying here three months. She is an attractive child, clever and pretty—and her brother, Byron, interesting, because quite uneducated, with a good heart and much sense. Young Ward was here yesterday, who is acting as correspondent to the ‘Times.’ He gave us news that Roberts, having raised the siege of Kimberley, has now got Kranje’s army in such a position that it seems likely to surrender. This is important, and I fear will rehabilitate Chamberlain and the Rhodes gang. Lady Lytton writes to me after her waiting at Osborne: ‘I enjoyed my three quiet weeks at Osborne, and the Queen is such a splendid example of wisdom over the war and all the sorrow and things that follow from it, and she always judges rightly without too much emotion. . . . You say you wish they would stop the fighting. Every one wishes it also, but we must get to Pretoria first, and be able to get equal justice for all our people there, and for which reason the war has been brought on England, and it will be a very long business of years—so let us try and be patient, and good will come out of it in the end. The spirit of wishing to help is quite splendid everywhere in England, and the soldiers must be allowed to do better than they have done as yet before they stop fighting.’ This no doubt is her Majesty’s sentiment. Milner who arranged the ‘equal justice’ casus belli will now doubtless get his peerage. Sibell writes in the same strain about the unselfishness of the war, and the noble qualities of all concerned. One might think it was a crusade, instead of being the Stock Exchange swindle it is. The art of governing the world has become the art of deceiving, not only the people, but if possible one’s own high-minded conscience.

“1st March.—I went into Cairo with Cockerell, and learned the relief of Ladysmith. Kronje capitulated a few days ago at Paardeburg, and the Boer army has evacuated Natal, and seems to be concentrating for a final stand on the Drakensburg line. One thing is satisfactory in it, the release of Guy Wyndham from his captivity. There have been debates in the House of Commons about Chamberlain’s part of the Raid. He now says that his white-washing of Rhodes after the Committee Report only concerned Rhodes’ money transactions. I remember George telling me at the time (and he was in the thick of the plot) that they had played a trick on the opposition in getting Harcourt and the rest of them to agree to the Report on an understanding that Rhodes was to be thrown over, and also, if I remember rightly, in forcing Chamberlain’s hand to support Rhodes. This one thing is certain, Rhodes remained, and is still a Privy Councillor.

“5th March.—I have been very busy getting ready for our long intended pilgrimage to Mount Sinai. Anne is unable to go as Judith has written hurrying her departure for the expected baby, but Cockerell goes with me and my nurse, Miss Lawrence. We are to start on the 7th, and take steamer to Tor on the 8th, and be met there by our camels.

“6th March.—Evelyn spent the day with us having come to Egypt with his daughters. He is in trouble having just received a telegram from his son to say that he has joined the Imperial Yeomanry and is going to South Africa. It is the smart thing to do just now, and all the world is mad for fighting.

“7th March.—To Suez by train, a hot, disagreeable journey, and put up at the ‘Bel Air,’ next the station. Suez full of pilgrims, the streets crowded and gay.

“8th March.—Occupied in taking our places by the Khedivial steamer for Tor, and getting passports for Suliman and Hassan at the Moudirieh. The people there very friendly, as the Governor was formerly an Arabist and the Katib had been secretary to Mahmoud Fehmy. The place was being besieged by pilgrims come for their passports, which cost them 150 piastres, to the Hedjaz. In the afternoon went on board the Chibine with the agent Beyts, whom I remember twenty years ago at Jeddah, where he had a house of business with one Wild. He did what he could to make us comfortable, but the Chibine is crowded with pilgrims, 350 of them, they say.

“9th March.—I went to my berth early and woke about half-past one, and opened the cabin window as it was very hot below, and so was lying awake thinking over the lapse of years since I was last at Mount Sinai and the poor issue of our short lives, when I felt as it were a blow received by the vessel, and immediately after a second blow. At the first moment I thought it was an earthquake shock—we had had one last Tuesday at Sheykh Obeyd—and called out to Cockerell, who shared my cabin, to that effect; but looking out of the window I saw a line of breakers close before us on the port side, and the ship began to be knocked about by the waves. It was very dark, but the breakers were plain enough, and I said to Cockerell, ‘No. We are on a Coral Reef.’ I had not undressed and had nothing but my shoes to put on to be ready for all events. And I went to Miss Lawrence’s cabin and told her to get up and dress as we were aground. Then on Cockerell’s confirming what had happened I went on the upper deck where Suliman and Hassan were, and got the life-belt I always carry out of the bullock trunk in which it was and put it on Miss Lawrence. She was not at all frightened, nor indeed was anybody else as far as I know—though the Pilgrims began reciting their prayers aloud. The wind was blowing pretty strong, and I could make out the line of the shore not far off and the breakers, though the night was dark. There did not seem to be any immediate danger, but we prepared ourselves for whatever might happen, and in the darkness, of course, there was room to imagine the worst. I did not stay long, however, on deck, but after some talk with Suliman went below and lay down again, for it was clear there was nothing to be done till daylight. I had looked at my watch as soon as the vessel struck, and found it was seven minutes past three. Cockerell and Miss Lawrence stayed on deck, I believe, till morning. After a bit I got to sleep again, for the ship was steady enough, and there was nothing very tragic in the appearance of things.

“By daylight we were able to make out where we were. Suliman thought at first the hills in front of us were the Hamam Faraoun. But later we made out Serbal and the mouth of Wady Feiran, so it is now agreed that we are ashore north of Ras Jehan. The Captain, Ross, did not seem to know much about it. He told us he had only left the deck ten minutes when the thing happened. [This turned out afterwards to have been quite untrue. He had come on board late, having been at some entertainment at Suez, and gone to bed early without giving any proper instructions as to the course. No watch was kept, and we drove straight on a coral reef, without so much as slackening speed or with a cry of breakers ahead!] We must be clear eight miles out of our course, and it looks like bad seamanship. Here we are, anyhow, stuck fast on a line of sand banks (they proved to be a reef about a mile from the shore) and with small chance of getting off to-day or any other day. The steamer is miserably ill supplied with boats, and still more miserably with seamen, there are only four boats capable of taking off at most a dozen passengers each, and of these one is already lost. They launched it, the Captain says, in order to put out a hawser for an anchor to windward, but it was swamped by a breaker, and at least one man has been drowned. I saw another holding on to the hawser for some minutes, and we thought he would be swept away too, but at last he got hold of a rope and hitched it round him, and was pulled up the ship side, but it was a near shave. The boat drifted away, and is now on the sandbank (reef) bottom upwards, and five lifebuoys, which were thrown to the drowning men, are drifting on shore. The captain asked me about the nature of the country on which we had run, the shore of the Sinai peninsula, and I offered to let my Bedouin, Suliman, go in a boat if they could put him safely on shore when the wind drops; he would then take a message to Tor, which is not more than forty miles away, asking help. Suliman, however, is very unwilling to go, now that he has seen the feluca swamped and the man drowned, nor will I let him attempt it until the wind goes down. [It was Suliman’s first experience of being at sea, and, like most Bedouins, he was frightened at being off his own element.] Should it become calm I shall propose that we are all sent on shore here with our baggage, as we are the only passengers for Tor, and we have provisions enough with us for a fortnight. I am writing this at 9.45 a.m.

“1.30 p.m.—Things look worse than they did. The tide going down has shown that we are on a coral reef, which may be half a mile in width, with, perhaps, three miles of comparatively still water beyond it to the shore. Also the wind has become stronger, and, though the waves do not break over the deck, we are beginning to heel over in rather an alarming way. I finished Tolstoy’s ‘Resurrection’ this morning. It is a most depressing book, and makes one as willing as one can easily be to leave a life so miserable as Tolstoy shows it. I don’t know which is the more hopeless, the picture of polite society en décomposition, or that of his convicts and political prisoners who find a dreary satisfaction in helping each other in ways which human nature cannot really be satisfied with. All the same, one clings a bit to life. There is a certain physical menace in death which it is ill to face, and I feel it more strongly this afternoon than I did last night when the danger was vaguer and newer. The poor man drowned has saddened us, and made the danger seem more real, but as yet we have not even begun to feel discomfort. No water has reached the cabins, or even the decks, except now and then the spray of a wave, and the sun is shining brightly, and we are surrounded by flights of happy seagulls. The shore is romantic and beautiful between Serbal, in front to the north-east and Ghareb to the south-west, both mountains which I love and on which I could be content to die. It is the physical repulsion that one has, that of being knocked to pieces on the reef, or drowned in one’s cabin. Two ships have been sighted far off, but they took no notice of our signals, and we are fully ten miles away from the usual Red Sea course. My own only satisfaction is to think Anne did not come with us. She has a terror of water, though of nothing else, and would have been unhappy. Both Cockerell and Miss Lawrence are cheerful and undisturbed; indeed, every one is behaving well. We are all three sitting on the upper deck now, on a carpet with one of the pilgrims next us, a man from Mitgamr. At every blow of a wave which shakes the ship he ejaculates, ‘Ya robb! Ya róbbina’! (From God are all things. Yes, all. Our Lord is merciful. Ya, Robb!) Below there is an old lady who puts her head out of the cabin and calls to her son, ‘Ya, Yusuf! Ya, Yusuf!’ The rest are devout and quiet, and there is none of the affectation of merriment one would see under like circumstances on board a P. and O.

“10th March (Friday). [N.B. This part of my Diary is splashed with sea water, but still legible.] We have had a very bad night and things this morning look almost hopeless. With the rise of the tide at sunset the wind increased in violence, blowing still from the north-west, and the waves swept the upper deck. I went up to try and persuade Suliman and Hassan to come below, but they would not move. The whole night through the ship was banged upon the reef—raised by each wave, and let down with a thundering bang upon her keel, which prevented much sleeping. At times it seemed as if she must break her back. At midnight it was quieter, but it is worse than ever this morning, and the ship has settled lower into the water. There is only one comfort, she is now wholly aground, and cannot sink lower. It depends all on the wind. If it goes on like this for another night she will break up, and there is no chance of a rescue. There are practically no boats and no sailors. The captain would not risk trying to land the passengers except in a calm. Even the arrival of another ship would be of no use, as we could not be got off. If the wind does not fall, it will not be our pilgrims’ fault, for they pray strenuously, with a fine male devotion. The women have been drilled to silence, or at any rate to pray instead of complaining, even the little boys shout, ‘Alláhu Akbar. Ya latif’! and the women add prayers to Seyd el Bédawi of Tantah. For my own part I say my usual prayers to the dead and to St. Winifred, who may help me, as she did three years ago, a superstition which quiets the mind. I have been reading the Gospels, too, in an edition Cockerell got me for our journey to Sinai, parts of Mathew, Mark, and Luke, the doctrinal parts of which are splendid, and as little like our English nineteenth-century Christianity as it is possible to conceive. How foolish my Nietsche correspondent’s talk about it is. The water is coming into the cabin, so I must leave off. Miss Lawrence has been altogether admirable through all this, doing her duty to me as a nurse just as if at home, and cheerful and courageous as I never saw anyone. I have just been on deck and got wet through. It has made me feel more indifferent to what may happen, and I contemplate the water filling up the cabin and drowning us without much repugnance. It is the getting wet that one really dislikes. It is now 7.30 a.m., and we hope the wind is lulling, otherwise our prospects are poor.

“11 a.m.—Though things remain precisely as yesterday, and with rather less chance of a good issue, for the wind blows as hard as ever, everybody on board has settled down to the situation. There are no more querulous plaints of the women, and the prayers are less incessant. The children are playing merrily in the saloon, the little boy pretending to bastinado the little girl on the soles of her feet, and there is a group of women on the ground gossiping as if at market. This, I suppose, is in all human nature. People go about their affairs, however much there may be an earthquake or any other catastrophe impending. I have settled down to a novel, which I brought with me in case of accidents causing delay anywhere. There is no sign yet of succour from any quarter, and I expect to-night will be critical. The thumping and banging on the reef goes on, and all of our cabins are in a leaky state at the portholes; fortunately the ship stands pretty steady on her keel, with only a slight list to port. This has kept us fairly dry, though on the main deck the pilgrims must be suffering terribly. There has been no cooking done to-day, as the fires are out. Also salt water has got into the fresh water tanks, and we may be soon short of water to drink.

“Later. In the afternoon, at Cockerell’s suggestion, we moved our quarters from the after-cabin, which is being much battered by the sea, to the upper platform in the centre of the ship. There we are sheltered by a bit of awning from the wind and spray, and the waves do not wash quite so high. Suliman had already established himself there, and it is pleasant to have our little camp with him altogether as if we were in the desert. The sight of the waves breaking over the reef is interesting, and there are seagulls to watch and floating seaweed, and one can mark the variations in strength of the wind; the centre of the ship, too, is free from the thumping of the stern, and we have a feeling here that even if she breaks in two, the fore half where we are would remain firm on the reef. Nor is it a small advantage to be free from the incessant prayers of the rich pilgrims in the cabin, who shout in chorus all day long, and of the children who, in imitation of them, make treble invocations of their own. In the forecastle, which we overlook, the pilgrims, mostly Persians, confine themselves to an ‘Alahu Akbar,’ when any specially big wave breaks over them. There is one of them stationed on purpose to look out for the big waves and announce their coming. Here we are settling ourselves for the night.

“11th March.—The sunset last night was less yellow than the day had been, for there had been a thick haze, and the stars and the moon came out, but the wind blew all night as hard as ever, the waves running up to within a couple of feet of our platform, making one wonder whether the afterpart of the ship had not been carried away. We made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit under our awning, and I took a little dose of morphia to keep me warm through the night. I had got wet through in my European clothes, and have now got on my Arab things, and so dozed through the night, trying to fancy myself in Jendali or on Kalala. Miss Lawrence and Cockerell too, none of us in much comfort, for we could not lie down. Still things might have been worse, and we were able to keep dry, and the wind is not a cold one. The pilgrims, among whom we are now established, began by being not quite friendly, one or two thought I was masquerading as a pilgrim, and asked me why I wore the akhram, and whether I had a passport from Constantinople, nor could I altogether satisfy them, as they did not understand Arabic, being mostly Turks or Bokharists. But the feeling amongst them has quite changed now. This is owing to my having taken their side against the captain, and decided him at last to send off a boat to the shore. [The captain, since the ship had struck, had shut himself up almost entirely in his cabin, refusing to do anything or take any measures.] The pilgrims had insisted upon his sending off a boat, and had come to the cabin door in a body, under the leadership of an old sea-captain, a Moslem from the Caspian, a rugged fellow in an Astrakhan cap, who declared he could easily steer a boat on shore at high tide across the reef, and so carry the news of our shipwreck to Tor. This seemed to me a sensible plan; and I went with them to the cabin, and got the captain to consent, though there was a difficulty in finding men to man the boat, as all the ship’s crew (there were only five of them), odd men picked up at Suez, were frightened at the drowning of the sailor on Thursday, and I volunteered myself, if necessary, to go, and with me Suliman to run on with the news to Tor; and Cockerell also would have gone and Miss Lawrence, but there was no boat large enough for us all, and at last it was decided that Suliman alone should go, with five of the ship’s crew. He was very unwilling, as he is terribly afraid of the sea, but I persuaded him there was really no great danger. He bid me a solemn farewell, taking off most of his clothes and handing over to me his money and his passport. Then the ship’s crew would have nothing to do with the Caspian sea-dog as their commander, and at one time the whole plan seemed as if it would break down, for Captain Ross was without resource or power of command. At last, however, just on the turn of the high tide, they got the boat launched and across the reef, and so to the shore in safety. We were able to watch them till they landed. So Suliman at least is out of danger, and may bring us help from Tor. The boat was the last one left, as one was lost on Thursday, and the two others were destroyed last night by the sea. Some of the ship’s company are making a raft, in case things come to the worst. Except the lack of drinking water, however, I don’t think there is much immediate danger, as the wind has moderated and the sky has become clear. The difficulty is that there is no means now of getting the pilgrims on shore, even if it is calm, as we have not a boat left, and are without water. We ourselves fortunately have with us three quart bottles of water, which are still intact, and a large number of oranges, but unless help comes to-morrow or next day, it will fare badly with all of us. One of the pilgrims, though very amiable to us, has told me the captain’s throat ought to be cut. They all think he is hiding water, though that is not the case. There never was a ship, however, sent to sea worse found, or with a more incapable captain.

“We have made special friends with two of the pilgrims, Russian subjects, one a Tartar, living at St. Petersburgh, formerly an Alem of Bokhara, who has spoken to me in high praise of Sheykh Jemal el Din. He is a very superior man, in a snuff-coloured robe. The other, a Mongol from the Crimea, who has been a student for the last fourteen years at the Azhar at Cairo. This one is a thick-set heavy man of the true Chinese type, or rather of the Mongol type, from which Chinamen derive their features. These have taken up their quarters next to us, and they are very polite to us—with them most of their friends. We have distributed a few of our oranges among them; all complain of thirst. The most interesting of all, however, is an Arab from Medina, a Muhajjer who affects the character of a wely. He is the most beautiful human being I ever saw, going bareheaded, with an immense shock of black hair in ringlets; his face is very dark, and brilliant as a hawk’s, his teeth splendidly white, and his eyes of womanish, gazelle-like lustre. His beard, too, like his hair, is a whole mass of ringlets, and his hands and feet are of perfect form. With all he is kindly and friendly, with a peculiar, inconsequent way, as becomes a saint. [He was fantastically dressed when he came on board, with gorgeous muslin robes, but these got soon draggled with the sea water, without thereby affecting his gay spirits or pleasant smile. He would go about from one to other of the pilgrims with a pleasant word to each, and gave away at once the oranges we gave him. His exact position in life, except that he was a Muhajjer, I never ascertained, but he invited me cordially to his house if I visited Medina, and was especially polite to all of us. Most of those that I have mentioned talked Arabic, but many knew no word of it, having come from distant parts of Asia.] They are evidently good, pious people, and it is a relief to find ourselves among them at a solemn moment like the present, when we have death, so to say, staring us in the face, and away from the few ungodly Englishmen who frequent the bar of the first class cabin. I never marked the contrast more, and it consoles me not a little for the rest.

“Miss Lawrence is wonderful in her simple courage and good sense. She makes us all as comfortable as the small space we have will admit, and has not said a complaining word. When I said to her half in fun, ‘Your poor patient has almost come to the end of his tether,’ she answered simply, ‘I cannot think we shall be drowned. God would not allow all these good people who call on him to perish.’ Cockerell, too, is full of help. He has made friends with a young Belgian and a young English accountant, who are better than the rest, and gathers a deal of information about all that is going on.

“It came on blowing terribly again in the afternoon, and the sea has put on the pale green look it has in the northern seas—each wave capped with foam. The waves are pouring over the lower decks, and the ship is sinking a bit in her bed. A great ship was seen just at sunset, and wild hopes were indulged. The sailors hoisted a torch at the mast-head, but the vessel was too far away and soon disappeared. Nor could she have helped us had she come to us for no captain would put out a boat in such a sea. Notwithstanding all this we under our awning on the bridge have passed (12th March) a not quite uncomfortable night. Only one woke every few minutes with a start, and thoughts forced themselves on one’s mind of things beyond the world. There were signs of lightning in the hills in the direction of Mount Sinai, and one seemed to see in them God’s anger in his dwelling place, perhaps at one’s impiety at seeking to set foot on it, and for the attitude I have taken of having complained of his dereliction of his duty and neglect of the World and Man. Towards morning just in front of us stood the Scorpion, for the sky was clear, and it reminded me of many things. It was then that Miss Lawrence used the words that I have recorded. This is the worst night that we have passed, and there seems little left to hope.

“12th March.—Our fourth day on the reef, which is whiter than ever with foam—the wind stronger and the waves higher. The cabins aft are flooded, and the people are leaving them, and crowding on to the bridge. Nevertheless there is a more cheerful feeling, for at eight o’clock a vessel approached which was recognized as one of the Khedivial Line Steamers, the Misr, evidently sent out to look for us. We could not, however, communicate with her, as there is no system of signalling on board, and the sea is far too big for them to launch a boat; they have therefore gone back in the direction of Tor, waiting we suppose for the wind to moderate. This gives us something to hope for, and all agree that the gale cannot last much longer, and that the ship is too fast on the reef to be in immediate danger—only that the pilgrims are in straits for water, and I hear that a woman and child have died. The stewards, meanwhile (for the government of the vessel and the administration of the supplies are abominable) are selling soda at exorbitant prices to the richer people. We dare not give away our water yet, as it would be drunk up at once, but we give oranges. Personally I have not drunk a tumbler of water in the last three days and have eaten nothing but half-a-dozen oranges. The morphia I have taken does away with both thirst and hunger, there is much dampness too in the air, and the pilgrims I think suffer much less from thirst itself than the thought of it, knowing there is no water. Most of them come from the northern countries where water abounds, and the thought of being without it frightens them, as it does not frighten the Arabs. They make very little complaint, however, considering how hardly they are treated. I go on writing my journal and reading and dozing between times. The sun is shining brilliantly, and we are not so uncomfortable for the waves do not reach us, and the spray here and on the forecastle is not very wetting. It is at night that the gloomy thoughts come.

“There is a Greek boatswain or second officer who tells me that he has been eight times wrecked, and twice in this same Chibine. ‘If I get safe on shore this time,’ he said, ‘I go to sea no more. I sell oranges for a living, it is better.’ He is certainly right. They have finished two rafts, or rather punts, unseaworthy looking craft, which I should be loath to embark in. The thought of the Red Sea sharks has been, I fancy, with all of us, though we say nothing about it. The still water inside the reef must be full of them—here it is too rough, and there is only drifting seaweed and a multitude of gulls.

“Later. The weather shows signs of improvement, though the sea is as high as ever, and the wind is hardly less, but the sky is clearing, and the line of hills on the west coast is beginning to show again. We can see Ghareb and the rest. I feel confident the wind will fall at sunset. And the Misr should return and take us off to-morrow—but everything depends upon the fall of the wind.

“Evening. Our troubles, I hope, are over. At 4 p.m., behold as a coup de théatre, H.M.S. Hebe, a gunboat, arriving from Suez to our rescue. The sea was still very heavy, and the wind as strong as ever, but Commander Taylor in command of her, gallantly put off in a whale-boat, and has himself come on board our wreck. His arrival has relieved us entirely from our anxiety, for though he cannot land us to-night he is satisfied our ship is in no immediate danger of breaking up. He will return in the morning and take us all across the reef at high tide, if it is still rough, or directly to Tor if the wind has gone down. He is a good, clean-shaven, grey-eyed little British officer of the best type. To us personally he offered, if we wished, to take us all three off with him at once to-night, but as he seemed to think it would be rather a risk, especially with Miss Lawrence, we elected to stay on the wreck yet another night—and it is well we did—for the whale-boat as we could see it had a narrow shave of being capsized, and was unable to get taken on board the Hebe on her return until the Hebe had moved down a mile or two to leeward of the reef. What has caused Taylor coming is this. As long ago as Saturday the people at Suez became uneasy at getting no telegram about us from Tor, but imagined the Chibine must have neglected to call there and gone on to Jeddah, then rumours came that something was wrong, and the Misr was sent out to look for us, and later Cromer, having been referred to, ordered the Hebe out. The Hebe was to have looked for us on the West Coast of the Red Sea, but fortunately just as she was getting up steam our telegram, carried by Suliman and despatched from Tor, arrived, telling them where we were, otherwise they would have searched the Western Coast in vain, and might not have found us for some days. However, as our friend the Crimean pilgrim says, ‘El hamdu l’Illah’ (God has not forgotten his slaves). We are all congratulating each other now, and the pilgrims are showing their good-will to us, and thanks for having helped to get Suleyman sent ashore, in a number of agreeable ways.

“13th March (Tuesday).—Our last night on the wreck was a peaceful and a joyful one. At sunset the wind, as was expected, dropped—and it is now nearly a dead calm. I slept profoundly. With the first light we got our traps together, and distributed all our remaining provisions among the pilgrims who were ravenous for our oranges. These were rescued at last from the water which had been sweeping over them on the after deck. They had been well packed and were not much spoiled. The best of them went to our friends, Sheykh Abdul Hamid, and the gallant sea-dog of the Caspian, Suleyman Ismailoff of Astrakhan, the rest I took with Hassan in a bundle to the forecastle where they were eagerly grabbed for by the Persian pilgrims, especially the women. Here are the names of our chief friends on board, Sheikh Abdul Hamid of St. Petersburgh, one of the Ulema, and his friend, Suleyman Ali from Crimea, a Crim Tartar Student of the Azhar, Captain Suleyman Ismailoff of Astrakhan; our friend the Muhajjer, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten, Mohammed Ali, aged nine, a gay boy who was the captain’s servant. Gilroy, an English accountant going to Jeddah, Dr. Edward Rist of the Sanitary Board of Alexandria (an Alsacian Frenchman, of whom we afterwards saw much).

“3 p.m. We are on board H.M.S. Hebe. At eight o’clock we were taken off among the first of those rescued by Captain Taylor, and are once more on the clean deck of a British man-of-war, feeling that after all the British Fleet has its beneficent uses and was intended for other things than only the bombardment of Eastern towns. Taylor tells me that but for the telegram sent by Suliman, we must have been several days longer on the reef—we might well have been overlooked till it was too late. All is ended now, however, and we can say ‘El hamdu l’Illah.’ In the course of the morning other ships arrived, and all the pilgrims having been taken from the wreck and placed on board them, they went on their way to Jeddah, while we returned to Suez on the Hebe.

“Names of the Officers of the Hebe are: Commander Taylor, Lieutenant Frederick Loder Symonds, Lieutenant James Kirkness, Surgeon Herbert Gill, Chief Engineer George Pascoe.

“The officers of the Hebe are an excellent set of men; they have entertained us all last night on board, feasting our hunger, and giving us stretchers for beds. Remembering the navy as I knew it forty years ago at Athens, these young officers seem to me superior in intelligence and manners to what they then were. The Hebe is one of the new and highly scientific gunboats which require men of head and education to work them, and they took pleasure in explaining to us everything, more indeed than I did in listening, for machinery is the least interesting of novelties. We might have been taken on to Tor if we had wished it, but I decided against this, seeing the peril we had escaped, and I have a superstition against continuing a journey in face of a strong warning; indeed to me this is more than a warning. I see in it a menace forbidding me to approach the Holy Mountain. Perhaps another year I may return, but not now.

“In the early morning as we arrived at Suez I was awoke from sleep by a very terrible dream or imagination, for I was between waking and sleeping. The screws of the gunboat had been reversed, and there was a fearful vibration on board, so loud that it sounded like a storm. I thought that we had come to the head of the gulf to that place where Pharaoh and the Egyptians were overwhelmed in the sea, and that an immense wind had struck us from the west, so that the gunboat was being driven on to the eastern shore. It was a storm so terrible that nothing could live in it, and I knew that it had been sent by God, and I heard a voice saying: ‘There are no pilgrims here to save you again by their prayers,’ and I was terror struck and I made my profession of faith—‘La Allah ila Allah, wa Mohammed rasul Allah,’ nor was I relieved of my fear until I had looked out of the scuttle and seen the lights of Suez, and smooth water, and the Scorpion in a quite clear sky. [I think the extreme vividness of this dream was probably due to the morphia I had been taking during the wreck.] I remember Captain Taylor, whose cabin I was sharing, asking me what o’clock it was, and I told him a quarter to three. He was surprised at my knowing this when, having struck a match, he found that I was exactly right. I had calculated it by the stars in the Scorpion’s tail, which are an excellent clock at this time of year, but sailors have forgotten these old-fashioned observations of the stars.”

The next fortnight of my journal is defective. The excitement of the shipwreck over, I felt the effect of it, and was once more suffering in health. My last days in Egypt before returning to Europe were occupied in laying before Lord Cromer the circumstances of the pilgrim case, and urging him to take up the defence of these Moslems, whose safety had been so jeopardized by the disgraceful mismanagement of the Khedivial Government, the lack of all proper provision for them on board, and the incompetence of the captain. I also wrote a strong letter in the same sense to the “Times,” with the effect that a naval court of inquiry was appointed to be held at Suez on board H.M.S. Halycon. Consul Cameron presiding. This Court Cockerell and I and Dr. Rist attended, and we gave evidence with the result that on the 28th of March, the Court found against the Company, and Rist and I were publicly thanked for our “public spirited action,” while it eventually led to new regulations being issued with regard to the pilgrim traffic in the Red Sea, which to some extent alleviated the evils of the system so long pursued. All that I find of importance in my journal is the following account of my final visit to the Khedive.

“2nd April.—To see the Khedive at Abdin, where I found Mohammed Abdu also waiting for an audience. He introduced me to Mohammed Pasha Shukri, the Khedive’s Turkish secretary, and other functionaries, all very amiable, as they had heard of the shipwreck and how I had brought the pilgrim case forward.

“Abbas received me with affection, and we had a most intimate and interesting conversation. It began about the pilgrim traffic, as to the better regulation of which he promised help. Then he went on to talk of his journey to the Western oasis. He told me that he had been extremely well received by the Senussia, and had found out everything he wanted to know about them. Their principle of conduct, he said, was to obey the law in all countries where they resided. In the Zaghwiyahs nothing was permitted to be done which could bring them into conflict with the Government. Although they imported arms and ammunition, largely from Egypt, these never passed through the Zaghwiyahs, but through individuals, generally poor men, so that if discovered it would not bring them discredit. In the Zaghwiyahs nothing compromising would be found. He assured me, however, that the Arabs of the Western tribes, all of whom belonged to the brotherhood, were well armed with Martini rifles; the brothers were very particular whom they would talk to; they would trust no Christian, and no Moslem who served a Christian, as, for instance, no Egyptian soldier, because the Sirdar and officers were Christians, also no Moslem who did not pray and openly show himself such. He was evidently much impressed by their strength and their organization, and by the instruction and high character of their leading men. All this seems to tally with what Mohammed Abdu told me lately of the Khedive’s having become ‘superstitious and opposing Liberal reform in the Azhar on the ground that he feared to lose the prayers of the old-fashioned faithful.’

“He then talked of his intended visit to England. I advised him to talk frankly to everybody, and promised to do what little I could personally to dispose people in his favour. Lastly, he told me Lord Cromer had spoken to him about allowing Arabi to return to Egypt, but he had a grief on this head against Lord Cromer, inasmuch as Cromer had refused to allow his grandfather, Ismaïl, to come back and die in Egypt. Ismaïl was suffering from cancer, and only asked to see Cairo before he died, but Cromer had refused, why then should he now come to him and say, ‘Let Arabi return.’ We stood together discussing this matter for some time, as I was going out, and it ended by his promising or half promising to grant Arabi’s pardon. Another farewell visit was to my old friend and neighbour, Sheykh Hassan Abu Tawil, now very near his end. I found him (5th April) like Job upon his bed, surrounded with comforters, a mere skeleton, too feeble to rise. I asked him whether he had had the doctor to see him, but he said ‘No, he preferred to be doctored by God,’ and this is probably best even scientifically. I told him the tale of our shipwreck, and he besought me to have a lamb slain for Sheykh Obeyd, and I promised him so to do, though I have a quarrel with our local saint for the little good he did me two years ago. I shall be grieved to lose old Hassan, for he is good, and much beloved by his tribes-people. We leave Sheykh Obeyd for Italy to-morrow.”

My journey home was made with Cockerell and Miss Lawrence, Lady Anne having preceded us, and at Brindisi I received a telegram from her, announcing the birth of a grandson. Another fellow-traveller was M. Cogordan, the French Minister at Cairo, a man of great intelligence and knowledge of art and archæology. We stopped the night at Ancona and several days at Florence, where we found Lady Paget and Lady Windsor, and where I made acquaintance with Mrs. Ross, Lady Duff Gordon’s daughter, who was so long in Egypt, as to which she had pleasant recollections of things that happened thirty and more years ago. Our next halting place was Lucca, which I had not visited since 1852, when, as a boy of eleven, I spent the summer at the Lucca Baths. I remember having been taken to see the Holy Coat, and of having beheld in the streets the Grand Duke and Duchess of Tuscany, with the fat grand ducal children, pass in their carriage in days before the invention of the Kingdom of Italy.

The next day I went with Cockerell to call on Ouida at her villa at S. Alessio, some three miles from Pisa. I had been in correspondence with her on literary matters, and took the opportunity of paying her a visit. “Our driver did not know the house or who we wanted, until he suggested ‘the lady with the many dogs.’ We said, ‘Oh, yes, the lady with the dogs,’ and so it was. Ouida’s house proved to be a nice old villa with a high garden wall and an eighteenth century iron gate, towards which from inside seven or eight dogs, poodles mostly and nondescripts, came at us, open-mouthed, when we rang. It was some time before we could make our ringing heard, and the bell was answered at last by a portly man-cook in cap and apron, who, after some further delay, on my sending in my card, admitted us. We were shown into the front hall, and there found the lady of the house seated at a small table, as one sees in the opening scene of a play, arranged apparently for the occasion. She was a little old lady, dressed in white, who rose to meet us and reprove her dogs, still yelping at us in chorus. A mild reproof it was, nor did it save us from their caresses. The largest poodle placed himself upon my knees, and another took my hat in his mouth. ‘They do not often bite,’ she explained, ‘except beggars.’ I had been prepared by the violence of her writings and anecdotes I had heard of her from Lady Paget and others, to find a person somewhat loud and masculine, but Ouida proved the reverse of this. In face she is much more French than English (her father, she told us, was French, M. de la Ramée, and her mother an Englishwoman), small featured, soft, and distinguished, with a high forehead, rather prominent blue eyes, dulled and watery with age, almost white hair, and that milk and roses complexion old people sometimes acquire, and which gives them a beatified look. It was difficult to believe her capable of such a malevolence as her novel, ‘Friendship.’ She can never have been a sensual woman, whatever passions she may have revelled in in her writings. Her conversation is good, intellectual, without being affected, or the talk of a blue stocking. It gives you the impression of a woman who has thought out her ideas, and has the courage of her opinions. We talked about the inhumanity of modern Europe, especially modern England, and the rage for slaughter, which is its chief feature. Also about Italy and Crispi, who is her bête noir there, as Chamberlain is in England. She talks English perfectly, as she says she does also French and Italian, and complained to us of the slipshod writing of the day. It was evidently a pleasure to her to talk, and to find us such good listeners. With Cockerell she was immensely taken, and was curious to know who he could be, for I had not introduced him, and persisted in thinking him a personage in disguise. At the end of a couple of hours we moved to go, but she would have detained us, and made us promise to come again. She cannot, she says, now go to England, on her dogs’ account, and, indeed, they monopolize her life. Altogether she is a pathetic figure, condemned to solitude, not by choice, but by necessity, and regretting the cheerful society of Florence, an exile imposed on her, I fancy, by poverty and her bitter pen. ‘The world,’ she said, ‘takes its revenge on us for having despised it.’ We both left her with feelings of respect, almost of affection, certainly of sympathy and pity.” [With Cockerell Ouida corresponded to the day of her death, though I believe they never met again.]

Yet another visit in Italy was to Princess Hélène, now Duchess of Aosta, at her palace in Turin, where I had luncheon with her and her husband, who struck me as a kind of understudy of the Emperor William, a good talker but somewhat brusque. As fourth at luncheon there was his stepmother, the Dowager Duchess Letitia Bonaparte, daughter of old Plon Plon, who is much with them. I was introduced to both as a revolutionary character in connection with my adventures in Ireland. There was talk also of the Transvaal War, which they, in common with all foreigners, consider an unfortunate, not to say ridiculous, affair for England. The meal was a pleasant one, and in the afternoon Cockerell and I went on by the night train to Paris. My companion in the sleeping car was Colonel Needham, military secretary at the Rome Embassy, who told me that Kitchener, who had been the best hated man in the British army, is now becoming almost popular in South Africa. A visit to Gros Bois followed where, as usual, there was much interesting talk. Among other things told me was this, that the seriousness of the anti-Semitic rage in France was due to Alphonse Rothschild’s neglect to buy up Drumont. He might have done it for a small sum early in the day, but did not recognize Drumont’s power sufficiently and now it is too late. The Jews are put in Coventry by all the great French world. There, as elsewhere abroad, I found it considered that we had made ourselves ridiculous in South Africa and that the war ought to be stopped.

We arrived at home in England 25th April.

“1st May.—To the Danes to see Lady Lytton, travelling there with Betty Balfour, who told amusing stories about Ireland, one being of a voyage the Queen had made in her yacht. The Queen used to be a good sailor, but is disturbed now if it is at all rough and likes the doctor to sit with her in the cabin and look after her. It came on to blow and a wave struck the ship rather roughly, which alarmed and made her indignant. ‘Go up at once,’ she said, ‘Sir James, and give the Admiral my compliments and tell him the thing must not occur again.’

“I talked to Lady Lytton about the Khedive’s intended visit. She said the Queen would certainly see him if she was at Windsor, but would most probably be away at Balmoral, and there was nobody else who could be depended on to be polite. Lord Salisbury, now Lady Salisbury was dead, would give himself no trouble, no more would the Duke of Devonshire. Broderick and Lady Hilda were worse than useless and the rest would not think it their business. She knew nothing about the Prince of Wales. There never was a time when it was more difficult to get the duties of politeness done to foreign princes.

“2nd May.—Lunched with George Wyndham at Willis’s Rooms, he in high feather with his parliamentary success, though things are not going as smoothly as they might at the War Office. They are in trouble there about despatches they have published blaming Buller, and George will have to defend the Government on Friday. Evan Charteris was lunching with us, which prevented any very intimate talk.

“17th May.—Button spent the day with me at Newbuildings, his mother having come with him. He tells me the relief of Mafeking is being carried out by Kitchener, though his name has not been mentioned in the newspapers in connection with it. He went on to describe the different systems of slavery and forced labour of the blacks in South Africa. One of the great grievances of the Johannesburg people was that they were not allowed by Kruger to have compounds in which to keep their ‘labourers.’ Kruger was afraid they would arm and drill their blacks, and consequently forbade it, leaving them to hire labour as they could, which cost them a good deal more. The ‘compound’ system of ‘free labour,’ as practised at Kimberly and elsewhere in Rhodesia is an ingenious substitute for slavery. The negroes are recruited with promises of very high wages, and the wages are actually paid, but once inside the walls of the compound they are permanently prisoners and have to spend their wages there. To prevent their leaving with a show of legality, a rule is enforced that each negro before going out must be dosed. This has the double motive of preventing them from swallowing and carrying away diamonds and, as the dose is an immense one, of frightening them from undergoing it. The dose plan was invented by the Jew Porgés, who is now a millionaire at Paris. Such negroes as, having saved money, face the dose and are allowed to depart, are waylaid on their way back to the Zambezi, from beyond which many are recruited by Boers in league with the mining authorities, and stripped of all they have. The Government, he says, is making itself very unpopular in Ireland and he thinks also in England, but I cannot agree with him that there is the least chance of their being turned out at the General Elections.