by John Buchan
He arrived in England to find the country in a political turmoil. In June 1885 the Liberal Ministry had been beaten on the Budget, and the general election in November had put Lord Salisbury in power with a precarious majority of Parnellites and Tories. While Melgund was crossing the Atlantic Mr. Gladstone had announced his conversion to Irish Home Rule, and early in 1886 the provisional Government was defeated and the Liberals were again in power. Then began the break up of the Liberal party, a Liberal-Unionist group came into being, and Mr. Gladstone’s Home Rule bill was, on its second reading, defeated by thirty votes. The general election which followed was one of the most famous in recent history, and Melgund, feeling that it was the duty of every man in such a crisis to play a part, appeared, very much to his own surprise, as a candidate for that institution which he had aforetime described as a “disreputable coffee-house.” He was invited to stand for Peebles and Selkirk against Sir Charles Tennant, and for Berwickshire against Edward Marjoribanks (the late Lord Tweedmouth), but he chose the Hexham division of Northumberland, chiefly on the advice of his brother-in-law Albert Grey, who was himself standing against Mr. Wentworth Beaumont in the Tyneside division. Melgund stood as a Liberal-Unionist, and in his election address dealt only with the Irish question, “the surrender to an organized rebellion repeatedly denounced by your present Ministers.” The constituency was one of the largest in the kingdom, and, as he started late, he had only a fortnight for his campaign. He put every ounce of weight into the contest, and might well have beaten the Home Rule candidate, who was something of a trimmer, but for the abstention of Tory voters. The alliance between Tory and Unionist was still a loose one, and stalwart Conservatives objected to vote for a man who called himself any sort of a Liberal. The result was that he polled 440 votes less than the Conservative at the election in the year before, and, though the Liberal poll fell by over a thousand, it was enough to give the Home Ruler a majority of 967. Melgund heartily enjoyed the fight, and was not greatly depressed by the result. In seconding the vote of thanks to the sheriff after the declaration of the poll at Hexham, he said “that the Unionists could at any rate congratulate themselves that their army was winning from one end of England to the other, and that though they had lost in the Hexham division they must recollect that no great battle was ever won without a few losses.”
Albert Gray was defeated at Tyneside, but Arthur Elliot held Roxburghshire, and Sir Charles Tennant went down at Peebles. Had Melgund chosen to take this constituency when the offer was made to him his whole career might have shaped itself on different lines.
He was happier about public affairs. “Now that Mr. Gladstone is finally disposed of,” he wrote to Lord Wolseley in July of that year, “we may start on new lines in Ireland, and I can’t help thinking that possibly some opportunity may crop up of getting something to do.” But that something did not turn up, so he flung himself into his Volunteer work. The Border Mounted Rifles were that year at the height of their strength, with two troops, one at Hawick and one at Kelso, and their commanding officer was busy throughout the summer and autumn with shooting competitions, summer camps, and manoeuvres. Parliament was suggested again in 1887 by his brother Arthur — a division of Edinburgh — and was categorically declined. He had made up his mind for good and all upon that point. “The slavery to a constituency and the unhealthy life of an M.P. are not enticing, and to assume a profession one ought to foresee success, which I should not. In any case it would be accepting a line of life which would be peculiarly uncongenial, and not in itself likely to be very beneficial from either a patriotic or selfish view. Opportunity is the thing to wish for, and I doubt a seat in Parliament being an opportunity to me.” So he stuck to his military work and began seriously to study the literature of his subject. His journal records his admiration for Napier’s Peninsular War —
“A delightful book, the very essence of soldiering — only wish I had been up in it before. While going into details, every line he writes brings out clearly the incalculable value of individual character, the power to take a correct view in an emergency and act on it. The Duke of Wellington is the personification of common sense, possessing the qualities of certain success — courage, prudence, determination, patience, the gift of acting at once, and with them all — though not necessary to success — honesty. I have been reading some of his dispatches to-night, clear and straight to the point, and bringing in small details in a way which a less experienced man would almost certainly have thought unnecessary.”
In July 1887 he stayed at the Staff College for the Aldershot Review, when the 2nd Army Corps was entirely composed of Volunteer battalions. He was enthusiastic at the performance of the Volunteers: “the finest sight I ever saw . . . and of immense significance.” In June of the following year the scheme of brigading the Volunteers took effect, and Melgund was offered and accepted the command of the Scottish Lowland Brigade with the rank of brigadier-general. It was an infantry brigade of six battalions, with one regiment of Yeomanry attached. The journal records: “Though I always believed that by sticking to soldiering one might, with the way the Auxiliary Forces are coming to the front, make something of it, I did not expect to be promoted so soon; and now, looking ahead with one’s position recognized, there is room to rise — with the opportunity.”
The journal throughout 1888 is full of speculations on military and foreign affairs, in which the name of Kitchener begins to appear. The following is a typical entry: —
“December. — Have just finished A Nation in Arms by von der Goltz, a bad translation from the German. Purely a professional book, but the best handbook to bona fide soldiering that I know: goes much into the moral qualities required of officers and men, and the qualities required of chiefs. A knowledge of these things is what makes a good soldier and a good leader, far more than any learning acquired from books alone. It is rare to get book learning combined with the greater qualities — insight into character, ability to lead, and the instinct as to what other men may do in certain circumstances. This last is, I think, only acquired by experience. If these greater qualities are combined with actual learning the result is a very first-rate man, but the combination must be rare, and I believe our greatest leaders have, as a rule, perfected themselves more by experience of life and close observation of other men than by study and research. I expect it is in their leisure hours — which in an active man’s life must largely be in the autumn of his career — that they have had time to reap much knowledge from books.”
It was his favourite doctrine that knowledge of human nature ranked first, second, and third in any human pursuit. Wolseley was his constant mentor, and he has a story of him worth repeating. “When Sandhurst was at the War Office he wanted to get Wolseley’s opinion of two candidates for official posts to lay before Campbell Bannerman, so he asked Wolseley if he could let him have some written opinion which he could show to the Prime Minister. Wolseley gave him the following letter: ‘A. is very clever but a damned thief. B. is very honest but a damned fool,’ and signed it officially as Adjutant-General.”
In the summer of 1889 we find the first mention of a figure which was to play a great part in the next decade. “Albert Grey came in this morning wanting to know if I could recommend any man suitable to take charge of the affairs of a company, on the Zambesi, of which he is a Director, the idea being to open out Central Africa, working from the south. Rhodes seems to be the moving spirit (brother of the man in the Royals*). I believe he has made a fortune in South Africa.” Melgund thought the whole affair a very doubtful business, and his opinion was confirmed when, at the banquet to Mr. Arthur Balfour given in Edinburgh in December of that year, the chairman, the Duke of Fife, raised the question again, told him that the new British South Africa Company meant to send out an expedition next year, and asked Melgund if he would like to command it. “In the meantime the Company have sent out some black bulls, escorted by four Blues. The object is to propitiate Lobangula (or whatever he calls himself), the native chief,
and it is said the Blues are to appear before him in full fig, tin bellies and all, and are to leave their tin bellies as well as the bulls as an offering. At any rate bulls and escort have gone, and it sounds to me one of the strangest performances I ever heard of.” Already Melgund had his doubts about the “brother of the man in the Royals,” doubts which on a better acquaintance it pleased Providence to increase.
* Frankie Rhodes.
In the autumn of 1889 Melgund was compelled by pressure of work to hand over the command of the Border Mounted Rifles to Lord Dalkeith. It was a hard severance. On 31st December he wrote in his journal: —
“The old year has been a fairly busy one for me on account of Brigade work. I resigned the command of the Border Mounted Rifles in the autumn. Giving them up was a pang, for I had commanded them ever since they were raised in ‘72. Sir George Douglas asked me if I would take command of such a corps if it was raised, and he practically secured the names of those first joining. I took command, and retained it till I resigned the other day, as I felt it was not satisfactory to attempt to go on with it together with the command of the Brigade. But it is impossible to tell how devoted I have been to the corps: it has been such an interest to me, and I have been so anxious to make it a bona fide soldiers’ corps with good discipline, and none of the lax ideas which some seem to think are justifiable in a Volunteer corps. The consequence was it became exceptionally smart and workmanlike, and has earned a reputation to be proud of. I have worn its uniform in India and in Africa and in the Russo-Turkish campaign, and have had letters from New Zealand and Trinidad asking for information as to its organization for the guidance of corps there. Dalkeith has succeeded me: he was officially junior to Cunningham, but the latter has always behaved most generously, and entirely put himself aside in deference to Dalkeith’s great local position. As to Charlie Cunningham, I have never anywhere seen a better officer to command irregular cavalry in the field, full of leading qualities and a great power over men. I can’t help feeling that my resignation of the command of the Border Mounted Rifles has separated me from what has hitherto been a great part of my life; however, they remain in my Brigade. . . .
“I have much to look back upon during the last seven years — the Egyptian Campaign, Canada, the Riel Rebellion, and have been married, and now I am a Brigadier-General. It has been a very eventful time, and one likes to think of it all. And now we will look ahead for another year and what it brings.”
The journal during the late ‘eighties records much beside soldiering — dinners, visits, conversations, days with hounds, and the thousand and one interests of a full life. An entry may be quoted: —
“Dined with Jersey at his annual dinner of old Oxford and Cambridge men. Dick Webster (Solicitor-General), ‘Bunny’ Pelham, ‘Friday’ Thornton, ‘The Professor’ — Lawes, Spencer Lyttelton, Bob Follett, etc., etc. Webster’s has been a remarkable rise. He was at Cambridge with me, though my senior, and was a wonderful runner, especially for two miles. I ran fourth in the University two miles when he won. If I had been third, which I think I ought to have been, I should have run for Cambridge against Oxford in the inter-University races, and, as I represented the University in the steeplechase at Aylesbury, would have been a sort of double blue, which at that time I should have greatly valued; but I used to ride so much that I was not half trained for running.
“Women’s rage for matchmaking is a marvel, and the cold-blooded way in which they decide that an idiot or an effeminate ass, or a perjured debauchee, ‘will do very nicely,’ provided, of course, he is possessed of means, for some charming girl who is only blinded by the flattery of being proposed to, and who ought by her kind friends to be enlightened instead of being helped into the pit, I — well, I shouldn’t like to say what it is!”
Every winter the Melgunds rented a small hunting box in the Grafton, Bicester, or Pytchley country. Melgund had never been able to afford to buy made hunters; he invariably rode young horses, schooled them, and, if all went well, sold them at a profit. He was very proud one year, with six horses in the stable, to find that his hunting expenses had been £19.
“Received a cheque this morning for £300 for ‘Stockdale.’ Very sorry to part with him. The best-tempered horse I ever had. However, it can’t be helped, as I can’t afford to keep such expensive luxuries. Jumped a highish gate on him in a wire fence off the high road the other day. Sinclair told me that if I rode like that I should break my neck! The greatest compliment I have had paid me for some time!”
He had a wealth of hunting stories. He remembered during a run when the fox crossed the Ale seeing one of the hounds in hot pursuit emerge from the water with a salmon in its mouth. Another day he watched the fox jump over the White Rock on the Minto Craigs, a drop of a hundred feet. There was a moment of anxiety lest the hounds should follow, but the huntsman succeeded in calling them off in time. The rest of the pack were waiting below, and on breaking up the fox one of the hounds swallowed the brush whole lengthways. The whip made frantic endeavours to pull it out, but although his arm was half-way down the hound’s throat he only succeeded in retrieving a few hairs!
While hunting with the Quorn in March 1890 Melgund recorded “about the maddest performance I have ever seen — a moonlight steeplechase. I suppose the old prints of such a race started the idea; at any rate we were told that competitors would meet at Lady Gussy Fane’s at 11:30 p.m. The night was pitch dark, and it seemed ridiculous to think of going. However, my host and hostess were bent on it, and off we went, driving to Melton, where another trap had been ordered to take us to the course. We went first to Lady Gussy’s, and there found most of the competitors assembled, beautifully got up in boots and breeches, with their night-shirts over all. The latter were so much frilled that I suspected Lady Gussy had issued a supply.
“We then drove over to the course near Melton Spinney; a dark, cloudy night, though there was a moon which made a feeble attempt to show itself The race was to be run over some small fences which I believe are used for a schooling course. Over the fences of the country it would have been an impossibility. I could only just see what the first fence was like by looking close into it. It appeared to be an old fence, cut over and weak, but pretty high, quite five feet, with a very small shallow ditch on the far side. A lantern was placed at each end of the fence, and the other fences were marked with lanterns, and a lantern in a tree for the turningpoint. They were to finish over the first fence, and the first over was to be the winner. There were, I think, ten runners there — Burnaby and Wilson (in the Blues), Warner (the Master of the Quorn), Zobrowski, M’Neil, a new man to me, a mad Irishman, Gerald and Sidney Paget.
“The performance began by M’Neil taking a preliminary canter over the first fence, over which he tumbled head over heels, and then they started. I stood at the first fence, and the crowd of nightshirts rushed desperately by me with a crash over, or rather through it, and as far as I could see without a fall; the only two who went slowly at it being the two Pagets, who walked through the hole made by the rest. So they all disappeared in the darkness till one heard them tearing back again to win. All I could see was two night-shirts racing for the last fence, over which one landed with a lead of half a length, the other falling. The winner turned out to be Burnaby, the second, who fell, being Zobrowski. I only saw one loose horse come in-Zobrowski had remounted at once. They tell me Zobrowski was leading up to the last fence, and it was very confusing owing to the number of lights where it was to be jumped, but Burnaby managed to get first run at it. I do not fancy the fences were much, but all the same it was a strange and marvellous performance. What extreme youth and champagne can do!
“The course was crowded with spectators and foot people. The competitors, I believe, adjourned to Lady Gussy’s afterwards for supper, where no doubt there was a cheery evening! We drove home to Somerly, the moon coming out so bright that lamps would have been unnecessary if the race had been run an hour later.”
The last time Melgund rode in a p
oint-to-point race was this year. There were twelve competitors, all members of the Buccleuch Hunt. They started from Horslihill, and went round the Minto hills to Teviot Bank, a distance of about seven miles. Melgund won the race easily on “Polecat.”
Horses did not absorb Melgund’s entire affections, for he was never happy without a dog, always chosen from that sporting breed of Dandy Dinmonts peculiar to the Borders. “Pepper,” “Dandy,” and “Dehra” all in turn shadowed their master, and each received that measure of devotion which their adoring fidelity deserved.
“Poor old ‘Pepper’ died this morning. He has been the truest of the true, and never cared for any one but me; the hardest and gamest I ever saw. I got him as a puppy from the keeper at Branxholm, and he must be over sixteen years old. He was with me through all the most eventful years of my life. I never took him campaigning, but the old dog was always the same to me when I came back, however long I was away from him. My best friend for many years is gone. I shall always remember what an honest, thoroughly true model of a friend he was. I miss the old fellow so!”
