A MEMOIR OF
SIR JOHN HAY DRUMMOND HAY

Oxford
HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

J. H. Drummond Hay

A MEMOIR OF
SIR JOHN DRUMMOND HAY

P.C. K.C.B. G.C.M.G.

SOMETIME MINISTER AT THE COURT OF MOROCCO BASED ON HIS JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE

WITH A PREFACE BY
SIR FRANCIS W. DE WINTON K.C.M.G.

PORTRAITS & ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY ALBEMARLE STREET
1896

PREFACE

On his retirement from public service in 1886, Sir John Hay Drummond Hay, at the instance of many friends, undertook to set down the recollections of his life. Some of these notes were published in Murray’s Magazine in 1887 under the title of ‘Scraps from my Note-book’; others were laid by to be incorporated in a complete volume. The work was, however, interrupted by an accident to one of his eyes which rendered it impossible for him to write. For a time he confined himself to dictating to my sister, who acted as his amanuensis, quaint stories and detached incidents connected with the Moors, intending to resume the continuous tale of his life when his sight grew stronger. But, shortly after the recovery of his eyesight, and before he had proceeded much further in ‘unwinding the skein of his memories,’ he was prostrated by a severe illness, followed by influenza, of which he died in 1893.

It has fallen therefore to my sister, Miss Drummond Hay, and myself, his two daughters, to endeavour to unite, to the best of our ability, these scattered notes and memoranda, and to add to them such details as could be supplied from our own recollections. In this task we have been naturally somewhat restricted. In the first place, we have been obliged to omit from the memoirs of one who lived and died so recently much that might have been published twenty years hence. In the second place, as we have been necessarily debarred from using any official documents except those published in the Blue Books, our work can scarcely do full justice to the life of a public servant. These restrictions have not lightened our task; and, had it not been for the kindly help and advice of friends, we should have had still greater difficulty in tracing, from my father’s notes and private correspondence, the course of his lifelong labours in Morocco.

The main portion of Sir John’s letters are addressed to his mother—to whom he was a devoted son—and, later, to his eldest sister, Mrs. Norderling, who was during her lifetime the sympathetic and intelligent sharer of his confidences. Except with his mother and sister he carried on but little private correspondence, principally on account of his sight, which was enfeebled after an illness in 1859. But he wrote occasionally to friends, several of whom preserved and have kindly lent us his letters. Some of these have been utilised, and for all of them our thanks are most gratefully tendered.

On my father’s account of his school days at the Academy in Edinburgh and at the Charterhouse in London, on his early life at Tangier, or on his apprenticeship to diplomacy at Constantinople under Lord Ponsonby and the great Elchi, it is unnecessary to dilate. The recollections and impressions of boyhood and youth break off when more serious work presses on him after his appointment as Consul General in Morocco in 1845. Though considered very young for such a post, for he was only twenty-eight, his training in Egypt and Turkey well qualified him for a position which was destined to give scope to a character eulogised by one of his chiefs as vigorous, temperate, and straightforward. He was aided by his great facility in writing and speaking foreign languages, as at that time he had perfect command of Turkish, Italian, Spanish, French, and Arabic; and to the end he retained his fluency in the last three.

From the moment that he was appointed Consul General in Morocco, his letters are animated by the one great aim on which his public career was concentrated—the increase and consolidation of British influence in Morocco. British interests, he believed, could best be furthered by the encouragement of commerce, by the amelioration of the condition of the Moors, and also by personally gaining the respect of the people. Extracts from his diary of 1846 tend to show how he set himself to attain these objects; and his endeavours bore good fruit. The account of the arrest of piracy in Rif, through his intervention, may be taken as an instance of his direct personal influence in dealing with the wild mountain tribes.

His power of talking familiarly in their own tongue with natives of every degree was of great advantage to him in gaining a personal hold on the people, and many illustrations might be quoted from the stories which he tells of his meetings with various governors of the provinces through which he travelled in the course of his frequent journeys to the Court at the cities of Marákesh, Fas, Meknes, or Rabát. In fact his purity of motive, tenacity of purpose, his ever ready and shrewd advice, won the respect and good opinion of the people of Morocco. Implicit confidence was placed in him by high and low alike.

On his influence with successive Sultans it is unnecessary to enlarge. The offer of Sultan Sid Mohammed to place in his hands the entire control of the foreign affairs of Morocco speaks for itself. The story of Benabu, again, relates how the latter entrusted untold gold to my father’s keeping, assured that his treasure would reach its destination, though no witness or written paper attested to the transaction. Lastly, to take an instance in humble life, we may point to the pitiful faith placed in him by a wretched Rifian criminal when on the point of surrendering himself to the authorities.

Nor were this reliance in his uprightness and this respect for his judgment confined to the Moors. During the war between Spain and Morocco, when he alone of all the Foreign Representatives remained at his post, he was appealed to by the Spanish friars to protect their church and its sacred contents from the insults of the angry Moslems. Their confidence was not misplaced: his protection secured the sacred building from the slightest injury.

The Spanish war at first seemed likely to check the development of trade in Morocco at the moment when it was on the point of revival. The promise of prosperity was due to the Commercial Convention negotiated by my father in 1856, a convention which an old resident in Morocco, one well qualified to appreciate its value, has termed the Magna Charta of that country. But when peace was declared, the result of the contest proved eventually to be rather a blessing than a curse. The necessity of raising a loan to pay the war indemnity impelled the Sultan to ask help from Great Britain, thus enabling my father the more forcibly to impress upon H.S.M. the necessity of introducing into the administration of the Customs reforms which immediately and substantially increased the revenues of Morocco.

Yet in spite of the good results which in this instance followed the acceptance of his advice, the apathetic and ignorant Moors could rarely be induced to take active steps in the path of reform. It was only under the pressure of necessity that any advance was made. This lethargy did not, however, proceed from any want of plain speaking on my father’s part. As is shown by the account of his private interview with Sultan Sid Mohammed at Marákesh in 1872, he indicated to that potentate, in the clearest and most emphatic language, the debased condition of his realm, and the iniquities of the system under which his subjects were governed.

But it was not with the recalcitrant Moorish Government alone that my father had to contend. His later letters recount his failure to put a check on the abuses caused by the protection of natives by foreigners, and the consequent downfall of his hope that the end of his career might be signalised by another and more extended commercial treaty. The Moorish Government was not inclined to promote foreign trade, contending that greater facilities for commerce would inevitably cause an influx of alien traders, each of whom would have his native agents and servants under the protection of a foreign flag, and that such protected subjects, not being immediately amenable to the native authorities, would only increase friction, lessen the Sultan’s authority, and diminish the exchequer.

Her Majesty’s Government recognised my father’s value by repeated promotion, and honours were bestowed on him under various administrations; but he was given to understand that his services could not be spared from the country where, it may be said, he was an acknowledged power. Indeed, the principal aim of my father’s life during his long career in Morocco—the preponderance of British influence over that of all other nations—may be said to have been attained and maintained during his tenure of office. In 1885, the last year of his official life, he writes with reference to his unceasing anxiety that neither France nor any other country should by any means obtain a footing in Morocco, ‘As a sentinel of the Straits, I fire my gun, as a warning, when I know of a move to obtain that object.’

Sir Francis de Winton, in his kindly and graceful introduction, touches on the expedition to the lower slopes of the Atlas made by the Mission, of which he was a member, in 1872, when the heights to the eternal snow were climbed by Capt. Sawle and Mr. Drummond Hay, and when the cordial reception offered by the wild natives left a pleasant impression on my father and his party. He also refers to my father in the light of a sportsman. The latter’s recollections of many of the happiest days of his life spent in pursuit of wild boar and other game were noted by himself, and some of them have been embodied in this work. A keen and hard rider, an unerring shot in his earlier days, before his eyesight was impaired, and of almost reckless courage, he was well fitted to become the elected leader and head of the native hunters. Under his rule sport flourished in the environs of Tangier, the ground allotted for the purpose by the Sultan was properly guarded, and the close season strictly observed: it was then that pigsticking in Morocco reached its highest perfection, and gave pleasure to many of every rank and condition, whether Europeans or natives.

It is doubtful whether sport could again flourish in the environs of Tangier as it did in my father’s day. An increasing armed European population, the introduction of weapons of precision, and the denudation of the woods, render such a prospect unlikely. His stories therefore of narrow escapes and exciting days may prove of interest to the lover of the chase; and to some, who in those bygone years shared his sport, may perhaps recall the memory of pleasant times spent with him in the field.

L. A. E. BROOKS.

INTRODUCTION

To this memoir of the late Sir John Hay Drummond Hay I have been asked by his daughters to write a few introductory lines.

My acquaintance with Sir John began in the year 1870. At that time I was quartered at Gibraltar, being on the staff of Sir William Fenwick Williams of Kars, who was then Governor of the fortress.

They were old comrades, Sir John and Sir Fenwick, having served together in Constantinople, and the friendship begun in Turkey was continued at the gates of the Mediterranean. Often and often Sir John and Lady Drummond Hay, with their two daughters, visited the Convent at Gibraltar; and in return the doors of the Legation at Tangier were ever open, and always gave us a hearty welcome.

It was between 1870 and 1875 that this intercourse took place, and to me it is filled with happy recollections. The quaint old town of Tangier, full of the decaying influences of Moslem rule, yet keeping up the struggle of life after an existence of over a thousand years; racial and religious differences, civilisation and barbarism, struggling along together, while Jews and Arabs, unchanged for five hundred years, jostled with Christendom of the present day. It was a strange medley: and out of it all stands one figure prominent, nay pre-eminent, in the history of Morocco during the past forty years.

I do not think Sir John’s reminiscences sufficiently convey the enormous influence he wielded in the empire, so called, of Morocco. Throughout the Sherifian dominions his name was known and respected; and after the Emperor and the Sheríf of Wazan, his was the most powerful influence in the state. His long residence in the country; his intimate acquaintance with the manners and customs of the people; his perfect knowledge of Arabic; his love of justice; his absolute fearlessness; his keen appreciation of their sports and amusements, in which he often joined; not only made him the trusted friend of the late Emperor and his predecessors, but also the chosen friend of the people.

In the many expeditions in which I had the good fortune to be one of Sir John’s companions, I had abundant opportunities of observing the power he possessed over the different tribes with whom we came in contact; and especially among the hill tribes of Jebel Musa, who occupy the country between Tangier and Tetuan. These people held him in great esteem, and often sought his advice and counsel in their tribal differences; thus enabling him to be of service to the Emperor in the constant struggles between that ruler and his people.

A description of Morocco and its government has often been essayed by various writers; but no one could give an adequate idea of Sir John’s influence who had not personally witnessed his intercourse with the discordant elements which constitute the government of that country.

On one occasion I had the pleasure of being on Sir John’s staff when he paid a visit to the Emperor, who was then residing at Marákesh. What a pleasant journey it was! The daily ride, the evening camp, our first view of the great Atlas range of mountains, the entry into Marákesh, our reception by the Sultan, and the six weeks we spent in the city but little known to Europeans; and it was, perhaps, the events of that journey which impressed one more than anything as to the individuality and power of the British Representative.

By many Sir John will also be remembered as an ardent sportsman. Whether he was organising a boar-hunt, or a day after partridge, or enjoying a run with the Calpe hounds, there was always the same keen interest, the thorough enjoyment of sport, which characterised the man. Under his guidance you were always sure of finding boar, or of getting a good bag of partridge; and it was through Sir John that, some twelve miles South of Tangier, where the ground was favourable, the exciting sport of pigsticking was introduced into Africa. Well do I remember after a day’s sport the evening camp fire, round which we gathered after dinner, when Sir John would tell us of some of his earlier hunting recollections. He was an excellent story-teller, keeping his audience in a state of the deepest interest to the end; and then, with a merry twinkle in his eye, he would finish his narrative by a description of some ludicrous incident in which he was often the chief actor, and no one joined more heartily in the laughter which followed than he himself.

It is not possible, within the short space of an introduction, to give more than a mere outline of the personality of Sir John Drummond Hay. His recollections furnish the true index to his character. In them are reflected the sterling honesty, the integrity, and the courage and capacity of the man who, though working in a country but little known and full of prejudice and fanaticism, made England respected and trusted. He belonged to that band of the men of Great Britain who serve their country wherever they are placed, and who, while mindful of her interests and her honour, gain the good will of the rulers and the people to whom they are accredited.

In conclusion, I shall ever remember him as a friend whom I respected, and for whom I always had a true affection; and when asked to write these few lines, while wishing the duty had fallen to an abler pen than mine, I felt that, having been honoured with his friendship, I might, in affectionate remembrance of that friendship, write this brief tribute to his memory.

F. DE WINTON.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

NOTE

The system of orthography used in this book for native names and places is that adopted by the Council of the Royal Geographical Society, the true sounds of words as locally pronounced being taken as the basis of spelling, except in the case of old-recognised names such as Tangier (more properly Tanja). According to this system, vowels are pronounced as in Italian; consonants as in English; kh and gh as the Oriental gutturals.

Morocco, the name of the region of Western Mauritania of Roman geography, has undoubtedly been corrupted from the native name ‘Moghreb’ (setting sun). Maroc, Marocco, Marruecos, Marok, &c., written by different peoples of Europe, are curious corruptions, some even further off from Moghreb than the English corruption of the native name, and no nearer to the old classic corruption Mauritania than in beginning with Ma instead of Mo.

The name of the ancient city which we British call Marocco, or yet more absurdly Morocco, is in the mouth of the natives ‘Marákesh.’

SIR JOHN HAY DRUMMOND HAY

CHAPTER I.
BOYHOOD. 1816-1834.

In 1816, my father, at that time Major in the 73rd Regiment, was on the staff of Lord Lynedoch—then in command of the army of occupation—and held the post of ‘Majeur de Place’ at Valenciennes; where my mother, after the conclusion of peace, had joined him. Here I was born on the 1st of June of that year, and my name was inscribed as a French citizen at the Mayoralty.

After my father retired from the army, he was offered by his relative the Earl of Kinnoull, hereditary Lord-Lyon, the office at Edinburgh of Lord-Lyon Clerk. At Edinburgh we resided first in an old-fashioned house at Deanhaugh—the boards of the room where I slept were stained with the blood of a tenant who had committed suicide there—the garden adjoined that attached to the house where the painter Raeburn dwelt. Later, we moved into a house in Athol Crescent, one of the first of the new buildings in Edinburgh in those days; I have a little sketch, from a window at the back of the house, of the pretty country seen therefrom and which is now all built over.

With my elder brother, I was sent as day-boarder to the Academy. Early in the morning, after a breakfast of porridge, and having been given by my mother a penny to buy a ‘bap’ for my luncheon, I started off, with my satchel on my back, for school. Near Stockbridge I would meet ‘daft Jamie’—walking up and down in all weathers, bareheaded, with his hands behind his back—and often gave the poor fellow half my bap: one day he had disappeared, and afterwards I learnt he had been one of the first victims of the murderers Burke and Hare, who sold bodies for dissection to the eminent surgeon, Knox.

Being an indolent boy, and having great difficulty in learning by heart any lesson, I was always at the bottom of the form, but, for my age and size, I was the best runner and player at football; at which game I broke my arm and was taken to the well-known surgeon, Symes, to have it set.

On going to school in the morning, I passed through Charlotte Square and there frequently met Lord Cockburn[1] taking an early walk, wearing Hessian boots, a large frill of shirt showing from his waistcoat and a long chain with seals dangling from the fob in the top of his trousers. He was a friend of my father’s, and on one occasion he stopped and asked me to state what place I held in the form.

Hanging my head with shame, I did not reply.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘I dare say you are dunce! Tell me.’ I replied that I was always at the bottom of the form. Upon which Lord Cockburn said, ‘That’s right, my dear boy; keep there and you are sure to get on in life and become an eminent man. Do you know who I am?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you are a judge.’

‘Well,’ he resumed, ‘I was like you, always at the bottom of the form. Some day you may be a judge, or a greater man than I am.’

Shortly after this happened, having reported to my mother that I was dunce as usual, she remonstrated with me for being such an idle boy. Then I joyfully related Lord Cockburn’s language to me, adding, ‘Some day I shall be as great a man as he is.’ As may be supposed, the judge was rebuked by my parents for encouraging me in idleness!

The future archbishop, Tait, was at the Edinburgh Academy at the same time as myself. Though an idle boy, I learnt more at that school than I did in the five years I spent at Charterhouse—whither I was transferred with my brother in 1827—and it was at the Academy that I won a prize of which I was very proud. It was not a reward for efficiency in study, but an annual prize given to the boy who was elected by a majority of votes as the favourite of the school.

In 1844, being on a visit to a friend in Edinburgh, I went to the Academy, and on inquiring of the porter at the entrance who were then the masters, I learnt that one of them was Ferguson, who had been master of my form, and that he was then at lunch in the lodge with the other masters. I entered, without my name being announced, and, recognising Ferguson, gravely said: ‘I beg to be let off to-day, Sir, for being late; I was prevented coming earlier.’

‘Hay junior,’ he replied at once, ‘you are forgiven.’ How he had been able to remember my face after a lapse of sixteen years, when he had known me only a smooth-faced boy, who now returned as a man with a moustache, was especially strange to me, who never can recollect any face—unless indeed it be that of a pretty woman!

Walter Scott was a great friend of my family and frequently came to Athol Crescent. I have often sat on his knee and had stories told me by him. I also accompanied my father to Abbotsford and spent some days there, and I remember that on our arrival Walter Scott, followed by his sleugh-hound ‘Maida,’ came out to welcome us, and, taking my father by the arm, he turned round to ‘Maida’ and said, ‘Do you take care of Johnny and let him have a ride on your back if he likes.’ ‘Maida’ and I became great friends, and she allowed me to get on her back; for I was a very slight boy.

When in Edinburgh, Walter Scott for a time lived in Walker Street, leading out of Coates Crescent, opposite to our house. He called one day on my mother and said he was going away for a month and requested that he should be allowed to send, at night, his writing-table, desk, and chair to her house, as he said his housekeeper complained bitterly that she had no peace from the constant visits of travellers, asking permission to see the chair, &c., where he wrote his works. My mother consented, and Walter Scott then added: ‘I shall put a notice on the door of my house, “Walter Scott has left this house and his furniture has been removed.”’

A few days after the removal to Athol Crescent of the desk and other articles, there was an unceasing knocking and ringing of bells at our front door by travellers, begging to be admitted to see the desk. My mother had to have it removed, and a notice, similar to that suggested by Walter Scott, was placed on the door.

Mention is here omitted of an incident well remembered by his children as related by Sir John’s mother, Mrs. Hay. Some visitors who gained admittance to her house removed surreptitiously her own worn quill pen from Walter Scott’s desk, under the impression that it had been used and left there by him!

Among the memoranda left by Sir John are notes to the effect that when he entered Charterhouse, Thackeray had either just left or was about to leave that school; but Havelock, Leech, and John Murray were his schoolfellows, as also a young Sheridan, who was remembered by him chiefly on account of the readiness with which he would improvise verses on any subject. This boy appears to have been of improvident habits, and was generally in a state of impecuniosity, which debarred him from buying the dainties in which other boys indulged. His schoolfellows would offer to share their tarts, &c., with him if he would make verses in reference to them—to which he would instantly respond with apt rhymes.

During their early school life at Charterhouse the brothers spent their holidays with either of their two grandfathers, the one being the Rector of Hadleigh, Dean Drummond (youngest son of the Archbishop of York of that day, and brother of the ninth Earl of Kinnoull), through whom lay Sir John’s claim to French extraction, as the Dean’s wife was a daughter of the Prince de Vismes et de Ponthieu. Captain J. Thomson was their other and maternal grandfather. A very learned linguist, he had been private secretary to the Marquess of Hastings in India, spoke twenty-five languages, and was author of Etymons of the English Language, which work was completed after his death by his son-in-law, Mr. E. A. Drummond Hay, father of the subject of the present memoir.

At Christmas-time, however, the two boys returned to their parents in Edinburgh, a long, wearisome journey from London, travelling by coach through two days and nights in bitterly cold weather. The return journey to school, in particular, seems to have left a desolate remembrance of arriving in London, cold and stiff after long confinement in the crowded coach, but also a pleasant recollection of the gruff kindness to the young travellers of the guards, who would often forego their customary tip when changing, rather than disturb from their sleep the schoolboys who were going from home.

After the death of Dean Drummond, and the appointment of their father to a foreign post in 1829, the brothers were wont to spend a portion of their holidays at Dupplin Castle with the Earl of Kinnoull, to whom they were then prospective heirs: the elder to the earldom, the younger to the property of Cromlix. In fact, Lord Kinnoull asked their father to allow him to have entire charge of the two boys and of their education, in view of their being his probable successors. But this offer was prudently declined, their father not wishing them—the sons of a poor man—to be brought up amidst surroundings unsuited to adapt them for pushing their own way in life, and in the expectation of a prosperous future which, in their case, might fail to be realised. In this he judged wisely; as, while still in the prime of life, Lord Kinnoull married and had a large family.

The boys, however, continued to spend many happy holidays at Dupplin; posting from Edinburgh to Perth, a pleasanter mode of travelling than by coach.

Another recollection, in connection with their visits to Dupplin, was the ceremonious importance of their attendance at the parish church at Aberdalgie on Sundays. Though only a short distance intervened between this place and the Castle, the family coach, with four horses and postilions, was always prepared, and in this manner the two schoolboys proceeded alone to the church, to occupy on arrival the family ‘sitting,’ and listen, with what patience they might, to the long discourse of the minister.

In 1829 my father was appointed Political Agent and Consul General in Morocco. At that time I was at Charterhouse, and first received the tidings from another boy who had seen the notice in the Gazette. Geography was not taught at Charterhouse, and, as my informant professed ignorance regarding the whereabouts of Morocco, beyond that ‘it was a country in Africa inhabited by naked niggers,’ we got hold of a map and made therein a voyage of discovery until we found Morocco.

My family came up to London from Edinburgh and rented a house in Clarges Street for the season, and my father decided that my elder brother, the late Sir Edward Hay, and I should remain at Charterhouse two or three years longer; then rejoin our family at Tangier, and there be placed under a private tutor.

It was a curious coincidence that before my father was appointed to Morocco, or had indeed any expectation of obtaining any employment in a foreign country, the boys at Charterhouse had nicknamed me ‘Othello,’ or ‘the Moor,’ not only because I was a passionate youngster who resented an injury, but also on account of my dark eyes and hair and olive complexion; typical of a thorough Hay, according to Sir Walter Scott in The Fair Maid of Perth, where he describes the clan as ‘a dark, short race.’

A frigate, H.M.S. Athol, in command of Captain Gordon, conveyed my father and family to Tangier.

Three years later [1832], when I was fifteen, my brother and I, to our great joy, were summoned to join them. Steam communication was very rare in those days, and we sailed from Plymouth in a merchant brig of about a hundred and fifty tons, with only a skipper and four seamen on board. She was a clipper and made the run in seven days.

It was a rough life on board the brig: hard sea-biscuit, salt pork, with now and then currant dumplings, was the fare.

Nothing particular occurred during the voyage, except that after rounding Cape St. Vincent, when off the Spanish coast, a large lateen craft—called a ‘mistico’—gave chase, making signals to the brig to heave to: but our skipper, who declared the ‘mistico’ to be a pirate, responded to the signals by hoisting every stitch of canvas—though a strong breeze was blowing—and we flew through the water, leaving the ‘mistico’ far behind, and she gave up the chase after firing shots which missed us. Probably she was a Spanish revenue vessel and her commander had mistaken us for a smuggler.

There was a six-horned Barbary ram on board, which the skipper had not been allowed by the Customs’ officers to land in England, for fear, I suppose, of its contaminating the British breed of sheep. No provision of fodder had been made for the poor animal, but, as he had become a great favourite with the sailors, he was not made mutton of, and lived on a pittance of hard biscuit, which the sailors gave him from their rations. The poor ram was so ravenous that I mischievously offered him one day a slice of cold mutton between two pieces of biscuit, and this he devoured with avidity!

On our arrival at Tangier, my brother and I were placed under the tuition of a Spanish gentleman, Don Gregorio de Borgas y Tarius, whose father had been Captain-General in Estramadura; but, during the reign of Ferdinand, having taken part in some ‘pronunciamiento’ against the despotic acts of that sovereign, he was compelled to fly from Spain. His property was confiscated, and he and his son gained their livelihood by giving lessons. Don Gregorio was a learned man—not only a classical scholar, but a good mathematician, and spoke French perfectly.

During the five years I had spent at Charterhouse I had studied little or nothing except football, cricket, tennis, and other games; in these I took the lead of others of my age. What I knew of Latin or Greek had been acquired by me when a day-boarder at the Edinburgh Academy—a far superior school at that time to Charterhouse for education, as idle boys were there made to study: but even at the Academy, geography and modern history were not taught. I had learnt the history of the gods and goddesses, and knew much about the doings of Jupiter, Juno, Hercules, Venus, &c., but was left in total ignorance of English history, except what my mother taught me, while knowing little or nothing of the history of Europe, or even of the recent great war with Napoleon.

After we had spent two years in Tangier, my elder brother was appointed a clerk in the Colonial Office, through the influence of our relative, Mr. Robert Hay, then Under-Secretary for the Colonies; so I was left alone under the tuition of Don Gregorio, but made little progress, except in the French and Spanish languages, which I acquired with as much ease as I had experienced difficulty in mastering the classics.

Letter from Miss Shirreff to Sir John’s daughters.

41 Stanhope Gardens, S.W., Jan. 31, 1895.

You have asked me, my dear friends, to tell you something of our recollections and impressions of your father’s early home; not that of his childhood, but of his early youth—that in which his character was formed and the bent and purpose of his manhood received its definite direction. It is but little that I can tell; but as I am one of the few survivors of those who had the privilege of knowing that home in those early days I will do what I can.

It was my father’s appointment late in 1830 to the post of Captain of the Port at Gibraltar that first brought us into contact with the Hay family. Not long after our arrival Mr. Drummond Hay came over to see us and claim my mother as his cousin, though till then personally unknown; and his kindness and delightful conversation and old-world courtesy had made an easy conquest of us all. The invitation that followed for Minnie[2] and myself to pay a visit to Tangier was therefore at once accepted with great glee; though circumstances—a deep family sorrow, illness, and my father’s absence in England—delayed it till the spring of ’33. At last the moment came. My father took us over, and we were left among strangers who were to become the dearest friends of all our after lives.

Mrs. Drummond Hay’s kind motherly greeting to her two young guests soon set us at ease. Mr. Hay delighted us again as at first, and we then were at leisure to make acquaintance with the younger members of the family; first Louisa[3], the eldest daughter, a year older than myself; then your father, at that time a lad between sixteen and seventeen.

Your father, who had but lately left Charterhouse and come to live at home, was at this time engaged with the study of Arabic, more rare then than now, and which was carried on more or less secretly owing to native jealousies. He was thus not only preparing for work, but was also laying in great measure the foundation of that immense influence and popularity among the Moorish population, for which he was so remarkable in after years.

When the busy mornings were over, riding and music were the two delights that drew the young party together. Under Mr. Hay’s guidance, and with the escort of a Moorish soldier, still at that time necessary for protection, many were the delightful rides that we took beyond the precincts of the old town, along the shore, or through the half-wild country, so new in all its aspects to our eyes.

Then on our return, and often far into the evening hours, the long balcony, or gallery as it was called, outside the drawing-room windows was our favourite resort. Here we eat fruit, and talked over our ride, and here guitars were brought out, and song and merry talk went on.

The garden, full of flowers and lovely shrubs, lay below us; in the distance stretched the rugged coast of Spain; Gibraltar reared aloft its rocky summit, whence the flash of the evening gun might be seen; while the golden glory of the Western skies lighted up the narrow sea between, alive with fishing craft, or some stately vessel passing through the straits. Truly it was a lovely view, and once enjoyed could never fade from one’s memory. That enjoyment was only changed for the pleasant circle at dinner, or in the drawing-room.

Perhaps it was the fact of our close intimacy with dear Mrs. Hay through the long years of her many changes and trials that makes the recollection of the first impressions of her less vivid; yet her gracious beauty, her gentle, pleasant ways in the midst of the cares of such a household, can never be forgotten. But Mr. Hay was himself emphatically the centre and ruler of the family life—a stern ruler at times to his children, but they revered the will which they were bound to obey, and loved the father. Louisa’s congenial spirit, her sympathy in his literary tastes, made her naturally his companion, young as she was, and as secretary—no such person was then officially recognised—she was invaluable.

Such, then, as I have striven partly to describe it, was the home in which John Hay was gradually developing the qualities that were most remarkable in him through later years—courage, resolution, sense of duty, power of work and willingness to work, warm and wide sympathies, overflowing fun, and readiness to give help, no matter in what direction: if the thing wanted were in his power to do it was done, from mastering an unruly horse to teaching algebra to a backward student.

The outside surroundings of the home had also their influence. Society in Tangier was necessarily restricted, but within the small circle of different nationalities the social tone of various countries became familiar, and then the intercourse tended to dissipate national prejudices, and to lead the young to wider sympathies than generally prevail where all are more or less under the sway of the same habits and associations. This was naturally favourable to one who was destined to the diplomatic service, as was also the necessary use of at least two foreign languages—French for society, and Spanish, partly for the same, but also as the medium of common intercourse with all the non-Arabic surroundings.

With reference to your dear father especially I may truly say that whenever we met him in after years we felt that we were meeting the same valued friend of our youth, and again our thoughts turned to the dear old home where, under a noble father’s guidance, he was trained to all manly excellence, and where he had learned to form his ideal of womanhood under the influence of the loving, unselfish mother, and the sister whose bright intellect added force to the pure beauty of her character, and made her worthy to be his trusted friend and confidant to the last hours of her life.

CHAPTER II.
WAITING FOR EMPLOYMENT—JOSÉ MARIA. 1834.

In 1834, I travelled through Andalusia with my tutor, and visited, amongst other towns, Seville, where I had been requested by my father to rent a furnished house for three months, as he had obtained leave of absence and intended to spend it there with his family. Mr. Ford, the author of the Handbook on Spain, and father of Sir Francis Clare Ford, afterwards Ambassador at Madrid, then resided at Seville; and, as he was about to leave, I hired his house.

Ford had made the acquaintance of José Maria, the famous brigand—the ‘Little John’ of Spain—who had been pardoned by the Queen on condition of his acting as chief of a body of ‘guardia civil’ and devoting himself to suppressing brigandage. He asked me if I would like to see this notorious ex-robber and hear, from his own lips, anecdotes of his life as a brigand. I readily assented, so José Maria was invited to a luncheon at which I was present.

José Maria told us that all the robbers and thieves in the Southern provinces of Spain had been for some years under his control—he could collect when required a body of about forty well-mounted and armed men—and related how his pardon and present appointment had been obtained.

Hearing that Queen Christina, attended by an escort of cavalry, was about to pass, on her return to Madrid from a visit to Granada, through a wooded country known to be infested by banditti, José Maria collected his well-mounted brigands, armed and dressed in handsome ‘majo’ costume, and placed them at the entrance of the forest through which Her Majesty would pass.

On the approach of the royal cortège, José Maria, observing a trooper posted as vedette in advance of Her Majesty’s escort, accosted the man and informed him that, as a loyal subject of the Queen, he had brought a body of well-armed and mounted inhabitants of the neighbourhood to escort Her Majesty through the woods in safety.

The trooper rode back and reported this language to the officer in command of the escort, adding that he suspected from the appearance of their chief that the men were banditti.

This was repeated to the Queen by the officer, who also informed Her Majesty that he was prepared to attack the supposed banditti.

Queen Christina, however, ordered him not to attack, but, after taking the necessary precautions against treachery, to bring the chief of the band to her carriage.

José Maria, at the request of the officer, then came forward. The Queen thanked him for his loyalty in having assembled a body of mounted men to ensure her safety in a district said to be infested by brigands. ‘Place your men,’ said Her Majesty, ‘in front of the escort, and then come yourself to the one side of my carriage, whilst the officer in command of the cavalry rides on the other.’

After traversing the forest, José Maria asked permission to retire with his mounted followers, and at the same time announced that he had a boon to beg.

‘What is it?’ said Her Majesty. ‘I shall be glad to make my acknowledgement of the service you have rendered.’

Bowing low, he answered, ‘I am José Maria, the chief of the banditti who infest your realms. I ask for pardon for myself and for those of my followers who may be ready to accept it: for those who do not accept, as they have accompanied me on the present occasion without knowledge of my intended petition, I beg that they be allowed to depart without hindrance.’

The Queen, after conferring with the officer in command, granted José Maria’s prayer, on condition, however, that he should become a chief of the ‘guardia civil’ and assist in putting down brigandage.

All the brigands accepted Her Majesty’s pardon, with the exception of a man nicknamed ‘Veneno’ (poison), who had been José Maria’s lieutenant.

José Maria related to us stories of the most daring robberies he had committed, in various parts of Spain, on passengers by diligence and other travellers. He declared that his band had never robbed or molested the farmers or peasantry; but, on the contrary, when they heard that a wedding or other feast was taking place, he would appear with some of his men in smart ‘majo’ costume and bring presents for the bridegroom and bride. Also that the Alcaldes, or petty magistrates of the villages, were all bribed by him when a robbery was committed in other districts than their own; and when cavalry were sent in pursuit of the banditti, the country people never betrayed them, but kept José Maria informed of their movements whilst they misled his pursuers.

The brigand told us that on one occasion he had robbed an English gentleman travelling in Andalusia on horseback, with a Spanish guide, of their horses and everything they possessed except the clothes they wore. ‘The Englishman,’ he added, ‘was a bright, pleasant youth, and submitted with good humour to the robbery; so I felt sorry, as he was forty miles from Seville, whither he was going, that he should have to walk that distance, and I gave him back his servant’s horse and a doubloon (sixteen dollars) out of the two hundred dollars I had taken from him, mentioning that he might require that money for lodging and food on the road before he had reached his destination.’

‘My young friend,’ José continued, ‘thanked me warmly, adding that since I had been so kind he had a great favour to ask, which was that I should return him his gold watch as it had been the parting gift of his dear father.’

‘Is your father alive, and does he love you very much?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied the youth, ‘he lives and loves me.’

‘Then,’ said José Maria, ‘I shall keep this watch, and as your father loves you so dearly he is sure to give you another!’

José then gave the young Englishman a signed pass, requiring that all brigands or thieves in Andalusia or Estramadura should refrain from robbing or molesting the bearer. He also told him, if robbed at any time, where to send a note which would be sure to find him.

The Englishman spent some weeks at Seville, and, returning one evening from Alcalá, was attacked and robbed by a man armed with a gun. He showed the pass to the footpad, who only remarked that he was not going to have the bread taken out of his mouth by the brigand José Maria or any other man.

The Englishman then had a note written in Spanish and sent to the care of the head man of a village mentioned by José Maria, to be forwarded to the great brigand, stating the sum of money that had been stolen from him. Within a week a Spaniard called at the hotel where the traveller lodged and returned the money, adding, ‘The “ratero” (thief) has been stabbed for paying no attention to José Maria’s pass.’

After luncheon, José Maria had his horse brought for us to see. It was a well-made Spanish ‘jinete,’ standing about 15.1, and had the appearance of being fast. He mounted the nag and rode rapidly up a street, presently returned at a gallop, jumped off, and, removing the bridle, gave the animal a slap and then ran into the house. The horse went off at full gallop and disappeared up one of the streets.

‘Now,’ said José Maria, ‘I am supposed to have committed a robbery and to have been pursued by cavalry in a wood. I have taken off the bridle, and my horse, if chased, will be sure from his swiftness and being riderless, to escape. Suppose me to have climbed a tree or hidden amongst bushes or rocks and thus eluded my enemies.’

After a short interval he continued, ‘I must now recall the horse, who, not being pursued, will not have gone far and is listening for my summons.’ So, taking a large whistle from his pocket, he walked up the street and commenced whistling. In a few minutes the horse galloped up, neighing as he recognised his master, who put on the bridle and caressed the intelligent beast.

‘For two years I have been employed,’ said José Maria, ‘in putting down brigandage, and have succeeded in arresting many robbers and “rateros,” but my late lieutenant “Veneno” has hitherto escaped us, and some day he will kill me!’

A year after my meeting with José Maria, I saw in the newspapers that ‘Veneno’ had been tracked by him to a cave in the mountains, frequented by this robber and his band. The ex-brigand entered the cave one night at the head of a body of ‘guardia civil’ and was killed by ‘Veneno’ while in the act of arresting him. ‘Veneno’ and his companions were then shot by José Maria’s men.

Whilst residing with my father and family in the house he had rented in Seville, it happened on one occasion that I had dined and spent the evening with my friend Don ———, and did not leave his house until nearly eleven o’clock. It was fortunately bright moonlight, for Seville was then but dimly lighted. On saying good-night, my host accompanied me to his door and warned me to keep well in the centre of the streets, as at that late hour wayfarers were often attacked and robbed.

I had no weapon—not even a stick—with me. The evening was fresh, so I threw my Spanish ‘capa’ round me and walked briskly down the centre of the narrow streets which led to the great Plaza, about a mile distant, near which our house was situated. Presently I heard footsteps and, looking back, saw a figure following me, but keeping in the shadow.

I knew I was fleet of foot, so set off running at a good pace, feeling sure that if the fellow were dodging me he would follow. As soon as I quickened my speed the man sprang into the light and came after me, and I dashed on with him in pursuit. As I turned a corner I caught sight of his long ‘navaja’ gleaming in the moonlight. Finding my cloak heavy, I unfastened it and let it trail behind, determined to hold on to my new capa as long as I could. However, I soon outstripped my pursuer, and on reaching the Plaza paused to again wrap my capa about me and to reconnoitre well before venturing into the street where our house stood. The footpad had vanished on seeing me reach the lit and frequented Plaza.

After this I never ventured out at night without a pistol.

At this time Mr. Hay had become very proficient in Arabic, and his family have still in their possession some examples of Arabic writing, then beautifully executed by him in the highest style of Oriental manuscript; and a friend, writing from London to his mother, Mrs. Drummond Hay, says, ‘I met the other evening Mr. Burchardt Barker, the Oriental translator to the Foreign Office; he told me that a letter from the Sultan of Morocco had been sent home by your son, Mr. John Hay, and that he had never seen anything more beautifully translated by any Orientalist.’

It was either during this stay at Seville, or on a subsequent occasion, that Mr. Hay visited the Alcazar, then in course of restoration.

The architect was employed in reconstructing the beautiful arabesque stucco-work on the walls, by taking moulds of the injured portions, and, after remodelling the defaced parts, casting from these moulds fresh plaques to replace those injured or missing.

After gazing for some time on these restorations, and vainly endeavouring to puzzle out the Arabic inscriptions which enter so largely into arabesque decorations, Mr. Hay asked for the architect and inquired of him whether he was aware that he had reversed all the inscriptions!

The poor man was horrified. He declared he would undo and rectify his work, begging Mr. Hay, for pity’s sake, not to betray to any one his discovery: as, if it were made known, he would be a ruined man, and he and his children would starve. Mr. Hay having shown him exactly what his error had been, left Seville without betraying the architect.

In the summer of 1838 Mr. Hay made an expedition into the interior of Morocco, of which he wrote an account entitled Western Barbary. This little book, written with all the vigour and freshness inspired by youth, and with a thorough knowledge of the wild people amongst whom he travelled and whose sport he shared, was published by Mr. Murray and attracted much attention and praise from the press at the time.

During a visit to England in 1838, Mr. Hay made an application to Lord Palmerston for a diplomatic appointment in the East, and in this connection relates the following incident, which occurred after his return to Tangier in the next year.

A respectable Moor, named Selam Lamarti, who was employed by my father to attend as guard upon my younger brothers and sisters, and who was very anxious about my future career, inquired one day whether I should like to have my fortune told by one who had never failed to predict correctly the life and fortune of any man or woman whom she might have happened to see, and the chief events of whose future life she felt intuitively that she could foretell. I replied, ‘As you say she, you refer, I suppose, to a woman, and probably to an Arab gossip, who expects that I shall reward her handsomely for telling me a parcel of lies about the happiness and good fortune which are in store for me.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘she is not an Arab gipsy, but my first cousin, a young Moorish maiden named Leila, with whom I have been brought up from infancy as with a sister. If she tells your fortune she will not take money, nor even a present, in return for her predictions. The Most High God, who foresees and knows all things, has gifted her with this incomprehensible power, for which she has attained great fame; but it is not every one whose fortune can be told by her, only those whom she occasionally selects, from feeling—as she describes—a sudden innate inspiration which she cannot explain. Last Friday,’ he continued, ‘she and her mother were seated, muffled in their haiks, praying at the grave of a relative in the Mohammedan cemetery. You, whom she knows by sight, were walking with a companion on the high road through the cemetery, and you stopped for some minutes near to the spot where Leila was seated, and she had a good view of your features. After you had passed Leila told her mother, and afterwards myself on her return home, that your future life was seen by her clearly, as in a mirror.’

‘Is she fair? Is she pretty? Can I hear from her own lips my future?’ I exclaimed, foolishly flattering myself that this maiden might have fallen in love with me and sought an excuse for a meeting.

‘Hasha’ (God forbid), cried Selam, ‘that you or any man should visit, or even speak to her, until she meet her bridegroom on her wedding night, except it be her father, or I as her foster-brother, in the presence of her mother. Yes, she is very fair and pretty, with a sweet gentle voice and manner. If you wish to learn the chief events of your future life, Leila says she must see you again and have a long look at your features and expression. I will arrange to-night the hour when you are to accompany me to stand below the lattice window of her house, where she will be able to gaze at you, though, as you know, her features will not thus be visible to you.’

This was agreed upon, and the next day Selam accompanied me to the door of Leila’s house, where, leaving me standing in the street, he entered, but shortly rejoined me, saying, ‘She is now at the window.’ I could just see there was some one behind the lattice, so I looked up and smiled, hoping she might show herself; but not a glimpse had I of the fair Leila. After waiting a few minutes there was a tap at the window, and Selam said,

‘That is the signal that you may leave. To-night I shall learn from Leila, in presence of her mother, the chief events of your future life. She is a clever girl, and, what is rare with our women, can read and write Arabic.’

The following day Selam related Leila’s predictions as follows:

‘John, whom I have so often seen as he passes through the cemetery on Fridays, will in a few months return to London, and will be appointed “Katseb” (secretary) to the English “Bashador” (ambassador) at Stambul; he will rise in favour and become his confidential secretary. He will be sent by the Bashador on missions to several countries in the East and return to Stambul. After a few years he will go back to England, and then on his intended return to Stambul he will visit Tangier, where he will find his father in bad health. His father will die and he will be appointed in his place. He will be in great favour with the present and future Sultans, and will attain to a much higher rank than his father now holds. There are two maidens who will love him—one dark, the other fair. He will marry the fair one, who lives in a distant land. He will have a long and happy life, and when he is old he will retire to his own country with high honours from his sovereign and from other sovereigns of foreign countries. He will live to an advanced age.’

Leila declined an offer of money or a present, and I was never allowed to see her fair face or hear her sweet voice. Without narrating here the various events which have happened in my long life I may say that Leila’s predictions, by an extraordinary combination of circumstances or chances, have all been verified. Though I never had an opportunity of letting Leila know that I had fulfilled her expectations, I hope she may have continued to take an interest in my career, whether she be in this or in the other world.

CHAPTER III.
ALEXANDRIA. 1840.

Mr. Hay did not long remain without employment. In his Note Book for 1840 he thus describes his entrance on the career of a diplomatist.

Waiting with some anxiety to learn what might turn up and be my fate, I stayed for some months in Town, and in May, as I was walking down St. James’ Street towards the Foreign Office, I met Henry Forster, brother of the late General Forster, then a senior clerk in the Foreign Office, who said, ‘Hay, I have to congratulate you, for you have just been marked with our chief’s initial letter.’

On my asking for an explanation, Forster informed me that my name had been sent up by my kind friend Mr. Hammond (the late Lord Hammond, then Senior Clerk) for the post of attaché at Constantinople, and that Lord Palmerston, as usual when he approved a note or a memorandum, had signed P. Before I received this appointment, Lord Palmerston’s private secretary asked me whether I was a Whig or a Tory, adding that his Lordship had directed him to question me, as he had appointed so many members of Tory families to foreign posts that it was his intention in future before making an appointment to inquire of a candidate to which party he belonged.

I replied that, as I hoped to obtain employment abroad, where it would not be necessary for me to take part in politics as Whig or Tory, my party would always be that which upheld the honour and interests of my own country.

I was told that, when my reply was reported to Lord Palmerston, he said, ‘Mr. Hay may be a Tory, but he will do for diplomacy.’

On my appointment I was directed, before proceeding to my post, to attend for some weeks at the Foreign Office to learn the forms, &c.

Before the present Foreign Office was built there was, at the back of the old buildings, a street, the houses on the opposite side of which were overlooked by the rooms occupied by some of the junior clerks. In a window of one of these houses two elderly ladies used sometimes to be seated, sewing, and a youthful clerk was wont to amuse himself dazzling them by means of a looking-glass. The ladies wrote a note to Lord Palmerston, complaining of this annoyance; upon which his Lordship sent a memorandum to be circulated amongst the clerks:

‘The gentlemen in the office are requested not to cast reflections on ladies. P.’

After working for some weeks as an assistant clerk in the Foreign Office I was ordered to proceed, in the first place, to Alexandria, where I was to remain for some time to assist Colonel Hodges, then our Agent and Consul-General in Egypt—as there was a press of work in consequence of the question with Mehemet Ali—and was told that Lord Palmerston desired to know when I should be ready to start. I replied, ‘To-day.’ This pleased Lord Palmerston, but I was given three days in which to prepare, and told that, if I had not a carriage of my own, I was to buy one at Calais and post with all speed through France to Marseilles in order to catch the mail-packet thence to Alexandria. At the Foreign Office I was given £100 to pay all expenses.

Posting down to Dover, I crossed to Calais, and there bought, second-hand, a light britzska, in which I deposited the two huge bags of dispatches, of which I was in charge for the admiral at Malta and our agent in Egypt. As bearer of dispatches I had the preference over other travellers for fresh horses, and travelled very rapidly, day and night, arriving at Marseilles several hours before the packet left. After selling the carriage I had bought at Calais, I took a bath and had dinner at an hotel.

During dinner, I was waited on by two Maltese. Having finished, I requested that my bill should be brought; upon which, one of the waiters observed to the other sotto voce in Arabic, ‘We will not present a bill; let us charge him fifteen francs, and we will divide the five which remain over and above the charge for bath and dinner.’ Knowing Arabic, I understood the plot; so when they told me I had fifteen francs to pay, I replied that I wished to see the landlord before leaving. He was summoned and I then related to him what had passed between these rogues of waiters. Upon which he demanded very angrily what they meant, and one of them, very much flurried, replied foolishly that they had not supposed the gentleman knew Maltese! The landlord dismissed the two waiters from his service then and there, and I paid him his bill of ten francs.

It is remarkable that though Malta has been occupied by a great number of nations—Phœnicians, Romans, Arabs, Franks and English—Arabic is still the language of the inhabitants.

Before arriving at Alexandria, I learnt that the plague was in Egypt, and, having heard so many dread stories about this disease and the dangers incurred from contagion, I landed with my hair standing on end from terror, fearing I should be plague-stricken and die—as I had heard might happen—after a few hours’ illness.

There was much contention at that time between medical men at Alexandria regarding the contagion from plague. The chief Italian doctor—whose name I have forgotten—who was said to be very clever, mounted a donkey covered with oil-skin, the doctor wearing also clothing of a supposed non-contagion-bearing texture. He visited the plague patients, but carried an ivory wand with which he touched their ‘buboes.’

The other chief medical man was Dr. Lorimer, an Englishman, who did not believe in great danger from contagion but rather in the risk of infection from visiting, or living in, unhealthy quarters of the town where there were no sanitary arrangements.

These two doctors were on friendly terms, and when they met in the streets during their visits to plague patients, some banter generally passed. The Italian doctor was wont to salute Dr. Lorimer with ‘Tu creparai’ (Thou wilt die), and the latter returned the gloomy salutation with a ‘tu quoque.’ The Italian died of the plague whilst I was at Alexandria, but Dr. Lorimer kept in good health and was unremitting in his attendance on the sick, doing many acts of charity. He told me, in support of his theory of infection rather than contagion, that there were several houses in Alexandria of a better class, but situated in an unhealthy part of the town, whose tenants, even when observing the strictest quarantine, had caught the plague, whilst there were whole streets in a healthy quarter where no cases ever occurred.

Some years before, in Morocco, I had experience of the danger of going into dwellings where there is disease.

When the cholera morbus visited Tangier in 1836, Mr. Bell—at that time Consul under my father, and who had been surgeon on board Lord Yarborough’s yacht Falcon—devoted his spare time after office hours to attending, gratis, upon cholera patients and had much success: I sometimes accompanied him to interpret when he could not find an assistant who spoke Arabic, and on one occasion he requested me to aid him in giving directions to a poor Moor whose son was attacked with cholera. I accompanied Dr. Bell without fear, but when he requested me to lift the dying man, already looking like a livid corpse, to enable him to pour some liquid down his throat, I shuddered, and, trembling, held the man in my arms till the dose was administered. The patient died shortly after.

I returned home feeling ill and shaken; and, whilst standing before a fire trying to warm myself, was seized with terrible cramps and fell in pain on the hearth-rug. I was put to bed with bottles of hot water on my body. Dr. Bell was sent for, but was not to be found. Having heard that sometimes oil relieved pain in cholera, I got a bottle of good French oil and adding a few drops of laudanum to a full tumbler of oil, drank it off. This relieved the intense pain. When the doctor arrived, he approved of my remedy and said I had an attack of cholera asiatica.

The danger from plague by contagion cannot, however, to my mind be called in question. That dire disease was introduced into Morocco about the year 1826 by an English frigate which our Government had dispatched to Alexandria, where the plague was then raging, to convey from that port to Tangier two sons of the Sultan, returning from a pilgrimage to Mecca. No case of plague or other illness had occurred on board the frigate during the voyage, and the Sultan’s sons and other passengers were allowed to land at Tangier.

The Customs’ officers being suspicious that in the numerous boxes, brought by pilgrims who had been permitted to embark with the Moorish princes, contraband goods were being smuggled, caused some of the cases to be opened. One contained Egyptian wearing apparel, which the owner said he had bought second-hand, and subsequently confessed had belonged to a person who had died of the plague at Alexandria. The two Moorish officials who opened the boxes were attacked with the plague that night and died in a few hours. The disease spread rapidly throughout Morocco, carrying off eighty per cent. of those who were attacked.

Shortly after my arrival at Alexandria, I was presented to Mehemet Ali by Colonel Hodges. I need not give a description of this remarkable man, of whom so much has been written, but I was much struck by his keen eyes, like those of an eagle. The Colonel proved to be no match for him in discussing the grave questions then at issue regarding his desire to be independent of the Sultan’s sway, whilst Mehemet Ali showed markedly his personal dislike to the Irish colonel, who was hot-tempered and blurted out in very unguarded language the views entertained by the British Government at that time regarding Egypt.

On hearing that I was attached to the Embassy at Constantinople, Mehemet Ali fixed on me his eagle eyes with no friendly expression, and I could perceive, from words let drop then and afterwards, the extreme hatred his Highness entertained towards any one connected with our Ambassador, Lord Ponsonby, the persistent and successful opponent of his ambitious views.

About this time a portion of the Mahmud Canal was being dug by the unfortunate Egyptian fellahin, assisted by their wives and children, according to the ‘corvée’ system. Men, women and children dwelt in miserable hovels near the canal, and I have seen the wretched people working by thousands. A platter of bean soup and some coarse bread was all that each person received to keep body and soul together. No pay was given—or if any were made, it was retained by the overseers—and the greatest misery prevailed. I was told that there were two young fellah girls, sisters, who possessed only one garment between them; so whilst one worked the other remained in her hovel until her turn came, and then she donned the long blue shift and the weary one remained nude. Yet have I seen this joyous race, after emptying the baskets of earth they carried, filled with mud grubbed up by their hands, without aid of spade or other implement, singing and clapping their hands as they returned to the canal, balancing the empty baskets on their heads.

The Egyptians have been bondsmen for thousands of years, and are a degenerate and cowardly race.

On one occasion, when the younger son of Mehemet Ali, Abbas Pasha, a cruel tyrant, visited the canal, a wretched fellah, with hardly a rag to his back, walked to a mound of earth above where the Pasha stood and cried out to his fellow-workmen: ‘Slaves and cowards! There stands the tyrant. Strike and destroy him, or—if you have not the courage to strike—spit, and you will drown him!’ This rash but brave fellah was seized and beaten until he lay a corpse.

To give another instance of the cruelty of this monster, Abbas Pasha. It was the custom in Egypt for any one of position to be accompanied, when on horseback, by a ‘sais,’ or footman, who ran beside, or preceded, the rider; and it was astonishing how these men could keep up for miles with a horse going at a fast amble or trot. The ‘sais’ of Abbas Pasha, having run by the side of his master during a long journey, became footsore and, his shoes being worn out, begged that a new pair might be given him at the next village. The Pasha replied, ‘Thy petition shall be granted.’ On arrival at the village, Abbas Pasha ordered that a blacksmith should be sent for, and when he came said, ‘Bind the sais, and nail on his feet two horse-shoes; see that they are red hot before they are fastened on.’ This was done, and the tortured man was left writhing in agony, whilst the Pasha returned to Alexandria.

One day, finding that I was not needed at the office, I went for a ride. When I had gone about four miles beyond the town I met an Arab, mounted on a ‘huri,’ or dromedary, riding at a great pace towards Alexandria, his face muffled up, as is usual with these people. He stopped his animal as I passed, and, showing me a little object he had in his hand, said, ‘I hear you Franks care about these things, and am going to Alexandria to find a purchaser.’

It appeared to be a very beautiful gem, apparently cut in agate, of the head of Bacchus. On my asking where he had found it, he told me in some ruins at a distant spot. I offered him a few piastres for the gem: but he refused my offer, saying that he knew a similar object found on the same site had been sold by a friend of his for a sum equivalent in piastres to about £5.

Though not myself a collector of antiquities, my father was an archaeologist, and possessed a beautiful collection of coins, &c., and I decided on purchasing the gem as a gift to him: so, after some wrangling, I became the owner on paying about £2. The Arab, on receiving the money, turned back and rode off at a rapid pace.

Being very anxious to learn whether my acquisition was one of great value, I returned to Alexandria and called on the Austrian Consul-General, Monsieur Laurin, a collector of gems and other antiquities, and a great connoisseur. On showing him the gem he pronounced it to be a very beautiful work of art, and, if genuine, of great value and worth ten times what I had given; but said he really could not say without putting it to a test whether or no it were counterfeit. He informed me that imitations of all kinds of antiquities were imported from Italy and sold to travellers. When I related to him the incident of my meeting with the Arab, when riding out in the country, and the language and appearance of the man, he said there were Europeans at Alexandria who sold these objects, who were quite capable of hiring an Arab and his camel, and, on seeing that an English stranger was about to take a ride, sending him to encounter the traveller, in the hope of getting a good price.

With my permission, Monsieur Laurin used a penknife to scratch the back of the gem, which he said was agate, but he still hesitated in declaring, though he used a magnifying glass, whether the head of Bacchus was also cut on the agate or was composition. He said there was one way of solving the doubt, which would not injure a gem, but that if it were a counterfeit it would disappear,—which was to plunge it into hot water. He added that the head was so beautifully executed, it deserved to be kept on its own merits and not to be put under the test, as it would be greatly admired, he felt sure, by my father. I insisted, however, on the test being applied, so hot water was brought. Into this I dropped the gem, and in an instant Bacchus disappeared and I found myself the possessor of a flat piece of agate.

My father, as I have said, was an archaeologist. When he lived in the neighbourhood of Valenciennes, in 1826, a French labourer discovered, in the neighbourhood of that town, a beautiful bronze statue of Hercules, about eighteen inches high, and, hearing that my father bought coins and other antiques, brought it to him. The statue was then in a perfect state: the club was of silver, in the left hand were apples of gold; the lion’s skin over the shoulder was in silver, and in the eyes were two small rubies. My father made the man an offer, which he refused.

A few days afterwards he brought back the statue in a mutilated state—the club, apples, lion’s skin, and ruby eyes were gone, having been sold to a jeweller. My father gave the man 100 francs for the statue, and this beautiful work of art became his idol; though offered a large sum to part with it, he declined, and in his will bequeathed it to the British Museum, where it can be seen amongst other gems of ancient art. His collection of coins and other antiquities he left to the Museum of the Antiquarian Society in Edinburgh, of which he was for many years honorary secretary.

Dated June 27, 1840, Cairo, I find among my notes the following entry:—

‘Heard a good story of the last of the Mamelukes, a fine old Saracen, one of the very few who escaped the massacre at Cairo.

‘The old fellow had been invited to an evening party at the house of the former Consul-General, Colonel Campbell, where there was assembled a large party of ladies, to each individual of whom he determined, in his politeness, to address what he imagined to be the most flattering remark possible. Thus he made the tour of the fair sex, saying to each, “I see you will soon make a child!” accompanying his words with an expressive gesture. Married and unmarried were greeted alike! and to a young widow, a flame of the Colonel’s, notwithstanding her persistent denial and offended dignity, he repeatedly asseverated she would “make a child!”’

CHAPTER IV.
CONSTANTINOPLE AND LORD PONSONBY. 1840.

Colonel Hodges had been hospitable and very kindly disposed towards me, but I hailed with pleasure the day when I embarked—in an Austrian steamer, in consequence of relations being broken off with Mehemet Ali—to proceed to Beyrout and thence to Constantinople, to join the Embassy.

At Beyrout, where I spent a few hours, I went on board the flag-ship of Admiral Sir Charles Napier, where I heard it was decided to attack Acre, and that a battle was impending between the army of Ibrahim Pasha, and the Turkish and British troops commanded by General Smith.

On arrival at Constantinople, I presented myself to Lord Ponsonby, who, after listening to the tidings I brought, directed me to address him a dispatch reporting all I had related to his Excellency; adding, that I must lose no time in preparing it, as he was about to dispatch a messenger overland to England.

Never having written a dispatch in my life, though I had corresponded privately on passing events in Egypt with members of the Embassy at Constantinople and the Foreign Office, I felt very nervous—especially as the report was required immediately by his Excellency. Half-an-hour after my interview with Lord Ponsonby, while I was still writing, the late Percy Doyle, then first attaché, came in with a message from the Ambassador to request that my report should be brought to his Excellency at once. I said the draft was not quite finished, and that I wished to copy it out.

Doyle answered he must take it up at once to his Excellency, so, after I had scribbled the few lines that remained, without allowing me even to read it over, he carried it off. I waited for some time for his return and then, to my dismay, he announced that Lord Ponsonby had read my draft, and, as there was no time to have it copied, had enclosed it, as it was, in a dispatch to Lord Palmerston. It was published in the Blue Book, with other dispatches on Eastern affairs.

It was in this year, when a victory had been gained over the Egyptian army in Syria by the combined British and Turkish forces, that a number of trophies in flags, banners, &c., were sent by General Smith and Admiral Sir Charles Napier, who commanded the British forces, to the Ambassador to present to the Sultan.

A day having been fixed for the audience, Lord Ponsonby prepared the speech he proposed to deliver, and directed Mr. Frederick Pisani, Chief Dragoman of the Embassy, to write out a translation into the Turkish language, and to learn it by heart. He was instructed not to pay any attention to Lord Ponsonby’s utterances during the audience, but, when requested by his Excellency, he was to repeat the prepared speech, and subsequently the replies, which had likewise been prepared in answer to the Sultan’s language, of which his Excellency was able to guess the purport. Lord Ponsonby gave these directions, as he knew that Mr. Pisani was a nervous man, and might find it difficult on such an occasion to render the Ambassador’s language adequately into eloquent and polite Turkish, if not prepared beforehand.

The Ambassador and members of the Embassy in uniform, with numerous kavasses, proceeded in the state kaik from Therapia to the Sultan’s palace.

To each attaché a banner or flag was given, to carry for presentation at the audience. To me was allotted a Turkish banner, on a very long pole, with crescent and spear.

All the ministers and other dignitaries of the Porte were assembled at the palace, and stood in two lines on each side of the Sultan, as the Ambassador and suite entered the reception hall.

Keeping my eyes fixed upon the Sultan as I entered, I lowered unwittingly the pole and banner, which were very heavy, and nearly carried off on the spear the fez of one of the ministers. This ‘gaucherie’ produced a suppressed giggle from an attaché.

The scene that followed was very ludicrous, especially as Lord Ponsonby had not warned the members of the Embassy of the nature of the address he was about to deliver, or of the instructions he had given to Mr. Pisani. Advancing with great dignity near to where the Sultan stood, and putting out occasionally his hand as an orator might do, Lord Ponsonby commenced with a very grave expression of countenance, counting ‘one, two, three, four, five,’ &c., up to fifty, occasionally modulating his voice, as if he desired to make an impression upon the minds of his hearers, putting emphasis upon some numbers, and smiling with satisfaction and pleasure when he reached the higher numbers of thirty up to forty. Of course his Excellency knew that the Sultan, his ministers, and other officials at the Court were not acquainted with the English language.

On concluding, he turned to the interpreter and motioned him to speak. Mr. Pisani recited in very eloquent and flowery Turkish the Ambassador’s prepared speech.

When Lord Ponsonby commenced the enumeration, I hid my face behind the banner, and pinched myself sharply, to check the outburst of laughter which inwardly convulsed me.

The Sultan replied, expressing his sense of gratitude to the British Government, his thanks to the British naval and military forces and their Commanders, as also to the Ambassador. This Mr. Pisani translated. Then Lord Ponsonby commenced again to count from sixty upwards, pausing now and then as if dwelling upon particular numbers, which by his voice and gesture it would appear he desired especially to impress on H.I.M.’s mind.

Mr. Pisani again repeated the language which he had been desired to prepare.

The trophies were handed over to Turkish officers appointed by the Sultan to receive them, and the Ambassador and his suite retired.

Not one of the Turkish officers present during the audience appeared to have the slightest suspicion of what was taking place, and even if they had subsequently learnt that the Ambassador had counted instead of making a speech, they would have comprehended that the desire of his Excellency was that his prepared speech should be clearly and properly translated by the interpreter on such an interesting occasion.

It was at this time that Bosco, famed for sleight of hand and magic art, visited the Turkish capital; and Lord Ponsonby—who never went out at night, not even to a dinner or reception at other Embassies—being desirous of witnessing the performance of this renowned magician, invited Bosco, who was a gentleman by birth, to dinner to meet a large party, requesting that he would entertain the company after dinner by his marvellous sleight of hand.

Bosco arrived a little time before dinner was announced. The room was crowded, and he was introduced and entered into conversation with several of the guests. During dinner he was quiet and unassuming, and did not take part in the general conversation; but just as Lady Ponsonby was preparing to move, Bosco rose and, turning to the Ambassador, said, ‘I beg your Excellency’s permission to say a few words before the company leave the table. It has been a high honour to have been invited by your Excellency to dine in company with such distinguished men and noble ladies; but I feel that it would be an act of ingratitude on my part were I to conceal from your Excellency proceedings which have been passing both before and during dinner, and which have come to my knowledge through the extraordinary gift of vision I possess, and the faculty of perception of the acts and movements of those around me. Humble individual as I am, I have no hesitation in declaring that the very unusual proceedings in which certain persons in this society have taken part might reflect, in some degree, upon all present—even upon myself, a poor conjurer, who has been thrown into their company—should it be known that I have associated with gentlemen and ladies, whose conduct might be stigmatised as criminal!’

He spoke thus with such a grave countenance that even Lord Ponsonby seemed puzzled, and thought the man was demented.

Bosco continued, ‘Your Lordship cannot but admit that the grave charge I have put forward is not without foundation, when I declare that in the coat pockets, or the breasts of the waistcoats, of several of the gentlemen there will be found some of your Lordship’s silver spoons—and the selection has not been confined to the clean alone.’

The guests put their hands into their pockets, from which they extracted spoons and forks still greasy from use, salt spoons, tops of cruets, &c. Great merriment ensued, especially on the part of the ladies at the expense of the unfortunate men who were thus proved to be guilty.

Then Bosco, turning to some ladies who were on the opposite side of the table, and with whom he had been holding a lively conversation before dinner, said, ‘That noble lady,’ indicating one, ‘ought hardly to laugh at the disclosure I have made, since it will be found that she has secreted in the bodice of her dress the bouquet of one of the gentlemen, who has since been making a vain search for it, having possibly received the pretty flowers from another fair hand.’

The lady flushed up angrily; but, in searching, found the lost bouquet concealed in the folds of her dress.

Then turning to another, he said, ‘Madame, you cannot be justified in speaking, as it appears to me I have heard you doing, regarding the gentlemen who took possession of his Lordship’s spoons, when you will find, concealed in your hair, an ornament which rightfully belongs to that lady upon whose person sparkle so many beautiful jewels.’

The ornament in question was found fixed in the hair of the accused.

In the evening, Bosco explained the extraordinary gift he possessed of sleight of hand and of his being able—while calling the attention of the person, with whom he was conversing, to some indifferent object or otherwise distracting attention—to abstract, by an instantaneous and almost imperceptible movement, some ornament from their person and again to be able to place, or cast it with precision, wherever he desired. He also explained the trick which many have of shuffling cards, so that when dealing at whist or écarté, &c., he could put into his own hand or that of others the cards he pleased. He added that, though possessing this extraordinary faculty from boyhood, he had never taken advantage of it in a dishonest or unworthy manner except when, as quite a youth, he desired to go to Paris to make his way in the world as a conjurer, and his father, a poor gentleman, had not been able to give him more than a few gold pieces wherewith to defray the expenses of his journey. He described how he had started with his knapsack from some town in Austria, occasionally travelling by diligence, and passing the nights at inns on the road. During the journey, Bosco said, he frequently had a gold piece changed, and whilst the change was being delivered he managed to recover the gold coin, and thus arrived at Paris with sufficient means to enable him to live until he found employment. ‘Since then,’ he added, ‘I have been an honest man.’

Other recollections of those days follow.

Lord and Lady Londonderry arrived at Constantinople and called on the Ambassador, and Lady Londonderry requested his Excellency to present her to the Sultan.

As the presentation of a European lady to H.I.M. had never been heard of in those days, Lord Ponsonby declined to take steps to meet the wishes of the fair lady, on the plea that such an unprecedented request might give annoyance to the Sultan. Lady Londonderry was, however, determined to gain her point, and also to show Lord Ponsonby that if he had not sufficient influence to obtain such a special favour from the Sultan, another Representative might be found who would pay more attention to her wishes.

Lady Londonderry had made the acquaintance at Vienna of Baron Stummer, the Austrian Ambassador at Constantinople, who, though he had not the powerful influence which Lord Ponsonby then enjoyed, was regarded by the Sultan and his Ministers as a very important personage to whose wishes it was politic and advisable to attend.

Lady Londonderry made known her request to the Baron, who at first demurred for the same reason as Lord Ponsonby; but pressed by the fair dame—who pleaded that she only asked for a private interview with the Sultan—and knowing that Lord Londonderry held a high position in his own country, he promised to mention her wishes to Reshid Pasha, who was at that time Minister for Foreign Affairs and spoke French fluently, to ascertain whether it was possible that such an extraordinary favour could be granted by H.I.M.

Reshid Pasha raised many objections; but being most desirous to please the Austrian Ambassador, he informed him that there was one possible way by which the lady could be brought very privately into the presence of His Majesty. He had heard, he said, that the noble lady travelled with untold wealth in diamonds, &c.: the Sultan was passionately fond of jewelry, of which he made frequent purchases; and possibly His Majesty might consent, on learning that there was a person in Constantinople who had a large assortment of jewels, that she should be allowed to bring them herself to the Palace. Should His Majesty consent, the Pasha informed the Baron, no one but himself (Reshid) and Lady Londonderry would be present at the interview with the Sultan, and in such case he would act as interpreter.

Reshid Pasha having made known to the Sultan that a person had arrived at Constantinople with a wonderful collection of most valuable jewelry, asked whether His Majesty would like to see them.

The following conversation is said to have taken place:—

Sultan. ‘Let the jewelry be brought and prices stated.’

Reshid. ‘This individual never trusts the jewelry to any one, and would have to come in person.’

Sultan. ‘Bring the jeweller.’

Reshid (in a hesitating manner). ‘I beg your Majesty’s pardon for indelicacy, but it is—it is—a female[4], and she always carries the jewels on her person when she wishes to dispose of them for sale, and never puts them in a case.’

Sultan. ‘Bring her, and let her put them all on. You come also, to interpret.’

Reshid returned and told the Baron he might inform Lady Londonderry that she would be presented at a private audience by him, but that the Sultan, having heard of the fame of her jewelry, had particularly requested she would put it all on, and he, the Pasha, hoped therefore she would raise no objection to such a strange request.

Lady Londonderry was very good-natured, and being much amused at the condition made by the Sultan, consented to put on all her most valuable jewelry.

On arrival at the Palace, Reshid Pasha conducted Lady Londonderry into the presence of the Sultan. Her dress glittered with diamonds, pearls, turquoises, and other precious stones.

‘Pekkei—good,’ said the Sultan (as Lady Londonderry curtseyed), ‘she has brought magnificent jewels.’

Reshid (turning to the lady). ‘His Majesty graciously bids you welcome.’

Lady Londonderry bowed and expressed her thanks in French.

Reshid (interpreting). ‘She says she has other jewelry, but could not put on all.’

Sultan. ‘Ask her what is the price of that diamond necklace.’

Reshid. ‘His Majesty inquires whether this is your first visit to Constantinople.’

Lady Londonderry. ‘It is my first visit, and I am delighted with all I have seen.’

Reshid (to Sultan). ‘She asks a million of piastres.’

Sultan. ‘That is too much.’

Reshid (to Lady Londonderry). ‘His Majesty asks whether you have seen the Mosques. If not, offers you a firman.’

Lady Londonderry expresses her thanks.

Sultan. ‘What price does she put on that set of turquoises?’

Reshid (to Lady Londonderry). ‘His Majesty says that perhaps you would like to take a walk in the garden.’

Lady Londonderry expresses her thanks, and would like to see the garden.

Reshid (to Sultan). ‘She says 400,000 piastres.’

Sultan. ‘Take her away, I shall not give such prices.’

Reshid (to Lady Londonderry). ‘His Majesty graciously expresses satisfaction at having made your acquaintance.’

Lady Londonderry curtseys low and withdraws from His Majesty’s presence to visit the garden with the amiable and courteous Reshid Pasha.

* * * * *

In the summer months at Constantinople, Turkish ladies and their children were wont to drive in ‘arabas’ to the ‘Sweet Waters.’ Groups of Mohammedan women of the better class, with their families and slaves, were to be seen in picturesque dresses reclining on carpets and cushions, enjoying coffee, sweetmeats, &c., under the shade of the fine old trees on this beautiful spot. Men were not allowed to approach the ground where the women were seated. Kavasses warned off intruders; but the members of Embassies, especially when accompanied by a kavass, were not interfered with, even if they walked near the groups of women.

Turkish ladies in those days wore the ‘yashmak’ or veil, supposed to cover their faces, but worn so low as frequently to expose even the mouth, and at the ‘Sweet Waters’ yashmaks were thrown aside still more, thus displaying embroidered jackets, bright-coloured belts, and silk or cotton ‘shalvas.’ Turkish women, even the far-famed Circassians, are not in general pretty, but they have fine eyes and a piquant expression.

When passing these groups of ladies, I have often heard humorous remarks, evidently intended to reach the ears of the unabashed ‘Frank’ who had ventured to intrude amongst them.

One evening, when taking a walk, I had wandered to a secluded spot, when I suddenly came upon two Turkish ladies and a slave taking coffee. One of the ladies looked up and smiled, making some remark to her companion, evidently about myself, the purport of which I did not quite understand. I merely returned the smile and walked hurriedly away, for the dinner-hour at the Embassy was approaching. I had gone but a short distance when I heard some one running up behind me. On turning round I was accosted by an old black woman, who, in a breathless voice, said, ‘Khanem’ (my mistress), ‘whom you have just passed, requests that you will give her a pin for her dress.’

As I happened to have a pin, I was about to hand it to the slave, when she said, ‘Khanem wishes you to bring it to her;’ adding, in a whisper, ‘there is no one near, and she has something to say to you.’

Looking at my watch, I replied it was late, and requested her to tell her mistress that I was sorry I could not comply with her request, adding, ‘Tell me, who is your beautiful khanem?’

The slave replied, ‘She is the wife of the late Sultan Mahmud’s dwarf.’

I had already heard something about this lady, but having a vivid recollection of a late adventure of Baron B., a member of a foreign Legation and a particular friend of mine, whom I had helped out of a serious scrape where his life had been in great danger, and who had been obliged to quit Constantinople suddenly (having been given to understand that unless he left the country his recall would be required by the Turkish Government), I made up my mind not to satisfy my curiosity by seeking for an interview with the fair Circassian.

The next day, I requested a Turkish police officer of high rank, who had aided me in helping Baron B. out of the scrape to which I have alluded, to tell me what he knew about the wife of the dwarf, not mentioning, however, the incident which had occurred at the ‘Sweet Waters.’

The officer then related the following tale:—

‘Sultan Mahmud had a humpbacked dwarf, with a hideous countenance, but who was renowned for wit and humour. This monster was frequently admitted by the Sultan into the harem when H.M. was seated with his odalisques enjoying the “chebúk.”

‘To please the ladies, the dwarf was made a constant butt, both by H.I.M. and the odalisques, and he answered them by his gibes and ready repartee: having full permission to say what he pleased, even should he cast reflections on H.I.M.’s sacred person.

‘Amongst the odalisques who happened to be present one evening, was a tall Circassian of great beauty, with a graceful figure. She was very lively, and in order to amuse the Sultan, had made pert remarks about the admirable figure and handsome countenance of the dwarf, thus giving rise to much merriment, in which the Sultan Mahmud joined. Turning to the dwarf, H.I.M. said, “Now if you can kiss Leila (the tall Circassian) she shall be your wife.”

‘The dwarf replied, “Can a dog reach the moon? Can a bramble entwine the top of the lofty cypress?”

‘The Circassian continued to make fun of the dwarf, who appeared to take no further thought of the Sultan’s words, though it was observed he kept his eye on her tall figure.

‘Later in the evening, when the pipe which the Sultan was smoking had to be renewed, Leila bent down for that purpose. In a moment the dwarf, watching his opportunity, sprang up and kissed her as she stooped. She struck him, and, in a volley of violent and passionate language, implored the Sultan to punish him for his insolence and outrage.

‘The dwarf exclaimed, “The Commander of the Faithful, the Sultan of Sultans, has spoken. His word cannot be broken. I claim Leila for my wife.”

‘The Sultan looked displeased; and, after a pause, with a severe expression on his countenance, ordered the dwarf to leave the room; then, turning to Leila, said, “Retire. Henceforth consider yourself the wife of the dwarf. A dowry shall be given you, and the wedding shall forthwith take place. Depart from my presence. I see you no more.”

‘The Circassian, as she left the room, turned towards the dwarf, who was also about to withdraw, and cursed him, saying, “Monster! The day will come when you will rue and bitterly repent your cruel treachery.”

‘Leila duly became the wife of the dwarf. She drove about in her “araba” through the streets of Pera, and, wearing a transparent “yashmak” lowered to the chin, even entered the shops, and conversed—when not observed—with Europeans. She visited the studio of a French artist, by whom her portrait was painted in water-colours, and of which she allowed copies to be taken to present to favourite Franks with whom she became acquainted. Her conduct became a source of great scandal, and was brought under the notice of the Sultan.

‘H.I.M. said, “Let her be free to do what she pleases. I committed a great injustice in giving her to the dwarf; but my word could not be set aside.”’

The police officer having thus concluded his story, I inquired where the French artist lived, and, calling on him, offered to purchase a copy of the portrait. He told me he could not give it without the consent of the wife of the dwarf. I then requested him to let her know that the ‘Frank,’ one of the British Secretaries, of whom she had requested the gift of a pin at the ‘Sweet Waters,’ begged for her portrait. Her consent was thereupon given, on condition that I should not show it to any one in Constantinople.

I paid a round sum for the water-colour, and on my return to England, after Lord Ponsonby had resigned the post of Ambassador, I gave the portrait of the beautiful Circassian to Lady Ponsonby—from whom I had received great kindness—as a souvenir of Constantinople.

* * * * *

Very extraordinary hours were kept at the Embassy: we rarely sat down to dinner before 9.30, and frequently not till ten p.m. At eleven o’clock Lord and Lady Ponsonby had a rubber of whist in which I was always required to take a hand, it being thought I knew more about the game than the other members of the Embassy. As his Excellency required that Lady Ponsonby should be his partner, and as that charming lady knew very little about the game, they almost invariably lost.

After whist, Lord Ponsonby was wont to request one of the attachés to remain and converse, and his Excellency would then hold forth for hours upon events present and future, both in Turkey and Egypt; foretelling much that has since happened to the ‘Sick Man.’ One night, when it was my watch, and I had listened to his Lordship until I nearly fell asleep and was conscious that dawn was approaching, he rose, opened one of the blinds and said, ‘The sun is rising. I think it is time, Mr. Hay, to go to bed. Have you followed and understood my views upon the Eastern Question?’ I answered, I had, to the best of my ability. ‘Then,’ said he, ‘have the goodness to embody to-morrow in a memorandum all that you may have retained.’ Observing that I looked aghast at having such a task imposed upon me, he patted me on the shoulder and added, ‘Well, well, don’t trouble yourself. Eat, drink, and sleep; the rest’s a joke.’

There was great charm in the manner of both Lord and Lady Ponsonby, and they showed much kindness to all the members of the Embassy. There was not one of us who would not have been ready to make any sacrifice of time and pleasure to meet their wishes.

Lord Ponsonby was not a wealthy peer, but his expenditure was lavish as far as the table was concerned. Briant, a Frenchman, was steward and head cook, and his wife was maid to Lady Ponsonby. They received £400 a year between them for their services, but it was well known by the members of the Embassy that Briant, during the few years he had been at Constantinople, had been enabled to deposit several thousand pounds in one of the banks at Pera, levying a heavy percentage on everything that he purchased, wine included, and some of which it was discovered he was in the habit of selling to an hotel in Pera; so when any member of the Embassy passed a night in the town and dined at the said hotel, he always called for ‘Chateau Briant’! An old friend of Lord Ponsonby’s, who remained for some months on a visit at the Embassy, hearing of the scandalous manner in which Briant was accumulating money at the bank, thought it would be a friendly act to make known to his Lordship that which was in the mouth of every one—Briant’s system of peculation. He did so. Lord Ponsonby thanked him for the information and observed, ‘How much do you think Briant robs annually and deposits in the bank?’

‘At least £1000 a year,’ his friend replied.

‘Pray,’ said Lord Ponsonby, ‘pray keep what has passed between us most secret; I had thought Briant’s pilferings far exceeded that sum. I would not, for double that amount, lose such an excellent chef. Keep it secret, Mr. ———, keep it secret!’

Though he may not have possessed the brilliant talents of his successor, the great ‘Elchi,’ Lord Ponsonby acted with much energy, decision, and success in carrying out the views which he knew were entertained by that most admirable of statesmen, Lord Palmerston, regarding the Turkish Empire at the time when Mehemet Ali, backed by France, was seeking to declare his independence, and to place Egypt under the aegis of the latter power; to attain which object has been, and is, the aim of France even up to the present day.

The Sultan, Abdul Mijid, and his Minister, Reshid Pasha, accepted thankfully and unreservedly the dictum of Lord Ponsonby in all questions—and as long as Palmerston was at the head of foreign affairs, Lord Ponsonby carried out his views in the East without a check, notwithstanding the vigorous opposition made by the French Ambassador, Monsieur Pontet, and the constant threat that extreme measures would be adopted by France under certain contingencies; but when Lord Aberdeen came into power and sought to pursue a conciliatory policy towards France, Lord Ponsonby received dispatches, couched in a spirit which pointed out distinctly that he should moderate his action in support of the Sultan against Mehemet Ali’s pretensions. From private letters that Lord Ponsonby received from friends at home, he knew more or less what was the tenor of the instructions contained in those dispatches, so he did not break the seals but continued to follow up vigorously the same policy as before, until the object he had in view, viz., Mehemet Ali’s submission to the Porte, was achieved, and then Lord Ponsonby retired, or was required to retire.

It happened one day that I was standing near the Ambassador at his writing-table whilst he was giving me directions to convey a message to an Armenian banker of the Porte, upon a monetary question affecting the interests of the Turkish Government. He pulled open the drawer of the table at which he was seated to get out a paper, and I caught a glimpse of several sealed dispatches, addressed to his Excellency, from the Foreign Office. Lord Ponsonby, whilst closing the drawer, perceiving, as I suppose, an expression of surprise on my face, looked up with a smile, and re-opening the drawer, said, ‘You are astonished, Mr. Hay, at seeing such a number of Foreign Office dispatches lying here unopened: so am I!—for though I had certainly left in this drawer a few sealed letters, they have since been breeding;’ adding, whilst he re-closed the drawer, ‘Let them breed!’

Those were days when an Ambassador possessed extraordinary powers, and could carry out a policy which he considered best for the interests of his country, without allowing himself to be fettered by the vacillating views of Government and be moved—as now happens—like a puppet, by telegraph wires or other rapid means of communication.

In pursuance of instructions received from Lord Ponsonby, I called on the Armenian banker, before mentioned, at his private dwelling. This was a beautiful house, fitted up in the same manner as was then usual with Turks, for the Armenians of Constantinople at that time adopted the Turkish mode of living. The Armenian women veiled their faces and wore costumes similar to those of the Mohammedans, except that their slippers were red, whereas those used by Turkish females were yellow.

After making known to the porter who I was, and that I had come upon an errand from the Ambassador, the old banker came to meet me, led me to a room set apart for receiving his guests, and seated me on a luxurious divan. He was attired in a handsome Armenian costume, wearing a black head-dress much like an inverted iron cauldron.