I was dining that evening at the Oxford and Cambridge Club with Mr.

Andrew Lang. When I arrived there I was ushered into the club drawing-room, with the intimation that Mr. Lang would join me in a moment, and that I would find another of his guests already in the room.

I stepped to the fireplace, where this gentleman was standing, and my feelings may be imagined when I discovered that it was the very man who had pointed us out at the window of the Reform Club a few hours earlier.

He was Mr. Charles Elton, then one of the members for Somersetshire. I saw that he did not recognise me, but the desire to confess my offending was irresistible. "You were at the meeting at the Carlton Club this afternoon, were you not?" I said to him. He looked at me rather curiously, before replying in the affirmative, and then added, "But you were not there?" "No," I said, "but did you observe anything curious at the Reform Club?" At once his face lighted up with angry intelligence.

"Yes!" he said, "I did. There were a couple of scallywags"--it was the first time I had ever heard this modern term of reproach, and it is not surprising that I have nearly forgotten it--"watching us through opera-gla.s.ses from one of the windows, and signalling to a man whom they had put on the top of our club, and who was listening through the ventilator to the speeches." No words can express the sense of relief I felt when I heard this absurd statement. "No," I replied, "I a.s.sure you that you are mistaken. I am sorry to say that I was one of the scallywags who were looking out of the Reform Club, and I apologise sincerely for my untimely curiosity; but we had only one opera-gla.s.s between us, and we had n.o.body posted on the top of the Carlton Club to listen to the speeches. Upon that you may rely." Elton stared at me for a moment, and then burst into a roar of laughter, in which I joined him. It was an immense relief to me to have got the burden off my soul; but I had received another proof of the frequency with which that long arm of coincidence a.s.serts itself.

As a result of the pa.s.sing of the Franchise Bill, and the creation of single-member const.i.tuencies which accompanied it, a Boundary Commission had to be appointed, to settle the boundaries of the new electoral divisions. In order to prevent gerrymandering it was agreed that this Commission should not only be quite independent of both parties, but that it should have absolute powers. Its chairman was Sir John Lambert, secretary of the Local Government Board; and his powers were, of course, very great. Forster, coming to see me one day, began to talk to me about the Boundary Commission, and the supreme powers vested in Sir John Lambert. Suddenly he burst into a chuckling laugh, and I knew that he had a story to tell me. "I was going up the stairs of the Local Government office to see Lambert the other day," he said, "and I met ----,"

mentioning the name of the former holder of a subordinate Government post, "coming down. 'Hullo, Forster!' he cried, 'what in the world are you doing here?' 'Well, I was just going to call on the most powerful man in England,' I replied. ---- took off his hat and made me a low bow. 'I hope you didn't undeceive him,' I said. 'Oh, yes, I did,' replied Forster. I told him that I didn't mean him, but Sir John Lambert." I wrung my hands over this fresh ill.u.s.tration of my friend's inability to set his sails in such a fashion as to catch the approval of others.

It was over this redistribution question that I had the only difference of opinion I ever had with Forster. He was an ardent supporter of the single-member const.i.tuency, or _scrutin d'arrondiss.e.m.e.nt_, as the French call it, in opposition to _scrutin de liste_. I, on the other hand, foresaw that the new system would break up the powerful political a.s.sociations in our great towns, and thus destroy a political force which I believed to be of great value. I fought strenuously in the _Leeds Mercury_ against what I styled the vivisection of the great boroughs; but I need not say that I fought in vain. I had many a good-humoured argument with Forster on the subject, but he would never admit that I was right, though after twenty years' experience and observation I am only now strengthened in my original opinion.

Before this time I had aroused Forster's anger--anger which never hurt--by the action I had taken, in common with some of my Liberal friends in Leeds, with regard to the School Board election. We found that the c.u.mulative vote in a large const.i.tuency was almost unworkable. It had resulted in Leeds in the election, at the head of the poll on one occasion, of a mere demagogue of no account. In order to obviate any further misfortune of this kind my friend Mathers, the honorary secretary of the Liberal a.s.sociation, devised a plan under which the town was divided by the Liberals into different divisions. To each of these divisions we allotted certain candidates, and we asked the electors who sympathised with us to vote only for the candidate allotted to the division in which they lived. The plan proved a brilliant success, for we carried all our candidates at that election, and this method of getting over the difficulties of the c.u.mulative vote was afterwards adopted in all large towns, including London. Forster was greatly wroth at the time, and told me that he looked upon the scheme as a dishonest attempt to evade an Act of Parliament.

Those were the years of the dynamite outrages. Certain desperate Irish societies, chiefly financed and recruited from the United States, were seeking to advance the Home Rule cause by terrorising the people of England. "Holy dynamite," as that powerful explosive was christened, was the weapon employed, and some very daring outrages were committed in London and other places. The most notable of these were the simultaneous attempts to wreck the House of Commons, Westminster Hall, and the Tower of London. These audacious crimes were committed on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon.

I spent the whole of the next morning reading and a.n.a.lysing the telegrams in which full details of the occurrences were given, and in writing an article for Monday's _Mercury_ on the subject. In the afternoon I went over to Wakefield to keep an engagement I had made to dine and sleep at Thorns, the residence of my friends Mr. and Lady Catherine Milnes Gaskell. I well remember the scene when I entered the beautiful library at Thorns, about five o'clock. There was a large party there, including the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of St. Albans, Mr. and Mrs. Goschen, and Mr. W B.

Beaumont, of Bretton.

When I was announced, Gaskell jumped up from his seat, saying, "Now we shall have news!" and instantly the whole party flocked round me, eager to know the truth as to the wild rumour which was all they had as yet heard of the devastation wrought by the dynamiters in London on the previous day. My morning's work had, of course, qualified me to satisfy their curiosity, but the questions they poured in upon me were so numerous and so eager that I was at last obliged to ask them to sit down, and let me tell the story in my own fashion, which I accordingly proceeded to do amid the breathless attention of my auditors. The scene is worth recording as a characteristic incident of life in England in those days. We had an enemy, subtle, daring, and dangerous, actually waging war upon us within our own gates; and though the invincible courage of our race enabled us to pursue our own way in spite of the new terror that had arisen amongst us, we were none of us, as this scene in the library at Thorns proved, insensible to the horror of the situation, and the deadly character of the weapons used against us.

At this time all the leading members of the Liberal Government were under police protection, and Forster, as being the special object of Irish animosity, was also treated in this respect as though he were still a Minister. Some Ministers, it was a.s.serted, not only enjoyed, but desired, the constant companionship of armed detectives, and amusing stories were told of the way in which they arrived at Mayfair dinner-parties accompanied by "stern-faced men" with revolvers in their pockets. I shall not repeat these stories, for I cannot bring myself to believe that any English statesman has been the victim of physical cowardice. Others, among whom Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Forster were conspicuous, loathed the presence of the police agents d.o.g.g.i.ng their footsteps, and keeping watch at their doors, and tried in every possible way to evade them. Mr.

Gladstone, with the collar of his overcoat turned up to his ears, used suddenly to dash out of the garden door at the back of Downing Street, and attempt, by running across the parade at full speed, to get rid of his bodyguard. Occasionally he succeeded, but I am told that as a consequence he had so severe a wigging from the Home Secretary and the Chief Commissioner of Police that he was at last compelled to abandon his efforts to secure his unfettered liberty of action. Forster managed to obtain exemption from the obtrusive services of a bodyguard, but a policeman kept watch and ward by day and night in front of his house in Eccleston Square, not only to his disgust, but to that of one of his neighbours, who quitted his abode rather than continue to live near so dangerous a character. "I often wonder," said Forster to me one day, "what I shall do if I find an infernal machine on my doorstep when I come home some night. I know what it is my duty to do. I ought to take it up, and throw it into the middle of the square, but I am terribly afraid that I shan't have the pluck, and shall simply turn round and run away."

n.o.body who knew Forster could believe that he would ever have acted in any such fashion.

I had my own small experience at this time of trial. Threatening letters were flying about, and I received a fair share of them, for I was at that time very obnoxious to the Irish party in Leeds. One evening, on going down to my office, which I entered from a narrow thoroughfare called Bank Street, I was startled by being suddenly called upon to halt when near the office door, whilst a policeman's lantern was flashed in my face. One of our workmen explained my ident.i.ty to the officer, and I was allowed to pa.s.s. I then learned that the Leeds police had received information of a plot to blow up the _Mercury_ office, and they had, accordingly, posted guards round the building. I was in the habit of driving home every night, or rather every morning, to my residence at Headingley, and the police suggested that I should be accompanied by an officer; but I did not believe in my danger, and desired no such protection. In the depths of one winter's night, when a thaw was dissolving a heavy fall of snow, I had a great fright. I had left my cab, which had driven away, and was mounting the steps leading to the porch of my house, when I suddenly saw, lying on the half-melted snow against the door itself, a large bundle wrapped in sacking. I drew near it cautiously, and heard a curious ticking sound proceeding from it. "An infernal machine!" I exclaimed to myself, and I confess I was horribly frightened. The outer door of the porch was unlocked, and, opening it, I bounded inside, carefully avoiding the object which I suspected. I unlocked the inner door, and, entering the house, locked and barred it behind me.

Then, when I got into my dining-room, reason a.s.serted itself, and I felt heartily ashamed of my panic. If the thing were an infernal machine, it would certainly do a great deal of damage if it exploded where it lay. I strung my nerves up to the sticking-point, went out, unlocked the door, seized the mysterious package in my hands, and flung it as far as I could into a little shrubbery in the garden. There was no explosion such as I had expected. Nothing, indeed, happened; but when I got back to my dining-room, and saw my face in a mirror, I found it was as white as a sheet. The next morning I went out to look for the infernal machine. It was a coa.r.s.e sack, filled with blocks of wood and sawdust, and I have a strong suspicion that it had been placed where I found it as a practical joke. The ticking which I had heard, and which had convinced me that I had to deal with an infernal machine, was evidently produced by the drip, drip of water from the bag on the step beneath it. Such were features in the lives of men more or less before the public eye in the years of the dynamite terror.

In the summer of 1885, along with many others, I met with a great loss.

This was the death at Vichy of my dear old friend, Lord Houghton. No kinder friend than he man ever had. The world was inclined to laugh at his peculiarities, which lay upon the surface, and to ignore the sterling qualities that formed the basis of his character. If it is right to speak of a man as you find him, then I am ent.i.tled to say that there never lived a kinder or more generous man, or a truer friend, than Monckton Milnes. To me he was all this. I have told already the story of our first acquaintance in 1870, and of the debt which I very soon owed him. I could fill a volume with reminiscences of his talk, as I used to hear it during my frequent visits to Fryston, and of the warmth of his sympathy with one who had no claim upon him. I have made many friends in the course of my life, and looking back upon the list I am constrained to say that I have made more friends through the mediumship of Lord Houghton than through that of any other man.

Among those whom I first met at his house, I must not omit Edward, fourteenth Earl of Derby, better known in his time as the Lord Stanley who served as Foreign Secretary under the premiership of his brilliant father, the thirteenth Earl. Lord Derby--the man of whom I speak--was one of the great misunderstood figures of his generation. Men slandered him as freely as they slandered Mr. Gladstone, and, unlike the great Liberal leader, he did not possess that strong following of ardent adherents who stood by their chief, no matter how sternly Fortune might frown upon him.

Lord Derby was one of the shyest of men, and, as a consequence, he was really known, even when he was in the thick of his political work, by only a few men and women. Those who did know him held him, however, in the highest esteem. There was no better judge of character than Lord Houghton, and often he would remark upon the fact that Lord Derby was almost as unpopular as his father had been the reverse. He cited this as a proof of the incapacity of the public for forming correct estimates of character. I had been in confidential correspondence with Lord Derby long before I first met him at Fryston, and in 1879 I wrote an article in _Macmillan's Magazine_ dealing with his career at the Foreign Office, and with his reason for resigning his post in Lord Beaconsfield's Administration. This article was written on information which he supplied, and he himself corrected the proof-sheets. Yet these facts did not prevent some of the c.o.c.ksure critics of the Press from announcing that I was wholly mistaken in my account of Lord Derby's action and motive. I have found, however, that nothing is so certain to meet with an absolute contradiction in the Press as an indubitable fact which comes as a piece of unexpected news to the ordinary journalist.

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

He was amazingly frank in his criticisms upon men and upon current affairs.

The outer world believed him to be the most cautious and prudent of men, weighing every word before he uttered it, and never making a rash remark, whereas he was very much the reverse. I have, for example, heard him discuss the characters of European statesmen with an unreserved freedom that was startling. He was fond, too, of pa.s.sing criticisms upon great political questions that staggered one by their boldness. I think it was in 1883 that he told me that, in his opinion, there was no future for the Tory party. Conservatism as a force was played out, and the destinies of the country must henceforth be controlled by Liberals. I am trying to give a slight sketch of the man as he really was, and not as he was believed to be by the contemporary public. If he was neither so wise nor so cautious as men thought him, he was infinitely more charming and more human, and all who really knew him mourned his death as a personal loss.

When I first met him he was in a state of political transition. Although he had made up his mind to sever his connection with the Conservatives, he had taken no open steps in the direction of the other camp. The first time he ever entered a Liberal club, and made a political speech in it, was when I got him to go to the Leeds Liberal Club to receive an address from the members. He is one of the most distinguished of the figures I a.s.sociate with Fryston and its gifted owner.

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

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

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

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

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

We shipped heavy seas, and were undoubtedly very near foundering.

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

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

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

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

In the early summer of 1885 I ventured, for the first time during my editorship at Leeds, to take a holiday whilst Parliament was sitting. It had always previously been my rule never to leave my post during the session of Parliament, but in 1885 everything seemed to be in a state of profound calm, so far as the political world was concerned. General Gordon was dead, but the Ministry had survived his loss. It had even survived the ignominious collapse of the attempt to "break the power of the Mahdi at Khartoum" which it had professed to make. One knew that bitter intrigues were in progress behind the scenes. But now that Mr.

Forster was off the scene Mr. Chamberlain seemed bent upon trying conclusions with Mr. Gladstone himself, and was preaching those doctrines of an extreme and Socialistic Radicalism which the Conservatives frankly denounced as being based on the policy of Jack Cade. But time was needed for the successful development of the new political movement, and meanwhile public affairs seemed to be running in a very humdrum course. I thought it, in consequence, a favourable opportunity for carrying out a long-cherished intention of visiting the Land of the Midnight Sun.

Accordingly, at the beginning of June I went over to Bergen in a Wilson steamer from Hull. The vessel was crowded with salmon-fishers and their wives, going to Norway for the summer fishing. I was much amused by the extreme clannishness of these persons. They absolutely refused to exchange a word with anybody who was not going to Norway for purposes of sport. Those of us who, like myself, were going there either for health or to see the country were regarded by the salmon-fishing people as intruders, whose presence on the scene was to be actively and rudely resented. I have travelled much in my time, and have had only too many opportunities of observing the ridiculous and offensive behaviour of the English sn.o.b when he finds himself in foreign parts; but I do not think that I ever saw sn.o.bbish vulgarity carried further than it was by the salmon-fishers on this Wilson steamer in the summer of 1885.

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

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

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

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

I had left Hull on the 2nd of June, and after parting from my chance companions of the _Eldorado_, had not seen a single Englishman, or heard a sc.r.a.p of English news, until I found myself at Tromsoe, within the Arctic circle, on June 17th. The captain of my vessel, knowing that I wanted to hear what was going on at home, drew my attention to the fact that a steam collier from Leith had just arrived in Tromsoe Harbour, and suggested that I should go on board and get the latest newspapers.

Accordingly, I went off in one of the ship's boats to the grimy collier.

It was eleven p.m., but the sun was shining brilliantly. For some time I hailed the vessel in vain, but at last a black-faced man who was manifestly one of the officers thrust his head through a port and asked what I wanted. I told him that I had come to see if he had any newspapers from home. "I will go and see," he said, in a strong Glasgow dialect, and presently he returned with a copy of the _Glasgow Mail_ of June 3rd, and threw it down to me. I was disappointed that he had nothing of a later date, and after thanking him for his kindness was returning to my own steamer, when a sudden thought occurred to me, and I said, "Have you heard any news later than this?" holding up the newspaper. He considered for a moment, then shook his head reflectively, and said, "Na, I've heard naething later." So again I started on my way to the ship. I had not gone more than a yard or two when I heard him calling to me loudly. Once more I put back. "I forgot to tell ye that they've kicked oot that blasted auld deevil, Gladstone." "What!" I exclaimed, in incredulous horror.

"Kicked out Mr. Gladstone! What do you mean?" "I mean that they've kicked him oot of office, and a d----d good job, too."

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

From Trondhjem I made hot haste by rail to Christiania, and taking the first steamer for Hull, which to me seemed to make haste slowly, returned to my own country to face the unexpected fact that a great political revolution had suddenly occurred, and that the Tories were once more in power.