CHAPTER VIII.

1914-1915.

“Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our chivalry!”

It took Francis a long time to realize that Rivy was dead. He was about to return to the battle line; death was everywhere; already many of his friends had fallen; he himself might follow at any moment; his mind was a little dulled to the meaning of mortality. He did not think of the blankness of his future without Rivy, for there was no reason to expect that it would be long. His predominant thought was how splendid his brother had been in life and how glorious in death, and he wanted every one to realize this. But the acute personal loss had not yet come home to him. Of the many letters which he received, I think he was most touched by that of the King of Spain:—

“DEAR FRANCIS,—I never knew that Rivy had joined the Ninth. I thought he belonged to the Yeomanry. You cannot imagine what a blow it has been to me, and I can guess what you must feel. We followed all the fine work you did, and Bend Or’s coming to your rescue, and I was sure that I would be able to drink with you both on your V.C. I never would have believed that Rivy would have died before me, and he a civilian. Do write when you can, old man, and tell me everything. Please give your brothers and sisters all my sympathies. I have lost a friend, and I can only tell you that he has found the finest of deaths: he died for his country on the battlefield. You are a soldier, and know what I mean. You know that I am no good at making phrases, so good-bye, old man. I hope you will recover soon. Believe me always your devoted friend,

“ALFONSO.”

To Lord Grey Francis wrote:—

“I wired to you on Saturday when I heard the news, for you were one of his best friends. Rivy died for old England, and no Englishman could do more. We won the Champion Cup together, and I bought him the horse on which he won the Kadir, and we have been through good times and bad, and on the 24th of August we went into action together and faced the bullets side by side. We have worked, played, and fought together, and always shared everything. After thirty-four years of inseparableness it was on the battlefield that we parted, and only death—the most glorious death of all—has now compelled us to separate for ever, at any rate in this world.

“My dear Lord Grey, you were a very, very good friend to Rivy, and you and your family have done all you could to enrich and ennoble his life. He dearly loved you all, and valued nothing more in the world than your friendship, and admired nothing more than your character. I hope that since we can no more talk of the ‘Twins’ you will always remember Rivy and accept the gratitude of your broken-hearted friend.”

And to me:—

“Rivy’s death will hit you as hard as it has hit me. He was so very fond of you. You were his most loyal friend, my dear John, and I hope you will accept the great gratitude of his twin, and whenever you think of Rivy I hope you will say to yourself, ‘He knew I always stood by him through thick and thin.’”

Rivy for him was still a living personality, separated only by the exigencies of warfare; and he wanted all their friends to think of him and talk about him, and not merely hold him in pious memory, as if by some such affectionate concentration of thought he could be recaptured from the pale shades.

Meantime he was on tenterhooks to be back at the front, and on the evening of 8th October he left England to rejoin his regiment. At the moment the British army was moving to the extreme left of the Allied line, in the hope of turning the German northern flank. He travelled with his Colonel, David Campbell, who had now recovered from his wound got on the Marne. On the 12th he found the regiment at Strazeele, and to his delight discovered that it was on the verge of going into action. To be among his old friends again both soothed and cheered him. “Several still call me Rivy,” he wrote to his uncle. “I am so glad it goes on.”

The 1st Cavalry Division, now under De Lisle, to which the 2nd Brigade belonged, was engaged in reconnoitring the ground in front of General Pulteney’s 3rd Corps. Pulteney’s business was to get east of Armentières, astride the Lys, and to link up Smith-Dorrien at La Bassée and Haig at Ypres. The enemy was in Merris and Meteren, and the 9th Lancers were drawn up at Strazeele, while the 4th and 6th Infantry Divisions attacked. It was a day of heavy rain and thick steamy fog, the fields were water-logged, aircraft were useless, and the countryside was too much enclosed for cavalry. The infantry succeeded in their task, and by the morning of the 14th Pulteney held the line Bailleul-St. Jans Cappelle. Francis notes in his diary: “I could not help observing on my return that the war was affecting the spirits of all a little: there was much more seriousness than when I left.”

The stage was now set for that First Battle of Ypres which was to last for three weeks between Dixmude and La Bassée,—which will live in history as one of the greatest military achievements of Britain, and which was at once the end and the apotheosis of the old British regular army. On the 15th Francis took over “B” Squadron again, and told the men how glad he was to get back to them, and how proud he was to hear of the way in which they had behaved since he last saw them. He told them that the war would be long, and that this was not the time for any man to count his losses. That day he marched through a steady rain to Locre. The next day, starting very early, he marched through Ploegsteert village and Ploegsteert Wood; and at Le Gheir was instructed to attack and carry the Lys crossing at the bend of Pont Rouge. The squadron took the village, but found the bridge strongly barricaded, and the enemy entrenched on the far side of the stream. Francis asked permission to swim the river, and when this was refused he begged for reinforcements so as to carry the barricade. To his disgust, however, he received orders to retire. “Before leaving we buried Private Lake at a farm 800 yards south of the Pont Rouge. Owing to our nearness to the enemy we had to carry on the burial service in the dark, which was not nice. At the service I said, ‘Here lies a brave British soldier who has died for England and the 9th Lancers, and no man could do more.’ Then I said the Lord’s Prayer, and afterwards thought of the poem to Sir John Moore.”

Next day “B” Squadron was in reserve, and was consistently shelled all day; very disquieting for cavalry, who had to think of their horses. On the 18th Francis was at Le Gheir again, and “B” Squadron was once more instructed to attack Pont Rouge with infantry support. The aim was to clear the right bank of the Lys, for Pulteney was still doubtful about the strength of the enemy, and had some ground for assuming that the only Germans there were the mixed cavalry and infantry he had been pressing back for a week. As a matter of fact the 3rd Corps was now approaching the main German position, and in spite of the brilliant work of the cavalry could not win the right bank of the river. Pulteney was firmly held at all points from Le Gheir to Radinghem, and his position on the night of the 18th represented the furthest line held during the battle by this section of our front. Francis’s fight on the 18th was much the same as that on the 16th. “B” Squadron could not get near its objective because of the machine-gun fire, and was only extricated by the aid of two companies of Inniskilling Fusiliers.

It was now necessary to connect Pulteney with the infantry further north, and a link was provided by the whole Cavalry Corps under Allenby. On the night of the 19th Allenby was generally east of Messines on a line drawn from Le Gheir to Hollebeke. On the 20th Francis found himself on the Messines Ridge supporting the 4th Dragoon Guards, who were holding St. Ives. Here they had another ugly scrap, and late in the evening had to support the Household Cavalry at Warneton. The day before he had written to his uncle: “This war is damnable. We have such nasty jobs to do, and are always under fire; but the spirit of the men is splendid. Our infantry and cavalry outclass the German, but their artillery is excellent. Our present job is pretty disheartening. We go forward and capture positions for the infantry, who are entrenched four miles behind and move terribly slow. We are then withdrawn, and have again to recapture the same position next day. Eventually the infantry come up and take the place, assisted by divisional artillery—the same place we took three days before with a squadron.”

The 9th Lancers were gradually being transformed from cavalry to infantry, and a passage in Francis’s diary shows how severe were the duties. “We have started the same old game as at the Aisne, and we have had five of the hardest days of the war in trenches repelling German attacks. It has become such a recognized idea to use us for this work as soon as we get in touch with the enemy that I am afraid all the cavalry traditions are for ever ended, and we have become mounted infantry pure and simple, with very little of the mounted about it. Our men look funny sights trudging along with spades and things on their backs, and when they are mounted they look funnier still: if you see a man carrying lance, sword, rifle, spade and pick, he looks just like a hedgehog. But it is a jolly hard life for them to have to fight their way up to the line, then make the line, then hold it, and all the time cleaning and trying to look after their horses.” “Do you know any one who would send me an armoured motor car with a Maxim?” he wrote to his uncle. “I have written to Winston that the thing would be invaluable now.”

On the 21st and 22nd the regiment was engaged on the Messines Ridge in support of the 5th Cavalry Brigade. On the 23rd they were actually at Messines, then still the semblance of a village, with its church still a church and not yet a ragged tooth of masonry. The cavalry were holding a trench line to the east of the place, where they were most completely and continuously shelled. On the 26th they were sent south to support Smith-Dorrien’s 2nd Corps in the fighting around Neuve Chapelle. It was a critical moment, for the 7th Infantry Brigade, which had been in action for eighteen days, had been forced back west of Neuve Chapelle and had almost ceased to exist as a fighting force. That day an attempt was made to recapture the village. The attack was too weak to succeed, and the most that could be done with the assistance of the cavalry was to take up a good defensive position on the west. On the 29th the 9th Lancers were back at Neuve Eglise, behind the Messines position. That experience gave Francis his first notion of the real seriousness of the German attack. Before, he had been confident, and had credited every optimistic rumour; now he saw that the enemy was indeed flinging the dice for victory, and that the scanty British forces were faced with preposterous odds.

On 29th October, as we know, began the critical stage of the First Battle of Ypres. The chief danger points were at the apex of the salient around Gheluvelt and on its southern flank about Zillebeke. But there was also an attack at the southern re-entrant, and heavy fighting along the whole Messines Ridge. On the 30th the 1st Cavalry Brigade was holding the line before Messines, and the 9th Lancers were sent up in support. Francis’s squadron, however, was detached to assist the 4th Cavalry Brigade at Wytschaete. Allenby, it must be remembered, at the time was holding the whole line from Klein Zillebeke to the south of Messines, and he had no reinforcements except two much-exhausted battalions of an Indian brigade from the 2nd Corps. The British public, who compared a cavalry regiment to an infantry battalion and a cavalry squadron to an infantry company, forgot the disparity in numbers. A cavalry regiment was only 300 strong as against 1,000 men of an infantry battalion, and a squadron only 46 as against 200 of an infantry company.

That day Francis’s work lay in entrenching a position in the Wytschaete neighbourhood. In the evening he was sent for to report to his Colonel at Messines. He arrived there to find the situation growing desperate. The front north of the village was becoming untenable. He took his squadron to the old trenches east of Messines which it had occupied two days before. It was now only 40 men strong—far too few to hold the ground. All the night of the 30th he was heavily fired on, and the enemy could be seen moving about on his left flank. He found his Colonel, and showed him the danger of the position. The most that could be done, however, was to throw back a trench on the left at a sharp angle to prevent outflanking.

Saturday, 31st October, was the crisis of the battle. It saw the menace to the Salient itself repelled by one of the most heroic exploits in our record, but it also saw the end of Messines. The events of that day are best told in an extract from Francis’s diary.

“After an anxious night, in which I did not sleep at all, we stood to arms, and were ready for the attack which came in due course at daybreak. At about five a.m., quite close to us, I heard horns blowing and German words of command and cheering, and I knew that the Germans had attacked the Indians on our right. Basil Blackwood came and told me the Colonel wished me to send two troops to support the right at once, and I sent Mather Jackson and Sergeant Davids. The latter I consider to be one of the bravest men in the British army, and regarded him as the backbone of my squadron. I regret to say that was the last time I saw him, as during the attack he was badly wounded and captured by the Germans. During the night, when I felt anxious, he was so calm that I went and consoled myself by a talk with him. We discussed the principles of fighting, and he said that the principles on which he acted were that if you were killed by a shell it was just bad luck, but that in an attack he considered himself as good as any German, and it was only a question who got the first shot in. He was very quiet throughout the night—in fact at one moment I had to do a lot of kicking at him to wake him when I thought the position serious.

“I was now left with two very weak troops—that is, from 15 to 20 men and a machine gun. Suddenly, about twenty yards to our rear at daybreak there was a rush of men from some houses. To my utter astonishment they appeared to be Germans. Apparently the enemy had done what we thought he would do during the night: he had got round my extreme left, and unfortunately, instead of attacking me he had attacked the troops on my left, who had given way. The Germans were therefore round us at a distance of 100 yards. They took a house, ran up to the top storeys and fired straight into my trench. Poor Payne-Gallwey, who had only joined two nights before and was in action for the first time, was shot in the head from behind and killed. Reynolds was shot through the head, and several more were wounded. I was on the extreme right of the trench when this was reported to me. I had decided to hang on when I became aware that ‘C’ Squadron, who were in front and could protect my front, had received orders to withdraw. At this moment heavy fire was directed on our trench, not only from the rear but also from the left flank, where the Germans had brought up a machine gun. Luckily the bullets went a bit high. I ordered the men to retire from the right and crawl out of the trench to the houses that were on their right in the brickfield. When I got there I met Major Abadie, who said to me, ‘Well, Francis, what do you think of the situation?’ I cannot remember exactly what I said, but I think I told him that I thought the Germans were attacking from front and left, and that I had no trench facing that way to meet the attack, the troops on my left having gone away. This was the last I saw of him. He looked exactly the same as usual and was in the same cheery mood, taking everything light-heartedly, as was his custom.

“I now waited in a ruined house in the rear of the first barricade, and am bound to say I felt in a quandary as to what to do. I felt very guilty at leaving my trench, but at the same time I felt it was useless to hold it.... Suddenly I heard a machine gun still firing at the extreme end of our old trench. It had been left behind, so I left the squadron at the house and went back along the trench until I reached the gun, where I found Corporal Seaton with another man in action, the Germans being from 20 to 40 yards off. I told him I thought he had better retire, and that I would help him out with his gun; but he said that as the man with him was wounded, and something had gone wrong with the gun, he thought it best to leave it behind and completely disable it. He retired along the trench. I remained there awhile, firing at Germans with my revolver. My firing was not very steady, and although I could see Germans lying down quite close I could not take careful aim, as I was being shot at from front, flank, and rear. I picked up one or two rifles to fire with, but they jammed. I then realized that this was no place for the squadron leader, so crawled along the trench and rejoined my squadron near the ruined house.

“Here I received orders to hang on, and was told that ‘C’ Squadron, under Major Abadie, had been ordered to attack the house in our rear with the bayonet. I was again in a dilemma what to do, but pulled myself together, hoping I should be inspired to do the right thing. The only inspiration I got was a sort of feeling within me to go back and hold my trench, so I assembled the squadron and told Mather Jackson and Frank Crossley that I proposed to reoccupy the trench. They thought this might be difficult, as the Germans seemed to have got into the end of it. However, feeling that it was the right thing to do, and confident that we should get from traverse to traverse as quickly as the Germans, and that I could fire in front quicker with my revolver than they could with their rifles, we went back to the trench and reached the extreme end of it. After being there a few moments the officers reported that we were being shot at from front and rear. I ordered them to tell the odd numbers to fire to the front and the even numbers to fire to the rear and to hang on. I went to the extreme left of the trench, where I could see the left flank. There I could see some Germans running back, but about a thousand yards off one or two German companies advancing, covered by skirmishers in excellent order. We picked up at least six rifles to fire at them, but they all jammed.

“I again felt uncertain what to do. Our position seemed really ridiculous—most of our rifles having jammed, and the Germans all round. I sent word back to ‘C’ Squadron to advance as quickly as they could against the house, saying we should cover their advance from where I was; but they replied that it was impossible for them to move. As the only use I could be at this time in my trench was to cover the advance of ‘C’ Squadron, I decided to leave it again, and assembled the squadron under heavy artillery and machine-gun fire near the ruined house. I found the Colonel, and told him the situation. He told me we were to hold on at all costs. He said that infantry were advancing to support us, but could not be up for some time—I think he said two o’clock. He told me to hold the small ridge facing north, and reinforced me with two troops of the 5th Dragoon Guards. I went back, and on the way spoke to Lennie Harvey, who was standing with his troop in the road. I also passed Raymond Greene. I told Lennie Harvey I had had orders to hold the ridge, which I pointed out to him, and told him to hold the ridge on my left. This, I believe, is the last that was seen of that officer.... We were now being very heavily shelled by coal-boxes, and it really seemed as hot as any one could wish for. There seemed to be nothing in the air but shells, and the bursting of the coal-boxes made a most terrific noise. Personally, I had the feeling which I have had before, the same as one gets at the start of a steeplechase, when the starter says ‘Off.’

“At this moment a shell pitched right into the middle of my squadron and blew it to the winds. Several of the men were very badly wounded—especially Corporal Newman, to whom I gave some morphia. I myself was hit through the leg, and felt I could not move. Luckily for me Mather Jackson and another man took hold of me and carried me back. On the way we passed Beale Brown and told him what had happened—that the front of the town was untenable owing to the shells, and that all that could be done was to attack the Germans on our left. I was then carried back to the second barricade, where I met Charles Mulholland and also General Briggs, to whom I explained the situation. Mulholland took me to a house where the 11th Hussars’ doctor was, and I was taken down to the cellar, where there were a lot of wounded. After I had had some rum and my wound dressed I was sent through the town to an ambulance, which took me to Bailleul.

“On arrival at Bailleul a terrible fire suddenly opened in the streets, which was very alarming to us caged in the ambulance. Luckily it proved only to be firing at an aeroplane. We were taken to a convent, and my stretcher was put down, curiously enough, alongside Basil Blackwood and Jack Wodehouse. Basil Blackwood and I, I have since heard, were the only two to escape that day from Messines.”

Francis’s second wound was a serious one in the thigh. He was sent to Dublin, and complained that after a journey of two nights he was farther from England than when he started. “I am in a home,” he told his uncle; “very comfortable, indeed, in a room with two others. The nurses are quite splendid. The surgeon has done our dressings much better than anything before and made us all comfortable. In addition to this every one in Ireland has been to see us. Our room is so thick with flowers it is hard to breathe. Ivor Wimborne has fitted us all out with glorious pillows, razors, brushes, etc. I could not possibly be more comfortable or in better hands.”

On the 17th he read in the _Gazette_ the news of his Victoria Cross. “I have been through so much since June,” he wrote to his uncle, “that what would and should have made me yell with joy nearly causes tears. It gave me no great feeling of having achieved anything. I feel that I know so many who have done and are doing so much more than I have been able to do for England. I also feel very strongly that any honour belongs to my regiment and not to me. They have paid the toll, and will go on paying until the road is clear.... My dear uncle, without the help of Providence how futile our efforts are; but with it even humbugs like myself can masquerade as brave. It will be a lifelong pleasure and honour to your nephew to know that you, one of the greatest soldiers of our time, who have done so much for our name and have been so kind to Rivy and me, should have lived to see this day. Indeed, the greatest joy of all is that it will please you.”

For five months he remained in England, and the first three were, I think, the hardest trial of his life. He was slow to get well, and limped about London with a thin face and haggard eyes, looking like a man searching for something which he could not find. Now he realized what his brother’s death meant to him. The alliance of thirty years was broken for ever, and he had lost half of himself. His looks at that time used to frighten me: he had the air which in Scotland we call “fey,” as if the “waft of death” had gone out against him. He forced himself to be cheerful, but his gaiety was feverish and his old alacrity had died. I remember that he tried to interest himself in the general conduct of the war and would argue eagerly for a little—and then suddenly fall silent. For things more poignant than tactics and strategy crowded his mind. He never doubted our ultimate victory, but meantime Rivy was dead and every day his friends were dying, and it seemed as if the price of victory would be the loss of all that he had loved.

He was miserable, too, at being away from his regiment and his squadron. No man who has not served in a unit in the field can understand the intimate ties which bind together its members. It is so small and so forlorn—a little clan islanded amid great seas of pain and death. The regimental tradition becomes a living thing like a personal memory. Old comradeships in sport and play and the easy friendliness of peace-time are transformed into something closer even than friendship. Every communal success becomes an individual triumph, every loss an individual sorrow. More than most regular officers Francis had this aching affection for his regiment—the devotion of “a lover or a child.” At Christmas he sent this message to his squadron:—

“I wish you all the very best of luck and good wishes for Christmas and the New Year. I am always thinking of you, and hope very soon to return. Sir John French said the regiment had exceeded the greatest traditions of the army, and in this ‘B’ Squadron has played the leading part. You were the first squadron of the regiment in action at the beginning on 24th August, and have since always given the lead. Remember the brave that have fallen, and be determined to serve England as faithfully as they.

“You have all my very, very best wishes and thoughts. God bless you and keep you, and help you to remain the finest squadron in the world—the only squadron that has got for itself already a D.C.M., a Legion d’Honneur, a commission, and a V.C., for what is won by the leaders belongs to the men. God bless you all.”

Slowly, very slowly, his wound mended, and he began to look more steadily upon the world. Old friends, such as Mrs. Asquith and Lord Hugh Cecil, did much to restore his balance; and when he went to spend Christmas with his brother Arthur, who was training with the Bucks Yeomanry in Norfolk, he was beginning to be himself again. In January 1915 he took up shooting, for which he had never greatly cared, and discovered that on occasion he could be a brilliant shot. Then he advanced to hunting at Oakham on Harry Whitney’s horses, and in March he reported to his uncle that he was “a fighting man once more.” “It is glorious to feel strong and well, but I am bound to say the stronger and better I get the more I seem to realize what it means to have lost Rivy.” And he adds a characteristic note: “I am glad to say my nerve has gone—in the right direction. Fences are not as frightening as bullets. It is a joke to be afraid of things that are there to shelter cattle and not to kill you.” He had been suffering from too clear a perspective, seeing human effort too constantly against the cold background of eternity. Now he could look upon life in partitions, and accept the kindly conventions which humanity has devised to shelter it from the outer winds. Therefore, as he put it, he became “keen” again; for keenness means that the mind is fixed on the various _stadia_ of the game of life, and not on the horizon.

When he was passed fit for foreign service he made a new will, appointing the late Lord Grey and myself his executors and trustees. His affairs were very complicated, and it was by no means certain that he had much or anything to leave; but with characteristic optimism he made elaborate dispositions among various members of his family. He left his medals to his regiment, “to whom the honour of my gaining the Victoria Cross was entirely due, thanks to its splendid discipline and traditions.” I quote the last two clauses.

“I wish to express my regret that my financial position does not permit me to leave anything to the children of my uncle, Francis, Lord Grenfell, as I had hoped to do, but I should like to express to him my deep gratitude for his kindness to me during my lifetime. Ever since the day when he decided that I should go into the army at his expense I have endeavoured to base my career on his example. He has, since the death of my father, done everything that a father could do for me. I should also like to thank all my brothers and sisters for their kindness, generosity, and hospitality to me. No junior member of a family could have been blessed with more happy relations.

“I should like everything possible done at all times for mine and Rivy’s friends, notably the Hon. Mrs. Arthur Crichton, Mrs. Duggan, the Countess of Erne, the Countess of Dudley, Lord Francis Scott, Lord Grey, the Hon. Angus McDonnell, Mr. and Mrs. Waldorf Astor, Mrs. Brooks, the officers of my regiment, including Brig.-General Campbell (who has stood by me in peace and war on every single occasion), Mr. and Mrs. Strawbridge, Captain Clowes, the Earl of Rocksavage, and the many others who have on all occasions stood by me and to whom I am deeply grateful. My special thanks are due to the Duke of Westminster for his great generosity and kindness to me on many occasions. No man ever had a better friend. I owe a great deal of gratitude to my servants, who have served both my brother and myself most loyally for a long time. Without making any legal obligations, I would like my family to do what they can to assist the Invalid Children’s Aid Association, as my brother Rivy asked me.”

On 7th April he gave a farewell dinner at Claridge’s. It is an occasion I can never forget, for it was the last time I saw him, and it seemed to me that he had recovered and more than recovered all his old ardour and youthfulness. The party were his brother Arthur, Lord Grenfell, Reggie Barnes, Mr. Arthur Balfour, Mr. Winston Churchill, Mr. Andrew Weir (now Lord Inverforth), and myself. It was on that occasion, I remember, that Mr. Churchill first expounded his views about those instruments of war which were to develop into the Tanks. The discussion roamed over the whole field of military and naval policy, and I have rarely heard better talk. Some of the best of it came from Francis, and I realized how immensely his mind had ripened and broadened in the past months. I began to think that if he were spared he would be not merely a gallant leader of troops but a great soldier.

Francis rejoined his regiment on Wednesday, 21st April. He found the 9th Lancers in billets at Meteren, where they had been training on and off for several months. “I must say,” he wrote, “I am mighty glad to get back here, for this life is made for me.... I find pals everywhere. I somehow never seem to go anywhere out here without finding friends.” Next evening orders suddenly came to saddle up and support the French north-east of Ypres. In the April twilight a strange green vapour had appeared, moving over the French trenches. It was the first German gas attack, and with it the Second Battle of Ypres began.

The 1st Cavalry Division marched through Poperinghe to the canal, and for two days supported the French on the extreme left of the battlefield. The Ninth were lucky enough to have no casualties, and on the Sunday they returned to their quarters at Meteren. A week later, on 2nd May, when the second great German attack was delivered, they were moved into reserve behind the Salient. On the 6th they were in Ypres itself, and on the 7th they were back in Meteren, under the impression that their share in the fight was over.

Those who remember the Salient only in the last years of the campaign, when it had become a sodden and corrugated brickyard, can scarcely conceive what the place was like during the throes of the Second Battle. The city of Ypres was dying, but not yet dead, and its solemn towers still stood, mute protestants against the outrage of war. To the east of it the meadows were still lush and green, and every hedgerow and garden bright with lilac, laburnum, and guelder-rose. It was a place of terror, but also a place of blossom. The sickly smell of gas struggled with the scent of hawthorn; great riven limbs of flowering chestnuts lay athwart the roads; the cuckoo called continually from the thickets. The horror of war seemed increased a thousandfold when shells burst among flowers, and men died in torture amid the sounds and odours of spring.

On 3rd May the British line had been shortened, and on the 12th it was possible to relieve the 28th Division, which had been fighting continuously for twenty days. Its place was taken by a cavalry detachment—the 1st and 3rd Cavalry Divisions under De Lisle. Their front ran from the Frezenberg ridge southward across the Roulers railway to the Bellewaarde Lake north of Hooge. Francis, who had been uneasy waiting behind the line, welcomed the change. “Here we are,” he had written, “sitting peacefully behind like the next man to go in to a fast bowler. You don’t want to go in, and yet you would like to be knocking about the bowling.” His brigade took up position in the front line late on the evening of the 12th. The trenches had been much damaged, and it was necessary to reconstruct the parapets and traverses.

Thursday, 13th May, a day of biting north winds and drenching rains, saw one of the severest actions of the battle. The German bombardment began at three a.m., and in half an hour parapets were blown to pieces, and the whole front was a morass of blood and mire. The heaviest blow fell on the 3rd Cavalry Division south of the Roulers railway, but the 1st Division did not escape. Its two brigades in line, the 1st and 2nd, were able to maintain their ground, but it was by the skin of their teeth. The 9th Lancers’ front was held by “C” Squadron, under Captain Graham, on the left, and “B” Squadron, under Francis, on the right. On the left were the 18th Hussars, whose trenches were utterly blown to pieces. A gap presently appeared there, but the advancing enemy was stopped by machine-gun fire from a fortified post which Captain Graham managed to create in the nick of time. All day the battle lasted, and by the evening the right of the cavalry front towards the Bellewaarde Lake sagged backward. During the early night the bombardment revived, and it was the turn of “B” squadron to have their right flank exposed. The situation, however, was saved by the opportune arrival of the 11th Hussars. At one a.m. on the morning of the 14th the Ninth were relieved, and went back to water-logged trenches in front of Ypres, whence late that evening they were withdrawn to Vlamertinghe. They had lost 17 killed and 65 wounded, and “B” Squadron 16 killed and 30 wounded, including all troop leaders and sergeants.

Francis’s part in the great fight is only hinted at in his diary. “The most fearful bombardment lasted for fifteen hours. It is wonderful how one escapes. These cursed coal-boxes burst all down the trench, but often missed us, often only by two or three yards, but that makes all the difference. Whatever is in store for the future, I shall never be nearer death than I was on the 13th. The spirit of the men was simply splendid. No one dreamed of retiring, and when some Huns began advancing there was a cheer of ‘Hurrah! at last we shall get our own back!’ Unfortunately one of our own shells pitched near them, and they ran like hares. Oh, dear! What a lot of friends I have lost.” He mentions casually that during the whole battle he “felt keen and never lost confidence.” Indeed he seems to have behaved throughout as if he were having a good day in the Shires. Francis in war had much of Lord Falkland’s quality, as recorded by Clarendon. “_He a courage of the most cleere and keene temper, and soe farre from feare that he was not without appetite of daunger, and therfore upon any occasyon of action he alwayess engaged his person in those troopes which he thought by the forwardnesse of the Commanders to be most like to be farthest engaged, and in all such encounters he had aboute him a strange cheerefulnesse and companiablenesse._” These last words are most apt to his case. During the 13th, when generals and staffs were in utter perplexity as to where the line stood, and were receiving scarcely varying messages of disaster, the report which Francis sent back to General Greenly was a welcome relief. He concluded thus: “What a bloody day! Hounds are fairly running!”

On the 16th General De Lisle addressed the regiment. “I have to congratulate your squadron as usual,” he told Francis. “I hope you will tell the men how very grateful and proud I am of the way they helped me to hold the line.” The Ninth were given two days’ rest, and on 18th May moved again into the Salient. There they remained in support till the night of Sunday the 23rd, when they took over the front line from the 15th and 19th Hussars at Hooge. Colonel Beale-Browne had under his command, in addition to the Ninth, 400 of the Yorkshire Regiment and 120 of the Durham Light Infantry. His front was divided into two sections—the right being held by “A” Squadron under Captain Noel Edwards, with 120 Yorkshires and 120 Durhams; the left by “B” Squadron under Francis, with the two regimental machine guns and about 200 Yorkshires. “C” Squadron, under Rex Benson, was in support. Raymond Greene, acting as second-in-command, was in general charge of the left section.

On the morning of Sunday the 23rd Francis, along with his Colonel, attended early Communion. I have said little of that religion which was so strong a feature of his character, for it was of the simple and vital type which is revealed more in deeds than in phrases. He was never at ease in Sion, and shunned the professions of facile piety. But he did not lose his childlike trust in God, and drew strong and abiding comfort from a creed which was as forthright and unquestioning as a mediæval crusader’s. He and Rivy during their brief campaign together read the 121st Psalm every morning. Francis never went into a match, much less a battle, without prayer. For men like Bishop Furse he had a profound regard, and whenever he got the chance would bring him to talk to his squadron. His Colonel, who knew him in those last hours when men’s hearts are bared, has borne witness how much his religion meant to him.

The dawn of Monday, 24th May, promised a perfect summer day with cloudless skies and a light north-easterly breeze. About three a.m. the cavalry in the trenches saw a thick yellow haze, thirty feet high, rolling down from the ridge a hundred yards before them, and the air was filled with a curious pungent smell. They had had no previous experience of gas, and in twenty seconds the cloud was upon them. Then came the German guns, making a barrage behind to keep back reinforcements. Though our respirators at the time were elementary the cavalry managed to weather the gas, and held their ground through the seventeen long hours of daylight that followed. It was the last phase of the battle, and the German assault broke for good on that splendid steadfastness.

But a high price was paid for victory. In the small hours of the 25th a little party of some forty men stumbled in the half light along the Menin road, through the crumbling streets of Ypres, and out into the open country towards Vlamertinghe. Those who passed them saw figures like spectres, clothes caked with dirt, faces yellow from the poison gas. They were all that remained of the 9th Lancers. Their Brigadier, General Mullens, met them on the road, but dared not trust himself to speak to them. “Tell them,” he told the Colonel, “that no words of mine can express my reverence for the Ninth.” Next day General Byng, who commanded the Cavalry Corps, visited the remnant. “Put anything in orders you like,” he said. “Nothing you can say will be adequate to my feelings for the old Ninth. Of course I knew you would stick it, but that doesn’t lessen my unbounded admiration of you all.”

With them they brought the body of Francis Grenfell. When the attack opened and the infantry on the left fell back, he was busy converting a communication trench into a fire trench, and shouting out in his old cheery way, “Who’s afraid of a few dashed Huns?” He stood on rising ground behind the trench when he was shot through the back. He managed to send a message to his squadron, the true testament of the regimental officer: “Tell them I died happy, loving them all.” Then he who had once lived cheerfully in the sun, but for months had been among the fogs and shadows, went back to the sunlight.

He was buried in the churchyard of Vlamertinghe, and beside him was laid Sergeant Hussey, one of the most gallant N.C.O.’s in the Ninth. Some one said at the graveside, “How happy old Hussey would have been to know he died with Francis.”

I have quoted already from Clarendon’s character of Falkland, and if it be permitted to construe knowledge in terms not of academic learning but of self-understanding and self-mastery, the closing words of the tribute to the young Marcellus of the Civil War may be Francis’s epitaph: “_Thus fell that incomparable younge man in the fowre-and-thirtieth yeere of his Age, havinge so much dispatched the businesse of life that the oldest rarely attayne to that immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not into the world with more innocence. Whosoever leads such a life neede not care upon how shorte a warninge it be taken from him._”

FOOTNOTES.

[1] At the Battle of Omdurman.

[2] Now General Lord Rawlinson.

[3] It turned out afterwards that this grey had at some time or other had its jaw broken on both sides, with the result that it got the bit against the jaw bone and could not feel it.

[4] Major-General Sir David Campbell, who commanded the 21st Division in the Great War.

[5] Mr. Pierpont Morgan, the younger.

[6] Rear-Admiral Hon. H. L. A. Hood, who went down in the _Invincible_ at the Battle of Jutland.

[7] General Mahon had won the Kadir Cup in 1888.

[8] Now Major-General Sir R. Barnes; commanded the West Lancs (Territorial) Division in France.

[9] Brigadier-General Philip Howell was killed in Aveluy Wood during the Battle of the Somme.

[10] Now Lord Birkenhead, Lord Chancellor of England.

[11] He sold them most profitably. Mr. August Belmont, for example, bought “Cinderella” for £500.

[12] Younger brother of Lord Grey of Fallodon.

[13] England challenged America the following year (1911), when the team consisted of Hardress Lloyd, Noel Edwards, Bertie Wilson, and Leslie Cheape, the last three of whom fell in the Great War. It failed, after a most brilliant effort, to defeat the American team, which was composed of the Waterburys, Mr. Whitney, and Mr. Milburn. In 1914 a team organized by Lord Wimborne, composed of F. W. Barrett, Leslie Cheape, Vivian Lockett, and H. A. Tomkinson, recovered the cup for England.

[14] Now Brig.-General Maitland, C.M.G., D.S.O.

INDEX.

Abadie, Major, 218, 219.

Alba, Duke of, 161, 162, 163.

Alexander, Major G. H., 195, 196, 197.

Alfonso, His Majesty King, xix, 74, 161, 162, 163, 164, 179, 208.

Allenby, General Lord, 202, 212, 215.

American Polo Team, The, 138, 139, 140-144.

Ascot, 28.

Ashby St. Ledgers, 75.

Asquith, Mr. H. H., 35, 74, 78-79, 121; Mrs., 74, 78-79, 113, 121, 201, 224; Miss Violet (Lady Bonham-Carter), 78; Raymond, 46, 73.

Astor, Waldorf (Lord Astor), 16, 28, 41, 58, 136, 226.

Audregnies, 193, 202.

Baden-Powell, Sir Robert, 99.

Balfour, Mr. Arthur, 38, 39, 75, 80, 226.

Baring, Hon. Windham, 23, 121.

Barnes, Major-General Sir Reginald, 68, 69, 92, 226.

Beale-Browne, Colonel, xx, 232.

Beatty, Admiral Lord, 124.

Bell, Sir Hugh, 124.

Benson, Mr. Arthur, 10.

Benson, Captain Rex, 232.

Beresford, Lord Marcus, 132.

Bingham, Major-General Hon. Sir Cecil, 123.

Birkenhead, Lord. See _Smith, F. E._

Blackwood, Lord Basil, 217, 220; Lord Frederick (Marquis of Dufferin), 66, 69, 86.

Blagdon, 122.

Blood, General Sir Bindon, 96; Lady, 86.

Bonbright, Mr., 40, 93, 132.

Books read by the Twins: Huxley’s _Science and Education_, 29; Rose’s _Napoleon_, 35; Macaulay’s _Essays_, 35, _Life_, 36, 73, 94; Lecky’s _Map of Life_, 35, _History_, 57; Bacon’s _Essays_, 35, 73; Rosebery’s _The Last Phase_, 36; Shakespeare’s _Plays_, 36, 73, 96, _Venus and Adonis_, 72; Moltke’s _Life_, 36; _Pickwick Papers_, 36, 94, 158; _Oliver Twist_, 73; _David Copperfield_, 120; _Alice in Wonderland_, 39; _Creevey Papers_, 46; _Burke_, 72; Morley’s _Burke_, 57, 73, _Life of Gladstone_, 73, 91, 133; Butler’s _Sermons_, 57; _Vanity Fair_, 72, 73, 158; Pope’s _Iliad_, 72, 73, _Odyssey_, 91; _Grenville Papers_, 73; Townsend’s _Europe and Asia_, 73; _Childe Harold_, 73; Disraeli’s _Lord George Bentinck_, 91; Quintilian’s _Education of an Orator_, 91; _Mlle. de Maupin_, 94; _The Jungle_, 94; Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_, 94; Walpole’s _Letters_, 94, 96; Plato’s _Republic_, 96; Denison’s _History of Cavalry_, 95; Prescott’s _Conquest of Mexico_, 100; _Kim_, 100; _Paradise Lost_, 100; Queen Victoria’s _Letters_, 133, 134; _Jack Sheppard_, 134; Bryce’s _American Commonwealth_, 145; Henderson’s _Stonewall Jackson_, 158; _Jorrocks_, 158; _Les Misérables_, 158; _Life of Nelson_, 158.

Brassey, Leonard, 95.

Broken Hill, 149.

Brooke, Victor, 69, 85.

Buckhurst, 74.

Bucks Hussars, The, 64, 187, 224.

Bülow, Count von, 170.

Bulteel, Miss, 13; Mrs. Lionel, see _Grenfell, Juanita_.

Burnham, Lord, xiii, 86.

Butler’s Court, 134.

Byng, General Lord, 234.

Cairo, 23.

Campbell, Major-General Sir David, 42, 84, 202, 203, 204, 209, 226.

Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, 29, 46.

Cecil, Lord Hugh, 48, 57, 70, 71, 75, 76, 78, 79, 80, 99, 106, 126, 224; Lord Robert, 49.

Chamberlain, Mr. Austen, 80, 169; Joseph, 23, 47, 71.

Charter Trust, The, 28, 55, 56.

Cholmondeley, Lord, 107, 108.

Churchill, Mr. Winston, 48, 76, 161, 174, 176, 214, 226.

Cliveden, 28, 136.

Compton, Lord Douglas, 86.

Cooch Behar, 58, 63.

Crawley, Eustace, 59.

Cromer, Lord, 23, 120, 121.

Curzon, Lord, 54, 69, 121.

Dalmeny, Lord, 29, 49, 74, 84.

Davids, Sergeant, 217.

Dawnay, Hugh, 199.

Dawkins, Sir Clinton, 50, 56, 76.

De Lisle, Lieutenant-General Sir B., 116, 194, 198, 201, 202, 210, 228, 231.

Desborough, Lord, 3.

Disraeli, 8, 133.

Dragoon Guards, The 4th, 110, 194, 195, 204, 212.

Dudley, Lord, 34; Lady, 226.

Dufferin, Lord. See _Blackwood, Lord Frederick_.

Du Pre, George, 8.

Durnford, Mr. Walter, 10, 14, 15.

Eaton Hall, 72, 75, 81, 106, 133.

Edward VII., His Majesty King, 30-31, 74.

Edwards, Noel, 144, 232.

Elliot, Lady Eileen (Lady Francis Scott), 86, 97; Lady Ruby (Lady Cromer), 97; Lady Violet (Lady V. Astor), 97.

Eton, x-xi, 10-16, 18, 35, 44, 53, 55, 66, 102, 145; Eton Beagles, 10; Eton Eleven, 11.

Farquhar, Lord, 30.

Fergusson, Lieutenant-General Sir Charles, 194, 200.

Fitzmaurice, Lord Charles, 60.

Fripp, Sir Alfred, 115, 135.

Furse, Bishop, 233.

Fürstenstein, 170.

Gaekwar of Baroda, The, 21.

George V., His Majesty King, xiv-xvii, xix, 201.

Germany, 111, 116, 117, 169-177; the Crown Prince of, 162; the Empress-Dowager of, 14.

Glamis Castle, 167-168.

Gordon-Lennox, Lord Esmé, 16.

Gough, General Sir Hubert, 116, 202.

Graham, Captain, 229; Lord Malise, 123.

Grand Military, The, 42, 92, 119, 131, 132, 138.

Grand National, The, 42, 51, 60, 119, 128, 129, 131, 132, 138, 152.

Greene, Lieutenant-Colonel Raymond, 220, 232.

Greenly, Major-General W. H., 231.

Grenfell, Aline, Lady, 134, 164; Arthur, 3, 14, 28, 37, 51, 56, 64, 99, 100, 101, 104, 106, 153, 164, 178, 180, 181, 182, 224, 226; Cecil, 17, 51, 70, 92, 104, 157; Claude, 3; Dolores, 39. Field-Marshal Francis, Lord, 3, 16, 17, 23, 24, 70, 75, 84, 120, 134, 139, 143, 188, 200, 221, 225, 226. Francis Octavius, birth, 2; childhood, 5-9; at Temple Grove School, 9-10; at Eton, 10-16; Master of Beagles, 10; Eton Eleven, 11; joins Seaforth Militia, 18; in Cape Colony, 20-21; at Loch Carron, 22; in Egypt, 23; joins 60th Rifles, 23; with Lord Grenfell at Malta, 23-24; at Harrismith, 25-28, 33, 34; with column in W. Transvaal, 31-32; with 60th in India, 41-46, 50-52, 58-65; wins Hog-hunter’s Cup, 63; joins 9th Lancers, 65; at special manœuvres, 84-85; visit to frontier, 87-88; in Kashmir, 89; stays with the Mintos, 96-98; goes to Potchefstroom, 98; return to England, 101; at Cavalry School, Netheravon, 104; life in South Africa, 108-111, 115-120, 105-133; big-game hunting, 148-150; in America, 158-161; visit to King Alfonso, 161-163; at French manœuvres, 164-167; in Germany, 169-177; at German manœuvres, 175-176; goes to Tidworth, 178; to the front with 9th Lancers, 189; wins V.C., 194-198; return to Flanders, 209; in action at Messines, 215-220; invalided home, 223-225; his will, 225-226; his farewell dinner, 236; return to front, 227; his part in Second Battle of Ypres, 229-234; his death, 234-235. Harold, 3, 14, 21, 31, 32, 51, 70; Admiral Sir Harry, 4, 5; Admiral John, 3; John, 21, 56, 118, 120; Julian, 3, 4; Juanita (Mrs. Lionel Bulteel), 99, 124; Pascoe, x, 3; Pascoe Du Pre, 2, 3, 4, 5, 16, 17. Riversdale Nonus, birth, 2; childhood, 5-9; at Temple Grove, 9-10; Eton, 10-16; whip of Eton Beagles, 10; clerk in Bank of England, 19; at Malta, 24; in Charter Trust, 28; at Terling, 38; in America, 40-41; in South Africa, 54-56; at Hatfield, 57-58; visit to India, 59-64; wins Kadir Cup, 61-63; first attempt at public speaking, 77; visit to Hatfield, 78-80; in 1906 election, 82-84; joins Bonbrights, 93; in South Africa, 99; in Mexico and Canada, 99-101; character compared with Francis, 102-103; plays polo for England against Ireland, 105-106; bad accident, 111-115; at 1908 manœuvres, 122-124; operated on for appendicitis, 134-136; in Holland, 139-140; visit of American polo team, 140-144; in America, 144-147; joins his brother Arthur’s firm, 153; with Old Etonian team in America, 158-160; visit to King Alfonso, 161-163; at Glamis, 167-168; ballooning, 177; in Canada, 178; goes to front with 9th Lancers, 187; last sight of Francis, 198; galloper for De Lisle, 201-203; in retreat from Mons, 203-204; at First Battle of the Aisne, 204-205; his death, 205-206. Robert, x, 3, 14, 17; Admiral Sidney, 3; Sofia, 2, 6, 9, 16, 17; Lady Victoria, 99, 100, 101.

Grenville, Sir Richard, 2, 132.

Grey, Lord (Albert), 28, 98, 100, 208, 225; Charles, 149; Lady Sibyl, 74.

Grosvenor, Lady Helen (Lady Helen Seymour), 163; Lord Hugh, 123, 158, 159.

Guest, Hon. Frederick, 31; Henry, 59, 60; Ivor, see _Wimborne, Lord_.

Haig, Field-Marshal Lord, 50, 61, 84.

Haldane, Lord, 38, 79, 134.

Halle, Professor von, 47.

Harrismith, 25, 26, 27, 33, 34, 36.

Hatchlands, 2, 5, 6.

Hatfield, 57, 78-79, 99, 113, 114, 124.

Hog-hunter’s Cup, The, 62-63.

Hood, Rear-Admiral H. L. A., 58.

Howell, Brigadier-General Philip, 87.

Howick, 106.

Humbert, M., 167.

Hurlingham, 64, 95, 104, 114, 177.

Hussars, The 4th, 99; the 11th, 230; the 14th, 26; the 15th, 232; the 18th, 193, 202, 204, 229; the 19th, 232.

Hussey, Sergeant, 235.

Hythe Musketry School, 235.

Invalid Children’s Aid Association, The, 168, 226.

Joffre, Marshal, 167.

Johannesburg, 32, 117, 118.

Kadir Cup, The, 60-63, 161, 208.

Kafue Flats, The, 148, 149.

Kitchener, Lord, 37, 38, 52, 58, 68, 69, 84, 85, 90.

Lancers, The 9th, 43, 45, 50, 65, 69, 88, 90, 99, 156, 179, 180, 187, 188, 190-198, 199, 204, 205, 209-220, 223, 227, 228-235; the 16th, 162, 179; the 17th, 41.

Lawley, Hon. Sir Arthur, 178.

Lloyd, Brigadier-General Hardress, 144, 160.

Loangwa River, The, 149.

Loch Carron, 18, 22, 66.

Long, Mr. Walter, 128.

Longman, Lieutenant-Colonel H. K., 11, 47.

Lucas-Tooth, Captain, 195, 197.

McDonnell, Hon. Angus, 135, 226.

McKenna, Mr. Reginald, 121.

Mackinder, Sir H. J., 47.

Maguire, Dr. Miller, 73.

Mahon, Lieutenant-General Sir B., 61, 62.

Maitland, Brigadier-General, 177.

Malcolm, Mr. D. O., 110.

Manœuvres, British, 122; French, 164-167; German, 175-176.

Marling, Colonel P. S., 186.

Maxwell, General Sir John, 70.

Melton, 12, 23, 24, 27, 31.

Messina, 54, 118.

Messines, 214-220.

Methuen, Field-Marshal Lord, 31, 110, 130.

Metzsch, Baron, 176.

Mexico, 99, 100, 168-169.

Midleton, Lord (Mr. St. John Brodrick), 49, 79.

Milburn, Mr. Devereux, 144, 160 _n._

Miller, Lieutenant-Colonel E. D., 114, 157.

Milner, Lord, 38, 70, 76, 91.

Minto, Lord, 69, 85, 96, 97; Lady, 97, 98.

Moedwil, 32.

Moratalla, 161.

Morgan, Mr. J. Pierpont (senior), 147; (junior), 48, 124, 145.

Mullens, Major-General R. L., 234.

Murray, of Loch Carron, Alasdair, 18; Mr. Charles, xxi; Lady Anne, 22; Miss Sybil (Hon. Mrs. C. Willoughby), 22, 26.

Netheravon, 92, 104.

North Mimms, 125.

Nuneham, 121.

Oakham, 224.

Overstone, 200.

Palmer, Lady Mabel (Lady Grey), 48, 57.

Paris, 37, 47.

Phipps, Mr. Paul, 16, 74.

Pless, Princess, 31, 170.

Polesden Lacey, 76.

Politics, The Twins in, 71, 76-77, 81, 82-84, 115, 138, 155-156.

Polo matches, 65, 92, 104-106, 112, 114, 156-159, 162-163.

Ponies: “Kitty,” 7, 8; “Snipe,” 51; “Barmaid,” 59, 61, 62; “Cocos,” 61, 63; “Recluse,” 62; “Despair,” 111; “Sweetbriar,” 113, 137; “Cinderella,” 115, 140, 142, 143.

Ranelagh, 37, 104, 105.

Rawlinson, General Lord, 25, 42, 48, 64, 85, 89.

Rayleigh, Lord, 38, 39.

Repington, Colonel, 127.

Rhodes, Colonel Frank, 12.

Rhodesia, 55.

Ribblesdale, Lord, 38.

Ricardo, Wilfred, 82.

Ridley, Lord, 122.

Roberts, Lord, 201.

Rocksavage, Lord, 158, 159, 226.

Roehampton, 37, 64, 104, 164, 180.

Rosebery, Lord, 29, 47, 49.

Roxburghe, Duke of, 104, 114.

Salisbury, Lord, 48, 49, 58.

Santonia, Duke of, 161.

Scots Greys, The, 122.

Scott, Lord Francis, 16, 26, 35, 85, 86, 96, 97, 226.

Seaforth Militia, The, 18, 23.

Seaton, Corporal, 218.

Selborne, Lord, 110, 128; Lady, 126.

Smith, Mr. F. E. (Lord Birkenhead), 91.

Somerset, Duke of, 21.

Spencer, Lord, 124.

Stonewall Jackson, 48, 160.

Stuart-Wortley, Jack, 31.

Sutherland, Millicent, Duchess of, 134.

Temple Grove, 9.

Terling, 38, 46.

Thulin, 192, 193.

Tibet Expedition, The, 43.

Tidworth, 178, 179, 180, 187.

Viana, Marquis of, 161.

Virginia, 160.

Wake, Sir Hereward, 34.

Warre, Dr., 13.

Webb, Mrs. Sidney, 48.

Weir, Mr. Andrew (Lord Inverforth), 226.

West, Mrs. Cornwallis, 72.

Westminster, Duke of (“Bend Or”), 75, 81, 106, 107, 108, 119, 180, 188, 198, 199, 226; Duchess of, 123, 163.

Westonbirt, 28.

White, Miss Muriel, 121.

Whitelaw Reid, Miss (Hon. Mrs. John Ward), 74.

Whitney, Mr. Harry, 147, 160 _n._, 224.

Willoughby, Lieutenant-Colonel Hon. Claude, xx, 66.

Wilson, Captain H., 105, 106, 144, 160.

Wilton Park, 8, 11, 29.

Wimborne, Lord (Ivor Guest), 75, 76, 160 _n._, 221; Lady, 113.

Wodehouse, Lord, 158, 220.

Wyndham, George, 75; Hon. Hugh, 129; Mrs. (Miss Maud Lyttelton), 38, 57.

Ypres, First Battle of, 210-220; Second, 227-235.

THE END.

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS.

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