CHAPTER XLVIII
AT HOME
[Sidenote: 1851. Aug. 7.]
While _Mæander_ was dismantling, I attended the wedding of my nephew, Edward Coke, and Miss Agar-Ellis, daughter of Lord Dover, whose house was close to the Admiralty, and into which I walked after the breakfast, wearing my wedding favour.
I was shown into the First Sea Lord’s room, with whom I had been on terms of intimacy some years.
Before many minutes the door was thrown open, and Sir Francis Beaufort, head of the Hydrographical Department, attended by his staff, addressed me--“Captain Keppel, before I hold out the hand of welcome, I come in the name of myself and Board to thank you for the manner in which you upheld the dignity of this branch of the service on the Australian station.” After shaking hands they withdrew. Being alone with my friend Admiral Deans Dundas, I ventured on a little chaff, asking him where their Lordships’ reprimand was. He told me that they had given the reprimand stronger to Erskine, on whose report they had acted. This amused me.
The Admiral then led me into the presence of Sir Francis Baring, the First Lord, saying, “Here’s this fellow Keppel. I can do nothing with him,” and withdrew. A more straightforward, upright man than Sir Francis there could not be. He invited me to go into the business, which ended in his asking if there was anything that I wanted at the Admiralty.
I replied that if he would kindly promote my First Lieutenant I should not care a straw about the reprimands! He then said that if my Lieutenant was in every way eligible he should be promoted. (Bowyear shortly afterwards served as Commander in the _Vengeance_, 84, with Captain Lord Edward Russell. He is now an Admiral, living in Guernsey, and often comes across in the summer, when we talk over old times.)
My invalid wife and self moved into the pretty lodge in Hyde Park, lent us by my brother-in-law, Harry Stephenson, Deputy Ranger. The First Exhibition was in full force, in Hyde Park, the idea having been originated by the Prince Consort. Weeks passed before I was tired of the novel scene. Everything was there, except ships.
What seemed to astonish our foreign neighbours most were the size of our bath-tubs, jugs, and basins. I found that great and good Rajah, Sir James Brooke, still under the persecution of his former agent, Mr. Wise, who was assisted by what we called “The Revenue Cutter,” Mr. Hume! Sir James was a wreck of his former self. Among our Norfolk friends and relations I had plenty of shooting.
[Sidenote: Sept.]
Near Quidenham was Edward Eyre, Rector of Larling. His was a charming family, consisting of wife, four daughters, and a young son. Eyre kindly offered to help me in a book I was perpetrating, with a view to vindicate the character of Rajah Brooke. Norfolk is a genial county; in spite of politics they all work together.
My father on his deathbed had said to his wife that she would be the first lady who ever won the Derby. He had at the time a promising bay colt, “Bolingbroke,” who had won the “Hopeful” stakes at Newmarket in 1849, also the “Prendergast” at the second October meeting of that year. Edwards was his trainer. In 1850 Bolingbroke ran sixth in the Derby stakes in Edwards’s name. Report was strong that he had been got at. He won the Don stakes at Doncaster.
I frequently dined with Rous, and held the sovereigns when matches were made. My brother-in-law, Joseph Hawley, was getting up a promising racing stud. After Goodwood I went with the Rajah and Brierly for the Cowes Regatta. There were rumours of old friend Schetky retiring from the office of marine painter to the Royal Yacht Squadron: the very thing for Brierly, at all events he might make friends among the members.
Every one was anxious to see the clipper yacht _America_, which won the R.Y.S. Cup. She had unusually taunt spars, and was sold for £4000.
In the match against _Titiana_ she beat her by four minutes, twelve seconds. Heard of Tom Spring’s death--good fellow; he had “benefit of clergy” too.
[Sidenote: Nov.]
Holyoake of 78th was now at home, and made me a kind offer of a mount with the Pytchley. My hunting kit was always ready. I think the meet was Cottesmore. We were riding down the slope of a turnip-field, a stiffish hedge at the bottom, a gate in the left corner. A fox got up in front, and was through the hedge in a moment.
There was a cry of “keep your line”; mine was to the right of the post. Just as my horse sprang for his jump, some heavy farmer on my right turned my horse into the bottom of the ditch, which held water.
Unluckily I was undermost, and my spur penetrated the left shoulder of the horse, who was got out, lame as a tree. Friend Holyoake was near at hand. We had then a walk of four miles. The next time with the Pytchley I was known as the “Post Captain.”