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CHAPTER III
THE RUSSIAN SCARE AND ITS RESULTS

Sir Frederick Sargood had been appointed Minister of Defence in Victoria. He had evidently been impressed with the success that had attended the experiment made by the South Australian Government when they had decided to ask the Imperial Government to lend them the services of a regular officer to command their local troops. He decided upon a similar course of action, but he went a good deal further than the South Australian Government had done. He was determined to do the thing well, and he did it. He asked the Imperial Government for the loan of officers to fill the following positions: (a) Commandant; (b) Adjutant-General; (c) D.A.G. for Cavalry and Infantry; (d) D.A.G. for Artillery; (e) O.C. Engineers; (f) Chief Instructors for Cavalry, Infantry, Artillery and Engineers.

Amongst the senior officers selected by the War Office for these posts were the following: Colonel Disney, R.A., Lieutenant-Colonel Brownrigg, Lieutenant-Colonel Walker, R.A., Major Fellowes and Captain Ernest Rhodes, R.E., brother of Cecil Rhodes.

It was rumoured at the time that Sir Frederick had come to the conclusion that he had undertaken rather a serious contract in importing such a lot of officers. How was he to protect himself against such an array of military talent? He was a most enthusiastic volunteer. He was besides a very able business man. All Australians know the firm of which he was one of the partners, Butler, Sargood and Co. His military knowledge, however, was naturally very limited, and no doubt he felt it would be difficult for him to battle against the more than heavy demands which the new military directorate would probably make upon the Government. It happened, however, that General Downes’ period of service with the South Australian Government was approaching its end, and Sir Frederick hit upon the happy idea of securing him for the position of Secretary to his Department. The general’s ripe experience in the conduct of the South Australian forces and the success that had attended his efforts in that respect rendered him well qualified to give good advice to the Minister in charge of the Department. General Downes accepted the appointment.

At the time of the Imperial officers’ arrival in Melbourne a Charity ball was being held. The wives of the new officers bought tickets, not with the intention of going themselves, as they thought it was just an ordinary charity affair which would not be patronized by the best people. So, instead of going, they gave their tickets to their servants and sent them. If they had taken the trouble to ask about the ball they would have been told that these charity balls were attended by the nicest of the nice – and they would, of course, have been there themselves. The lady correspondents of the society journals were naturally awaiting their arrival as excellent subjects for their pens, and were not slow in discovering the absence of the good ladies as well as the presence of their servants. Naturally they felt indignant. The fact was soon whispered among the guests, and some were unkind enough to look upon the incident almost in the light of a personal insult. Society was quite disturbed, and hints of boycotting the offenders were spread about. However, full explanations were quickly made, and the incident was forgotten.

Amongst the recommendations made by Sir William Jervois, who had left South Australia early in 1882, and had been succeeded by Sir William Robertson, brother of Sir Hercules Robinson, was the acquisition of an up-to-date gunboat as a beginning of a limited but efficient naval unit for the defence of South Australia. At this time the Colonies of Victoria and Queensland had started naval units of their own. Victoria had quite, for those days, an imposing little fleet, the flagship of which was the old Cerberus. The Colony of New South Wales had not deemed it necessary to start a fleet on its own. Sydney was the base and headquarters of the Imperial warships then attached to the Australian station. Consequently they felt more than fully protected from the point of view of naval defence. The South Australian Government gave effect to Sir William Jervois’s recommendation, and a gunboat, christened the Protector, built by the firm of Sir William Armstrong, Newcastle-on-Tyne, was selected, and left England on its outward-bound voyage. The citizens of Adelaide were much interested in its arrival. This vessel, which was still in commission two years ago, served for many years as a training ship for the members of the Naval Reserve. On the occasion of the taking over of the Defence Forces of the several colonies by the Commonwealth Government, the captain of the Protector became the senior naval officer of the Naval Defence Forces. Captain William Cresswell was afterwards appointed First Member of the Naval Board of Control in the Commonwealth, promoted to admiral, and knighted. Curiously enough, he spoke Spanish. He had been born in Gibraltar, not far from Jeréz. His sister was for many years head of the Post Office, in fact, Postmistress-General at the Rock.

Sir William Jervois’s son, my Woolwich mate, had taken on the duties of Adjutant-General on the departure of his father. He was completing the term of his engagement at the time when General Downes left for Melbourne. Pending the arrival of Lieut. – Colonel J. F. Owen, R.A., he was acting Commandant, and I became, for the time being, acting Adjutant-General.

It was then we had a surprise. One morning the look-out station people at Glenelg sighted columns of heavy smoke, evidently issuing from large craft making towards Glenelg from the entrance to the Gulf. The fact was communicated to the shipping and customs authorities at Port Adelaide. They replied that they had no notification of the intended arrival of any steamers, and none were expected. The people at Glenelg became quite interested, if not excited, and flocked to the jetty and the Esplanade. The excitement spread to Adelaide, and many curious people took train for the seaside suburb. After a time the hulls of three large vessels gradually appeared above the horizon. Many were the telescopes directed at them, and very considerable the surprise when it was seen that the vessels in question were men-of-war, but not British. There was nothing to be done but to await their arrival. In due time they arrived off Glenelg and anchored close where the mail steamers usually lay when calling there. They were flying the Russian flag. All was bustle and excitement when they were seen lowering their boats.

In the meantime the customs authorities had reached Glenelg in their steamboat from Port Adelaide, and were awaiting instructions from the Government as to what action they were to take. They were instructed to carry on as usual, in the same way as when any foreign men-of-war visited the port. The Customs House officials, accompanied by the Port Health Officer, proceeded to the flagship. They were met on board with all due courtesy, and the admiral expressed his wish for permission to land and pay his respects to the Governor and the Government of South Australia at such time as it would be convenient to them to receive him. On the return of the Customs House boat the Health Officer reported that all was well with the ships, and that he had granted them pratique. The admiral’s message was as soon as possible conveyed to the Government. His request was, of course, acceded to, and a representative from the Premier’s office sent on board to place himself in touch with the admiral. The official visits duly took place during the afternoon. What reasons, if any, were given by the admiral for his sudden appearance off the coast of South Australia I never was told. As far as I know they were never made public, if given. Where had they come from?

It soon became evident that the officers and crews were to be treated with the ceremony and courtesy it was customary to offer to distinguished visitors. The admiral had given it out that the visit would be a short one. There was to be an official dinner at Government House, the usual reception by the Premier and members of the Government, and official calls; and the residents of Glenelg decided to hold a ball in their honour. Great was the excitement, especially amongst the young ladies, at the prospect of meeting such a large number of naval officers. Previous to their departure the admiral and officers of the ship gave an official dinner and an afternoon reception to the chief residents. Then up went the anchors and away they steamed. Where they were going was not made known to the public, as far as I know. This unusual event took place early in 1885.

While the visit lasted the excitement attending it had kept the people’s minds fully occupied, but after the departure of the ships people began to think what would happen if, instead of coming in a friendly capacity, the men-of-war had arrived with hostile intentions. To put it very shortly and to the point, it would have meant practically the surrender of Adelaide. There were no fortifications at Glenelg. Though the guns on board the ships had not sufficient range to shell the city itself, the distance being too great, yet they could in a short time have played havoc with Glenelg, and it may be doubted whether in those days the Government and people would have preferred the destruction of Glenelg to coming to some terms with the enemy. This gave rise to much thought.

Immediately afterwards what became popularly known as “the Russian Scare” took place in Australia. Our Government instructed the acting Commandant, Major Jervois, to mobilize our military forces and to take up their war positions without delay. They further gave instructions to make a final selection of the site for the construction of the Fort near Glenelg, the immediate preparation of the plans, and the acquisition of the land required. A cable was dispatched to our military adviser in London, then General Harding-Stewart, to place at once on order the armament for the fort, which it had been decided should consist of two 9.2 and two 6-inch breech-loading guns, mounted on hydro-pneumatic gun-carriages, the latest up-to-date ordnance approved of by the home government for coastal defence purposes throughout the Empire.

The mobilization was duly carried out. A couple of days after the concentration of the forces had been completed, and the night before the arrival of our new Commandant, I met with a severe accident. An infantry camp had been formed at Glenelg to protect the main road to Adelaide. Major Jervois had arranged for an alarm to take place early the next morning with a view of testing how far the commanding officers of the several zones of the defence had grasped their respective duties. The Governor had paid a visit to the infantry camp at Glenelg that afternoon, and had remained to take a light evening meal at the officers’ mess. It was a stirring time. Jervois and myself were the only two staff officers available. We had the assistance of three or four of the instructional officers. Within three days the whole of the members of our forces were assembled at the war stations as provided for in our Defence Scheme, covering the probable enemy landing places from Glenelg along the coast to the mouth of the Port River and the approaches to the city.

After satisfying myself that the officers entrusted with the defence of the Glenelg zone understood their instructions for the alarm, I started off riding down the coast towards Fort Glanville, intending to visit the commanding officers in charge of the other sections, with the same object in view. Our horses, my own and those of my orderly officer, had been put up at the Old Pier Hotel at Glenelg. It was dark when we mounted, and, knowing the townships well, I cut across several vacant allotments instead of following the road. Suddenly I felt – as I was cantering across one of these allotments – as if the devil himself had gripped my face. I remembered no more till about a couple of hours afterwards my senses came back to me. My face was quite a picture. Some person had put up a clothes-line during the afternoon across the vacant allotment. The clothes-line happened to be a piece of fencing wire. I had cantered right into it and it caught me just above the upper lip and below my nose. That I have, since that day, been blessed with a nose of my own is quite a miracle. I can assure you that when I got hold of the tip of it I could lift it quite easily from my face.

Some kind doctor attended to it at the Pier Hotel, and, with the aid of many stitches and good old sticking-plaster, dressed the wound temporarily. The rest of my face was swollen and I was sore all over from bumping the hard ground, as I fell, when I was dragged backwards off my horse by the wire. However, I was much too anxious to get on with my work to cry “Halt.” I couldn’t ride, but I ordered a buggy from the hotel and moved on. As I reached the commanding officers of the successive sections along the coast I created somewhat of a sensation. I was not surprised. I presented a sorry figure, at any rate as far as my face was concerned. However, I satisfied myself that they had mastered their instructions, and that they would carry them out to the best of their ability.

When nearing Fort Glanville I left the main road, which ran just inside the sand-dunes and was in a very bad condition, for the beach. The beach was good going. Arriving close to the fort I struck inland by a track between the dunes. I felt happier; in a few minutes I would reach the Fort. But my troubles were not over by any means. The young fellow who was driving me was a stranger to those parts. I was not sure myself of the track we were taking. It was the custom to spread seaweed on the track over places where the sand was too loose and the going too heavy. As we moved along it we came to a particularly dark spot. The lad hesitated to drive on. I couldn’t see very well. I took the dark spot to be a patch of seaweed, and told him to go on. We had taken the wrong track. It was not a patch of seaweed, but a big dark hole, and into it horse, buggy and our precious selves fell. Extricating ourselves from the mess, satisfying ourselves that no bones were broken, shaking out the sand from our ears and hair and off my poor nose and face, I walked off to the Fort to get assistance for my mate and the horse and buggy. I hadn’t been long in my quarters when the bugles sounded the alarm, and the commanding officer of the troops attached to the Fort, who had been kindly attending to my numerous bruises, left me to carry out his duty. I got my old Irish servant to mix me a strong whisky toddy (I don’t remember ever in my life having a drink which I enjoyed so much) and went to bed.

I was glad to hear next morning from Major Jervois, who came to see me, that the commanding officers had successfully carried out the task set them. He was much amused at my personal appearance. Two days afterwards Colonel Owen arrived. I was patched up enough to be able to ride, and accompanied him on his first tour of inspection. He had the unique experience of arriving in his command and finding the whole of the forces of the colony assembled together in the vicinity of his headquarters, Adelaide. Two more days and the scare was over. The troops dispersed to their respective districts.

It was about this time that an event happened which greatly agitated the social life of Adelaide. The wife of a Victorian country resident had arrived in Adelaide and had taken a house in the city. She was good-looking and charming. She appeared to be quite well off. Her house became a pleasant resort. She entertained well. She delighted in giving excellent supper parties. She was quite a Bohemian. Her invitations included young and old, married and single. After a short time she told her friends that she had got divorced from her husband and that she intended to make Adelaide her home for a time.

One of the leading young men fell in love with her – or at least thought he did – and went so far, she gave out, as to ask her to be his wife. It was evident to those who knew him well that if he had asked her to be his wife it had probably been after one of the jolly supper parties. At any rate, if he had done so, he soon repented and told her so. She was not to be denied, so she took steps to bring a breach of promise action against him. Not content with this, she set to work to worry him and his friends as well. In fact, she succeeded in worrying him so much that one day, in an ill-advised moment, he made a complaint to the police to the effect that the lady in question really kept a house to which they should pay special attention. The police had to take the matter up, but they found it difficult to get sufficient evidence to prove their case. Finally, one night, after one of the supper-parties, a hansom cab driver who had been ordered to call for one of the guests arrived at the house drunk and created a scene. It was the opportunity for the police and they laid a charge against her.

The case came on before the court. Evidence was given against her, and she was called upon for her defence. She quietly told the magistrate that as she had been charged with keeping a certain house she would ask for time to prepare her defence. She further said she was preparing a list of names of the married men, well known in Adelaide, who had often been her guests at her supper-parties, and that she felt sure that when the magistrate read the names on the list he would never convict her. We bachelors had a joyful time at the expense of the married men. As the case had been adjourned for three days, there was a long interval of suspense for many of them, wondering whether their name would appear in that “black list.” The morning came when the case was to be resumed. To the surprise of all and the extreme joy of the married men in particular, she failed to appear in court. Inquiries were made by the police, and it was found that she had left Adelaide the previous evening. Who had made it worth her while to disappear was never known. She had, however, made out the list, which the Police Commissioner received that afternoon by post. I got a look at it myself afterwards privately, and I was wicked enough, I suppose, to be sorry that it wasn’t published.

CHAPTER IV
THE SOUDAN CONTINGENT

A few months later Mrs. Barr Smith proposed to open the new theatre and ballroom which had been added to Torrens Park. Private theatricals and dances were to be the chief attraction. She wished me to take the leading part in the opening play and coach the others. I knew that I would have to give more time, than I could really spare, to make it a success. Further, there was always the possibility of some untoward event happening which at the last moment might prevent me from taking my part and probably breaking up the show. My scruples were, however, overcome by my hostess’s kind insistence. We set to work, and all went happily until three nights before the date on which The Jacobite was to make its first appearance. The first dress rehearsal was to take place. Clothed in our beautiful garments we had sat down, a merry party, to dinner. On the whole I was fairly satisfied with my company, and felt that with a couple more dress rehearsals it was probable that the show would be a success.

At that very moment Nemesis was ringing the hall bell. In a few minutes the butler informed me that an orderly wished to see me. In the hall he handed me an official letter, marked “Urgent and Confidential.” I opened it. I have never had such a surprise in all my life. The document was a dispatch from Lieutenant Hawker, the officer in charge of the men at the Fort Largs, stating that he had given some orders to the men that afternoon and that the majority of them had refused to obey.

Here was a pretty kettle of fish! From the very day of the raising of the force some three years before there had not been a single instance of insubordination of any sort. Occasional cases of overstaying leave had been about the most serious offence that had taken place. And, lo and behold! without any warning, without the slightest suspicion that anything was wrong, here was actually a “mutiny.” To leave Torrens Park at once and say good-bye to The Jacobite was my duty. I gave the butler a message for Mrs. Barr Smith, and she kindly came out of the dining-room into one of the drawing-rooms. Then I showed her the dispatch. I tried to convince her that it would be better not to postpone the performance, but to get somebody else to take up my part. As all arrangements had been completed, and the opening night was so close at hand, she thought we would get on all right if I only promised to turn up on the opening night.

There was a feeling at the back of my head that I had been devoting more time than I should have done to play. Had I not made up my mind when General Downes had told me of my first appointment to the staff that nothing should divert my thoughts from my work? The fact that the social obligations I had undertaken would necessitate frequent absences from my command should have weighed with me more. Such were my thoughts. Then there came back vividly to my mind some words of advice which my kinsman General Gordon, of Khartoum fame, had given me when I first joined at Woolwich. Talking to me one day, he told me that there were three golden rules of life which if adhered to would lead on to success. These rules were, first: “Never allow your pleasure to interfere with your duty.” Second: “Never allow your duty to interfere with your pleasure.” Third: “Never try to force a woman to give you anything more than she wishes.” I thought of these things and decided that no matter how much annoyance I caused my good friends, there was to be no more playtime for me till I could indulge in it without any qualms of conscience as to the fulfilment of my duties. I succeeded in inducing one of the professors of the university to come to the rescue, which he bravely did, and the performance took place without me.

I reached Fort Largs late that night after a twenty-mile drive. I had made up my mind to leave the men alone till the early morning, when as soon as the time came for the early morning parade I would order them myself to fall in. They were all in the large barrack-room ready dressed when the time came for the usual early parade. I walked into the room accompanied by the lieutenant and the sergeant-major, and called out “Fall in, men”; they went straight out on to the parade ground and fell in. The back of the trouble was broken straightway. It was evident to me that its cause was in a misunderstanding, probably of a personal character, between the lieutenant and some of the older men, who had induced the younger soldiers to join them in the action they had taken, as they afterwards informed me, so as to bring matters to a head. The incident was inquired into and the evidence fully convicted the two ringleaders. They were tried by court-martial, sent to prison and dismissed from the force. So ended the first and last case of insubordination that took place during the many years that I commanded the Permanent Artillery. However, the event had been of use to me, as it had reminded me of General Gordon’s golden rules.

The action taken by Sir Frederick Sargood in importing the Imperial officers to Victoria was resulting in a very considerable improvement in the military forces of that colony. They were following on the same lines as South Australia as regarded their constitution; a very much higher standard of instruction, a better supervision of detail, and competent inspection contributed to this much-desired result.

Let us see what was going on in New South Wales. The Officer Commanding the Forces was Major-General Richardson, who had been in the regular forces, had retired, and had been appointed Commandant some years previously. The organization of the military forces of “the Mother Colony” was being brought into line with that of Victoria and South Australia. The other three colonies, Queensland, Western Australia and Tasmania, had been gradually following the lead given by the others, though, as in New South Wales, they had not as yet imported Imperial officers to take command.

Towards the close of 1884 the course of our campaign in Egypt was running anything but smoothly; in fact, the military situation was very serious and critical. Throughout the Empire a strong feeling of apprehension was rife, but it was left to New South Wales, the Mother State, to be the first of England’s children to make an offer of material help. Who first conceived the idea is not recorded, but the credit of crystallizing and giving it effect belongs to the late the Hon. John B. Dalley. This was not actually the first occasion on which Australians had offered to fight alongside English regular troops, for, at the time of the Maori War in New Zealand, volunteers from New South Wales and Victoria had raised units and joined in the fighting. But such action on their part had been looked upon as only natural. New Zealand was their next-door neighbour, really a sister colony, and it was to the best interests of Australia that she should be freed from the native menace.

The offer to send troops from the southern to the northern hemisphere was quite another affair. The thought which inspired that offer could not have arisen from any feeling of selfish interest. It was really the outward sign of the affection and love for the Old Country and home inherited by the colonists. Indeed, the rising Australian generation realized what a glorious and magnificent heritage the Mother Country had so generously and freely entrusted to the care of the early pioneers, their forbears. From the day when the first Englishman set foot in Australia and the first settlement was founded, right up to the year 1884, when the offer was made, no enemy had ever threatened Australia’s shores.

Australians rejoice that theirs is the only “virgin” continent in this world. From the day of its birth there had not been a drop of blood shed on its soil in the strife of war. No other country can make so glorious a boast. Yet it is true. It is not to be wondered at when, for the first time for a considerable number of years, a British army was reported to be in peril, Australia offered to share with them the burden and heat of the day. The British Government received the offer in the spirit in which it was made. It conveyed to Australians that it fully recognized the feelings of patriotism and unselfishness which had prompted the offer, and accepted it. A contingent composed of one battery of field artillery, one battalion of infantry and a field ambulance, was organized and equipped, and left Sydney Harbour in white troopships, carrying with them the best wishes of all.

As a result of communications between the South Australian and the New South Wales Governments it was decided to send two of the transports via Melbourne and Albany, with a promise that they would call at Adelaide if time permitted. Later on we heard that the troops would divert from the direct route, Melbourne to Albany, and would pass through Backstairs Passage into the Gulf of St. Vincent, continuing their journey through Investigator’s Straits. They would have no time to steam up St. Vincent’s Gulf to Adelaide, but they would “cry a halt” for a couple of hours, taking shelter in the smooth waters of Hogg’s Bay on the north shores of Kangaroo Island.

This was as much as they could do to fulfil their promise within their scheduled time. We arranged to proceed to Hogg’s Bay in the Protector to wish them good speed. The Government issued invitations for this historic trip. Then the news arrived that the troopships were timed to reach Hogg’s Bay at one o’clock in the morning. Fortunately the moon was nearly at its full. The Protector, with its valuable cargo on board, including myself, left Port Adelaide in the afternoon. The Government had taken on board several tons of fruits then in season, as well as a plentiful supply of fireworks. The worthy commander of the Protector arranged the speed of the ship so as to reach Hogg’s Bay just prior to the hour at which the troopships were expected. It was a glorious night, a calm sea. Presently the two white troopships loomed up in the offing, entered the shelter of the bay, and dropped anchor. There were no gun salutes, of course, but from the decks of the Protector soared hundreds of rockets. With bands playing the Protector made a tour round the anchored troopships. Cheers upon cheers rose from her decks, and, before their echoes could be heard, a thousand voices on the troopships cheered in response. Immense flares on shore lit up the sky, and the calm surface of the sea seemed as if on fire. It was an inspiring sight, and one not to be forgotten. The tour round the ships being concluded, boats were lowered from the Protector and visitors conveyed to the troopships.

Farewells took place. Though tempered by the personal regrets of those who were being left behind, their good wishes for their more fortunate comrades were genuine and straight from their hearts. One last toast, “Her Majesty the Queen”; one last song, “Auld Lang Syne.” Back to our boats and on board the Protector. The noise of the windlasses weighing the anchors was heard as the last of us reached the Protector’s decks. The troopships’ whistles resounded deep on the midnight air. The engines pulsed; the troopships moved and gathered speed. The strains of “Rule Britannia” filled our ears, then ceased, as the white ships, phantom-like in the haze, gradually disappeared. We arrived back at Port Adelaide in time for breakfast.

We will not follow the contingent’s history and its doings in Egypt, but I will quote a passage from Lord Wolseley’s dispatch dated June 15, 1885: —