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ship. 'Oh,' said Keppel, 'don't go below; look down the hatchway.' 'Ah! mon Dieu!' exclaimed the captain." …

      Keppel kept the pumps going, crowded sail on the ship, and finally beached her off Macao, just in time. He landed the ship's company, but himself stayed aboard the vessel, sleeping on the bridge. The stores and guns were saved. Keppel was deeply distressed at the loss of his fine ship, "which," he wrote, "brings my career as a captain to an end." Fortunately he was mistaken. In after years, when I told him that the Admiralty were about to build a second Raleigh, Keppel replied, "Very glad to hear it, my dear boy. I had the honour of losing the first one."

      Admiral Montagu records that Keppel, while in command of the Raleigh, challenged an American clipper ship to race from Penang to Singapore. "We were constantly going at a speed of thirteen knots, during heavy squalls, close-hauled, and trailing the muzzles of our main-deck guns through the water on the lee side, and I sometimes used to turn into my hammock in abject terror, fearing that at any moment we might capsize."

      Sir Harry Keppel was famous throughout the Service when I was appointed his flag-lieutenant. One of my first recollections of that office concerned an old-fashioned "Eighteen-hundred-and-war-time," peppery, strict-service captain, who, having just come home from the West Coast of Africa, asked to see the commander-in-chief. It happened that Sir Harry and myself were on the point of going out hunting when the old captain called, and the admiral was attired in hunting kit.

      "Tell him I'll see him to-morrow," said Sir Harry.

      But that wouldn't do at all, nor would any other excuse serve.

      "I insist on seeing the admiral," said the captain. "I have just come home and it is my duty to see him at once."

      "Bring him in, then," said Sir Harry impatiently, "Now, sir," said he, "my flag-lieutenant informed you that I was engaged. Why couldn't you see the secretary?"

      "The secretary, sir? The secretary!" says the old captain wrathfully staring at Sir Harry's informal attire. "Indeed I am told, sir, that the secretary is the Commander-in-chief here. That's what they say, sir – that's what they say!"

      "Do they?" returned Sir Harry placidly. "And a d – d good commander-in-chief too!" says he.

      When, in later years, I became commander-in-chief, I made it a rule that all admirals and captains should have direct access to myself, no matter how trifling the occasion.

      In those days, there was a turnpike-gate outside the town. I was driving a brother officer home late one night, after dining at a house some distance away and when we came to the toll-gate, the keeper was in bed, and all my knocking and shouting failed to wake him up. So I proceeded to heave a large stone through his window. That fetched him; and down he came, grumbling and swearing. I thrust a sovereign – the only coin I had – into his hand to pay for his broken window and the toll. It was bad tactics, for he promptly retreated into his house (with my sovereign) leaving us still on the wrong side of the gate. There was nothing for it but to break the rest of his windows, but still he wouldn't come out. Evidently a surly fellow, unfit to take charge of turnpike gates, an office demanding tact and courtesy; and we thought it well to remove his temptation. So my companion and I wrenched the gate from its hinges and lashed it to the cart, vertically, so that it projected over our heads like a kind of ornamental roof, its weight nearly lifting the mare between the shafts off her legs and making her kick like blazes. Then we drove into Plymouth, gate and all. The gate was reduced to firewood before sunrise. Next day, the town was placarded with vain offers of reward for information concerning "some evil-disposed person or persons unknown who," etc.

      At that time, I used to ride steeple-chases whenever I had an opportunity, and kept myself in regular training by hard exercise; a habit which on one occasion involved the commander-in-chief in an alarming rumour. It arose from the trifling circumstance that I had borrowed his overcoat. The Fleet was at Holyhead, to celebrate the opening of the new breakwater by the Prince of Wales; I was just going for a training run up and down that breakwater, when, finding I had no coat, I took Sir Harry Keppel's uniform overcoat. I took it, without thinking, merely because I wanted it. The next thing that happened was that the signalmen in the Fleet reported that the Admiral must have gone mad on the breakwater, seeing that he was racing up and down it clad in a shooting-cap, grey trousers, muffler and uniform overcoat. As my face was almost hidden by cap and muffler, the signalmen were deceived by the gold lace, took me for the admiral, and thought that poor Sir Harry was smitten with insanity.

      We used to hunt a good deal with the Dartmoor hounds; and upon a day when there was no run, and everyone was bored, one of the ladies present begged me to provide some kind of sport, kindly suggesting that I should personate the fox, a part I declined.

      "You must do something to amuse us," she said.

      "Very well, I will," said I.

      Among the officers there were an elderly admiral and an elderly general, and I pointed them out to the lady.

      "I will get up a race between the two of them," said I.

      She bet me I would not, and I took it. I began with the soldier.

      Ambling alongside the general, I asked him casually if he had ridden much in his life.

      "Of course I have," says he irritably. "What do you mean, sir?"

      "Nothing at all," says I. "I thought I would ask. The admiral – "

      "What about the admiral?" cries the general, staring suspiciously at the distant and unconscious officer.

      "He was saying he didn't think you knew very much about a horse."

      The general lost his temper. He swore. He said he would show the admiral what he knew about a horse.

      "You can easily prove it," said I; and before he understood what was happening, he had agreed to ride a race. Then I went over to the admiral.

      "Do you know what the general says? He says you look like a monkey on a horse," said I; and it was the admiral's turn to swear.

      "D – d impertinence!" says he. "I'll race him, and beat him any day in the week." And he continued to use forcible language.

      "You can do that," I said, for the admiral was riding one of my best horses.

      "If you really want a race, I'll arrange the whole thing," said I. And I brought the two wrathful old gentlemen together, rode with them to the starting-point, gave the word, and off they went as hard as they could pelt. I followed, cheering them on. The general began to draw ahead, when his horse baulked at a soft place. The admiral's horse did the same, throwing his rider upon his neck.

      "Get back into the saddle and he'll go through," I shouted, for I knew the horse. The admiral hove himself into his seat, and won the race. He wouldn't have won, if his adversary hadn't baulked.

      The members of the Board of Admiralty came down to Plymouth to witness the autumn military manoeuvres. I offered to drive them all in my coach; and they were settled in their places – Mr. Goschen the First Lord, Admiral Sir Alexander Milne, the Earl of Camperdown and Mr. Shaw-Lefevre – when out of the house came Rear-Admiral Beauchamp Seymour.

      "Get down!" he shouted. "Gentlemen, you must get down."

      They asked him why.

      "You don't know that boy," said Seymour. "He's not safe. He'll upset you on purpose, just to say he's upset the whole Board of Admiralty!"

      And he actually ordered my guests off my coach, so that they had to go in barouches.

      Sir Harry Keppel often came sailing with me in my little yacht. We were out together, when I said to him,

      "I cannot weather that ironclad, sir."

      "Then run into her, my dear boy," said Keppel placidly.

      "All right, sir – obey orders."

      I held on, and we cleared the jib-boom of the ironclad by an inch.

      Sir Harry had an old friend of his to stay with him, Captain Clifton, a most remarkable and interesting man. In the old days, the passage for the opium trade existing between China and India was taken only once a year – the opium ships running up to China with one monsoon and down to

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