My grandfather had disinherited me; true! I had nothing in the world but my sword and my wretched pay as a sub; I was not the Lord of Netherwood, moor and hill, hall and river; but I was Basil Gauntlet, of Minden and Zierenberg—and they, at least, were something to be heir to.
As we entered the gallery which leads to the black marble staircase, two gentlemen, one of whom was dressed in scarlet richly embroidered with gold, and who wore a very full perriwig—the other, who was attired in a purple velvet suit corded with silver, and who had on a sword of unusual length, and a bag wig, entered into conversation with the Duke, who presented me to them as an officer of his regiment.
The first was the groom of the stole, the famous Earl of Bute, the future premier, the foe of Wilkes and the London mob; the other was my Lord Huntingdon, Master of the Horse, and both were pleased to say many handsome things concerning our regiment and its services during the war. Moreover, the Lord Bute was pleased to manifest his friendship for me, by presenting his snuff-box of light-blue sevres china, which he always carried in the flap-pocket of his waistcoat.
The heat and crowd were great; many had already been presented, and some were withdrawing as we passed slowly through several rooms of the old summer palace, the walls of which were hung with rich tapestry and ornamented by many pictures and busts on pedestals. Among others, my Lord Bute and his Grace pointed out to me the Venus of Titian and the Infant Saviour by Rubens, the dark Holbeins, some works of Albert Durer, and the full-lengths of Orange William and Mary Stuart, his queen—the former all nose and white wig, the latter with a mass of frizzled locks and a very bare bosom; and so, by gently pressing onward, we found ourselves in the presence-chamber, amid all the glitter and splendour of the court.
At the further end, on a chair of state under a rich canopy of crimson velvet, heavily laced, sat a fair-complexioned and smooth-faced young man, of a mild but most undignified and somewhat flabby aspect, who wore the uniform of the Foot Guards, with the magnificent collar and order of the Garter sparkling on his breast, and who had his powdered hair brushed back, queued, and simply tied with a black ribbon.
"'Tis the king!" whispered the Duke of Argyle and my Lord Bute at the same time.
I had never been in a palace or stood in such a presence before, and, until now, had been more occupied by the beauty of the ladies and the splendour of their jewels and dresses; but I felt a strange thrill in my heart—blasé as it was by the excitement of campaigning—when I looked on the mild face of this same young king, who was then in his twenty-third year, who had a threefold ball and treble sceptre to wield, and who had declared it to be his proudest boast that he was the FIRST of his race who had drawn breath on British soil, and that he gloried in it!
Many presentations went forward before it came to my turn. I saw Carolina, Countess of Ancrum, a stately woman, in a dress of white satin, superbly spangled with gold, and drawn up in festoons by cords of gold, to display an under-petticoat of scarlet velvet, studded with seed-pearls, advance towards the throne. Her hair was powdered white as snow, and tied over a cushion about five inches high. With a low courtesy she was presenting to his majesty, who bowed graciously, a very graceful girl, whose back, unfortunately, was towards us; but I could admire the wonderful fairness of her neck and shoulders, over which some heavy ringlets fell from the high cushion or pad, above which her golden hair, all undisguised by powder, was dressed and tied with knots of scarlet ribbon. Her dress was of scarlet and white striped satin, embroidered with gold on all the seams, and as they withdrew, courtesying backward—
"Gauntlet, 'tis our turn now," said the Duke, while he took me by the left hand and led me forward to the steps of the throne, which were covered with crimson cloth.
"Permit me," said he, "to present to your majesty Sir Basil Gauntlet, of my regiment, the 2nd Dragoons—an officer who, by his personal bravery, has contributed not a little to maintain their old historic character of being Second to None.