On arriving in London I continued busy for some days in forwarding my importations, bulbs, and plants to my home, at that time at Grangewood, Leicester; and the springbok, monkeys, &c., to the “Zoo” in Regent’s Park.
My first serious business after my arrival was to bring the disgraceful condition of the great Napoleon’s last residence to the attention of her Majesty’s Government. Every time my thoughts travelled back to my late undertakings in South Africa they passed over St Helena, and recoiled with shame at the desolate state into which England had allowed this place to fall. I, however, had not a voice loud enough to be heard at the time, and notwithstanding my repeated efforts in that direction, I could not get a member of the Government during the Gladstonian era to take the matter up. It was only in 1855 that I at last obtained a hearing. Lord Clarendon, to whom I sent a copy of my suggestions as to what England ought to do, wrote me to say that I should no doubt be glad to hear that her Majesty’s Government had taken the necessary measures to place the tomb, residence, &c., under the safeguard of the French Government. He did not, however, mention a word of recognition as to its having been done at my suggestion; in fact, on re-reading his letter to-day, it seems to imply that he was the author of the whole affair, and I merely a busy-body in the matter.
My correspondence during the conferences held for the signing of the Treaty of Paris will explain many curious, and I may say interesting, details as to this Treaty still undreamt of by the public.
I now turned my attention to the attainment of my long-hoped-for position in the British army; and in this the Duke of Newcastle, then Colonial Minister—who had always taken a warm interest in my welfare, as he did in that of many others—promised to support me to the utmost of his power, in accordance with the deserts of my actual services, and the loud recognition the colonists themselves in their addresses to me had vouchsafed to give. Days and weeks went by without any progress being made in the matter, and I passed my time in travelling between London and Tamworth. Now and then, indeed, I attended a public dinner, at which I made short, confused speeches—for I really never could understand what I had done worth being thanked for; and I only hoped to be enabled, from my past efforts and position acquired, to do something more.
This opportunity, however, the Horse Guards authorities seemed determined not to give me. One day I received a letter from the Colonial Secretary, saying I had better come up to town and place the matter myself before the proper authorities. This was an intense bore to me. If I had rendered any real service it was patent enough to explain itself, but I had an excessive dislike to perform the part of oculist to those who were wilfully blind. However, I submitted so far as to write the usual letter asking for an audience of the Military Secretary. The reply came in due time, and I presented myself at the Horse Guards on the day stated for reception.
My number was twelve; and when it was called out I went to the door leading to the audience-room, and was in the act of entering, when a tall, lanky fellow, coming up quickly from behind, pushed me aside, and thrust himself before me into the room. I was in no good humour at the time, and I have no doubt looked bent on resenting this impertinent act; but before I could reach out my hand to turn this young fellow round and ask for an explanation, Colonel Airey stepped up between us, and said, “Captain Lakeman, let me beg of you to wait for a few minutes outside, for I have some words of importance to communicate to this gentleman.”
I felt but little inclined to accede to this wish, and explained that I had as yet no apology for what had taken place. He said he would give me that himself, and again begged me kindly to wait outside.
To this, after some demur, I consented, for I could not readily conceive what prevented the young man in question from giving an excuse for his rudeness, assuming that he had one to offer; so I said, as he was looking from the Colonel to me, open-mouthed, without saying a word, “If this gentleman is a foreigner, and cannot speak English, let the matter rest for the moment,” and thereupon I left the room. I stayed, kicking my heels for some time outside, strongly tempted to leave, for I felt instinctively nothing good was likely to result from the proposed interview; but I thought of the kind-hearted Duke, and to oblige him I remained.
At length my number was called again, and upon entering, the Colonel was most off-handed in his communications. “You see, Captain Lakeman,” he said, “the times are looking dark in the East, as you no doubt are aware, and coming events cast their shadows before: much anxiety is felt at the Horse Guards. I have some doubts myself as to whether I shall not throw down the pen and take up the sword. You see blood will tell, and that young gentleman, who I must say behaved rather abruptly towards you, came also to offer his services at this critical time.” I said, “May I ask you, Colonel, the name of that young man?” “Oh dear me, yes!” he said; “it was Viscount Forth. You see, Captain Lakeman,” he added, “that in times such as these we want the back-bone of the nation, the English aristocracy, to come to the front.” (By a curious coincidence this back-bone of the nation did come to the front in the Crimea, in the very first engagement he was in, for he showed it instead of his chest to the Russians as he bolted to Balaklava.) “And I have just presented to him a commission. Now please let me know, Captain Lakeman, what I can do for you.”
I was turning over in my mind what answer to give to this polite inquiry, when this usually taciturn military secretary, in seemingly overflowing spirits, burst out again, with a wave of the hand—