So much for Christian gratitude in the East—and be it remarked that these Vladicas and Popas were not all Greeks, but many of them Bulgarians.
I was now on the point of leaving England once more without the slightest notice having been taken of the recommendations of General Sir Harry Smith, General Cathcart, or of the colonists regarding my services, when it was suggested by Lord Clarendon, whom I was going specially to serve, that some sort of handle to my name would increase the chances of my being useful to him. The letter of the noble statesman on this subject, which is still in my possession, would merit a place, and that not a low one, amidst a collection of jokes of the period. Its only fault is that it makes one laugh on the wrong side of the face. This parental solicitude of the Foreign Office towards one of its adopted little children aroused me to the necessity of belonging to some established English institution. The Horse Guards, where I begged my new guardian still to leave me, had refused to receive me without payment. As a pis aller, it was decided that I should be sent to Windsor Castle; and I must say that, after all my late tossings about, I had reason to be gratified at last, for I breathed much more freely there than in Downing Street—and I was, besides, much more kindly treated.
The journey to Windsor Castle was a pleasant one. I was seated between Lord Palmerston and Lord Aberdeen; and although the Duke of Newcastle had assured me that Lord Palmerston was always so much behind time as never to see fish on his own table, yet he managed to come in very strong with the roast for Lord Aberdeen before we got to Windsor. The quiet old Scotchman seemed more than once on the point of “spitting” out a not over-polite expletive in reply, but, on reflection, he always managed to bolt it. The two presented such a contrast, that it appeared to me, a youngster, incredible that they could occupy the same political level. The former amused himself by pumping me out; the latter required almost a force-pump to get anything into him. The result might be the same, but the operation was quite different. I took, however, special pains during the journey to instil into the mind of this kilted-petticoat authority that, although I looked so young, I was really no novice in the art of war. He was to be my respondent, or warrantor, for my qualifications as a knight-bachelor, whatever that may mean.
At length we arrived at the Castle. The Ministers went to attend a Cabinet Council. It looked more as if they had been engaged on some parish business than on the affairs of the world. I was left alone to promenade up and down a long corridor, lined with my predecessors in glory—knights-dummies in armour. I was getting tired of my monologues with these iron-jawed gentry, and beginning to feel some uncomfortable twinges from an inward monitor not always easily appeased after a country ride, when the young Duke of Brabant, the present King of the Belgians, came up to me and asked if I was Captain Lakeman from the Cape. He said that the Duke of Newcastle had told him of my presence; and he added, I would no doubt easily excuse his anxiety to know all about the Dutch colonists, in whom his father also took the warmest interest. I was relating to him, in as few words as possible, all I knew about the sturdy Dutchmen, with whom I also claimed a common descent, when a most solemn-looking personage came up and told me to follow him. After a warm shake-hands, which the young duke honoured me with, I followed the gentleman in black as gravely as though this had been my last farewell on earth. He led the way to a small side door, and opening it as a church-beadle opens a pew, beckoned me to enter. I bowed, and walked in. It was a small, oak-panelled room, in the middle of which stood a Lady surrounded by sedate-looking men. I felt as if a mistake had been made,—that I had got into the manorial enclosure instead of the strangers’ pew,—and was on the point of bowing myself out again, in the humblest way possible, as a proof of my unintentional intrusion, when the Lady mentioned smiled so kindly that I left off bowing and walked further on. There was no necessity to tell me now that I was in the presence of the Queen. I felt that I was. Whatever may be often thought nowadays of “such divinity as doth hedge monarchs,” I for my part was ready at once to acknowledge that fealty to England’s ruler which, hitherto, I had only offered to the dear country itself. After a few words had passed, a cushion was brought and laid before me, and then another, on which there was a heavy-looking sword. Some one behind me whispered that I was to kneel—an operation by no means agreeable to a man before company. This I somewhat awkwardly did, and so remained, with my face bent towards her Majesty’s feet, expecting every moment to feel the weight of the sword on my shoulder to indicate that the ceremony had begun, but nothing came. There was a dead silence. So I looked up and saw the Queen holding up the sword and directing an inquiring glance towards some one behind my back. Whoever that person was, he seemed to be a long time in answering. It was the Earl of Aberdeen. It was evident to me that her Majesty could not hold the sword over my head much longer. I asked what was wanted. “Your Christian name,” her Majesty said. “Stephen,” I replied; and down came the sword, missing the shoulder and striking the cushion. The ceremony, however, was complete without that, for her Majesty immediately said, “Arise, Sir Stephen,” and held out her hand to kiss. I did kiss it, and felt in doing so that she had not many in her wide realm who would serve her more devotedly than I if necessity required it.
The cushions were removed; the Queen graciously smiled to all around and left the room, and we retired together through the long corridor before mentioned. I was standing near the entrance to the Castle door whilst the Earl of Clarendon was lighting a cigar, when the Duke of Newcastle rejoined us, and said, “Allow me to congratulate you as Sir Stephen Lakeman, and as to having your head still on. I thought at one time her Majesty was going to cut it off.” “Ah,” said Lord Clarendon, puffing away at his cigarette, which I thought extremely unbecoming in the Castle, “if the Queen had given it a whack it would have done it good.”
“Just as it might do your lordship to whack out your cigarette,” I replied. I had, within the last few days, taken a sudden dislike to his lordship, which, however unaccountable at the time, was a true presentiment of our future relations. His Grace of Newcastle took me by the arm and led me away. He at the same time informed me that I was to remain at the Castle: a certain person, whom he pointed out, would attend to my wants, and I might freely answer any questions that would be put to me during the afternoon.
When I returned to town that night, I was grateful for the honours that had been bestowed upon me at the request of the Cape colonists.
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.
CATALOGUE
OF
MESSRS BLACKWOOD & SONS’
PUBLICATIONS.