ST HELENA—ASCENSION—MONKEYISH PRANKS IN THE “HORSE” LATITUDES—YOUNG BEN’S FATE—AN IRISH WAKE ON THE LINE—NARROW ESCAPE—THE MAURITIUS STEAMSHIP—OCEAN VISITORS—A WESTERLY GALE—SIGHT THE WHITE CLIFFS OF BRIGHTON—SALUTE THE NATIVE SOIL—A GREEDY MOUTHFUL—A DARK IMPRESSION—DIRECT ATTENTION OF GOVERNMENT TO NEGLECTED STATE OF NAPOLEON’S LATE RESIDENCE IN ST HELENA—OBTAIN REPLY IN 1855—DESIRE TO OBTAIN ACTIVE MILITARY EMPLOYMENT—DELAYS OF THE HORSE GUARDS AUTHORITIES—MY RECEPTION THERE.

We had a fine passage as far as St Helena. The Arethusa was a fast sailer and a good sea boat, although rather crank at times under the press of canvas we sometimes induced our good-natured Captain B—— to clap on her lofty spars; in fact she was overmasted, and required all that nice attention as to trimming that a top-heavy belle of the seas must have not to show too much of her keel.

From St Helena we sailed towards Ascension, noted for its turtle. The island itself is a dull, brown spot lying in the sea, its cracked surface looking like a burnt egg-shell. This place was discovered by Jan de Noves, a Portuguese navigator, on Ascension Day, 1501—hence its name—at least so I was told by a whitey-brown native who boarded us.

We had now arrived somewhat near the “horse” latitudes, and in calm weather, and with no work to kill the time, we began some horseplay with the monkeys on board. The name given to these latitudes arose from the number of horses the Spaniards used to throw overboard when becalmed—sometimes for weeks—in these regions, passing to and fro between their South American possessions and Europe. The chief object of our fun on board was a large, greenish, long-tailed monkey, who, with Darwinian forethought, had pitched upon young C—— as the fittest selection Providence had placed within his reach on the high seas. The competition as to natural fitness was so close between the two, that it was often a cause of serious dispute as to which should have his way.

One day, after a sharp bout of this kind, a real quarrel ensued, as will occur sometimes in the best-regulated families; and young C——, who prided himself much on ancestral descent, as, no doubt, did also his still more anciently descended rival, came to a regular stand-up fight with the monkey. Strength was on the side of C——, whilst cunning and skill were on the side of the old un; but at last the upstart gave his ancient confrÈre such a tremendous upper cut, as he was holding on to the ratlines, near the bulwark, that he was knocked out of time into the bosom of the impenetrable deep, and poor young Ben (that was the name of our monkey) had to swim for it.

As this typical representative of lost nationality and universal brotherhood breasted the waves like a corker, we tried to lower a boat; but although the apparatus always acts at home, it never does at sea, so the boat stuck up in the air on its davits. We then threw a life-belt towards the now nearly exhausted Ben; but although he had enough instinct to grasp it, he had not enough sense to pass it over his head and under his arms. So we saw his efforts getting slowly weaker and weaker as he clasped and clutched at the slippery buoy, and at length he sank beneath the waves, down, down among the dead men, to be found again, no doubt, one day by some yet undreamt-of ethno-geologist, who will perhaps deduce from his bones that the aborigines of the Atlantic were very little men, with long caudal appendages, and descant learnedly upon every link in that long tail, until he comes to the end of his own, and finds out his mistake.

In commemoration of this sad event we proposed a sort of Irish wake, to be held as we passed the line.

From Ascension we reached away so far to the west that nothing but the most abstract calculation could give our captain any idea as to the latitude and longitude in which we really were, and our little bark seemed to be dancing about on the line like an amateur rope-dancer. This is a rather metaphysical metaphor; but I am talking learnedly now, influenced, no doubt, by our skipper’s tuition. Time hanging heavily on my hands in this dead calm, when even the green waves assumed the lifeless heaviness of molten lead, I had taught myself navigation, and held such lengthy discussions with our captain as to the position and value of stars, planets, and constellations, as to appear to the somewhat astonished listeners around as though I were a Newton and a Pascal rolled into one.

The captain and I, over our glasses (telescopes I mean, of course), had become so awfully knowing, that my only doubts were as to which knew the least of the two; and it was only for the sake of the respect due to seniority in this happy ignorance that I allowed him to navigate the ship. One day, however, nettled by some critical observations of mine, in a sudden fit of displeasure he threw up his commission as skipper, and I took his place; but as it happened to be a dead calm at the time, I had no means of showing my superior seamanship. Thus time passed on, while I still retained a certain happy-go-lucky faith in my own star quite as strong as the captain’s in his. In this I was fully justified, as the sequel will show.

On passing over the supposed line, which our captain, after dinner, had kindly chalked out before us in a very zigzag manner on the mahogany, in the prelude to the in memoriam wake for poor Ben, whom, as I previously stated, we had left deep down in the phosphorescent waters of the southern hemisphere. While others were singing song after song in happy oblivion of past warfare at the Cape, I was thinking that we had entered into British waters. This was somewhat a stretch of imagination, but nothing is too big for me when I dream of Old England—like Ben, I dive into futurity. Thus human nature seeks for pleasure and enjoyment in many and varied channels, according to its own appreciation of wherein these consist.

The bottle was circling freely, and the hot, stifling atmosphere of the mess-cabin below made us feel delightfully dry every time it neared us, as one after another we passed the Rubicon between self-possession and being possessed. Notwithstanding all this joviality, an uncomfortable feeling was slowly creeping over me, and at last became so unbearable that I ran upon deck to breathe the fresh air. How grand all appeared under that mighty dome, compared to the rafters of the cabin below! The night was glorious in its starry splendour; the sea slept gently heaving, as though with loving dreams surging, while soft breezes rippled its face with smiles.

The boisterous mirth arising from the cabin below seemed strangely out of place. I turned to the man at the helm; the idiot seemed as screwed as the wheel that rolled in his slackened grasp. “Holloa, mate!” I said, “what is that light on the water you are steering for?” pointing to a flame I saw gleaming there. “A tar-barrel,” he said, “some chaps passing the line have chucked overboard.” “But it is nearing us too fast for that—look out, man! Good God! its a ship!—luff, luff!” and suiting the action to the word, I jumped to the wheel and jammed the helm down; then swiftly glided by a huge black hull, its deck crowded with dusky figures, shouting and gesticulating to us like demons, its stern grazing our quarter, as the good ship Arethusa, like a form endowed with life, sprang up into the wind, and saved herself from destruction. One second more and we had been down, down amongst the dead men, not far from poor Ben.

Up rushed the startled convivialists from below, some with their glasses still in hand, and I crept ’neath the bulwarks, and kneeling, felt a mother’s prayer had been heard that night on my behalf. This vessel proved to be the Mauritius, a large iron screw, then bound on her first voyage to India round the Cape. She was afterwards one of the fleet of transports placed under my orders for the conveyance of troops to the Crimea, an account of which will shortly appear in my military correspondence concerning that war. This narrow squeak sobered us for a few days, but our spirits revived as the western winds now began to blow.

The frigate-hawk—a truly wonderful bird for its powers of flight—came often to pay us a visit, and changed the monotony of continually looking into the sea for beings endowed with life. I might have shot one or two, and had the head of my rifle more than once on their bodies, as they floated overhead without a quiver in their outspread wings; but such aerial life I did not like to see streaked with blood, so I left them alone in their boundless home, instead of sending them to a glass cage in the British Museum.

Of shark, bonito, and other scaly-looking denizens of the sea, there had been often exciting scenes of what some called sport, but I must say I never could see much fun in it. I certainly should have liked to have had a go-in with a vicious-looking shark on fair terms, but then I was most undeniably afraid of him in the water, and on the deck of our ship he was no match for me; so, before I had seen two such hooked monsters hauled on board and butchered with spears and knives, I used to feel rather disgusted than otherwise with such displays.

As for the huge, gaunt-looking albatross as they flapped their leather-looking wings like vampires around us, no one seemed particularly anxious to settle accounts with them: a superstitious awe influenced even the most reckless amongst us as they circled above our heads. Curiously enough, the only one who had the courage to pull a trigger at them was young K—— of the 74th, and he died soon after he landed.

We were now in latitudes where westerly gales are of frequent occurrence, and a rattling one caught us one night as we were running with studding-sails set. So sudden was its approach that there could be no question of our taking in sail; so, in a storm of wind and rain, we flew along as though Neptune on his foaming sea-horses was trying to catch us. The poor little Arethusa fairly staggered under the force of the gale, like a startled hare now swerving to the right, now to the left, twisting, cracking, and burying herself in the sea as deep as she could without absolutely giving up the struggle and going once for all to the bottom, until old blustering Boreas at last, in kind compassion, relieved us of some spars. Then, with the rags of our late flaunting sails, and with just as much more as was necessary to steady us on our course, we proceeded more safely if more humbly than before. The little ship rose buoyant to the seas as though no longer afraid of them, starting afresh from the top and sliding down the ribbed backs of the long-rolling billows, defying them as they crested their foaming heads in anger behind us.

It was very exciting. I thought of Sam Rowe and his little smack battling with such weather, and though I had more confidence in his skill than in that of our skipper, yet, like Tom Bowling, I preferred the Arethusa in the Bay of Biscay to the Mary Jane.

Good old Sam! I hope he won’t think me foolish as he reads these lines—for the old boy is hale and hearty yet, and, with spectacles on nose, and ‘Western Times’ in hand, can still discuss matters shrewdly.

On the 30th July the white cliffs of Brighton gladdened our eyes, and running up the coast, we hove to off Eastbourne and took a pilot on board. Some of us were so anxious to get ashore that we took passage in the boat that had brought out the pilot, and with a cheer from some of the more patient who had remained on deck, pulled away to the beach; but on our arrival there, we found that the boat was too deep in the water to get close in to the shore. This did not stop us. Young L—— and I jumped into the surf up to our waists and waded ashore. This ducking had in no wise cooled my excitement, for, in placing my foot once more on English soil, I threw myself on the ground and gave it a hearty kiss.

After this exhibition I felt rather taken aback by the astonished looks of some sight-seers who had come down to view our disembarkation. On rising to explain matters to the astonished natives I could not get a word out. They no doubt thought me to be choking with emotion, but it was otherwise. In the fervour of my embrace the sand had got into my mouth, and, as I had no tooth-brush at hand, I was obliged to make use of my finger to remove a lump of my fatherland from my mouth, as though it had been a quid.

Young L——, who jumped with me from the boat, had also gone through the same kissing ceremony; he, however, had not taken such a greedy mouthful, and after carefully wiping the salt water from his boots and trousers with his handkerchief, kindly offered to perform the same operation for me. To this I consented; but I thought he was paying rather too much solicitude to my appearance as he scrubbed away at my face; however, the task once over, we started for the Parade, to the laughing astonishment of all the bystanders. After proceeding a little distance L—— left me on some frivolous pretext, and I went on alone.

On reaching the Parade, among the first persons I met were Lady P—— and her daughters—intimate friends of my family. Without much hesitation I gave the old lady a kiss, and would have continued the salute all round if allowed, had not the expression, or rather impression, on her ladyship’s face made me hesitate. She had a marbled forehead, a black-spotted nose, and a comically shaped O round her lips. I saw that I must have blackened her face; and as I knew that it could not have been done by any African black imported from the Kaffirs, I recollected that it must have been by some of Day & Martin’s received from L——’s pocket-handkerchief as we made our hurried toilet on the beach. Lady P—— kindly accepted my excuses for this uncalled-for display of polished attention, and after a few words of explanation, left me spotless of any design to darken either her face or her fame.

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—

“Oh, it is needless to ask; his Grace has kindly spoken in your behalf, but really I am sorry to say that we have bestowed so many commissions of late, that I think, after all, as you are rich, you had better purchase, and I will do all I can to remove any impediments in the way as to age, &c.”

I was then twenty-four. This very kind proposal had such a supremely ridiculous effect on me, that notwithstanding all my efforts to contain myself before so dignified a person as the Military Secretary, I could not help laughing audibly. It did not even occur to me that I ought to make any attempt to conceal my amusement at this ridiculous proposal, so, bowing lowly, I rose and left the room, leaving the somewhat astonished Colonel alone in his doubts as to whether, after all, Viscount Forth or myself had the best claims to a commission in her Majesty’s service.

This was the discouraging result of a military education, finished at the best Continental schools, with the further advantage of having accompanied European armies in the field for the sake of instruction; of having placed the modern rifle, at my own expense, in the hands of the British soldier; of showing the use of better accoutrements (my men wore the helmet in 1851); of having been mentioned many times in general orders for gallant conduct in the field, &c., &c. Well, I thought, the sooner this state of affairs is changed the sooner Old England will find better servants.

In this mood I went to report progress in Downing Street. His Grace of Newcastle was kind and considerate as usual, and abused the Horse Guards as heartily as the British Radical, and finally left me to consult with Mr R——, his private secretary, as to what now remained to be done to meet the views of the colonists concerning a recognition of my services to them.

In the present state of affairs nothing suitable seemed to present itself; a civil employment abroad—the only gift at the disposal of the Colonial Office—did not meet my views; so, after a lengthened confab, I returned to my lares and penates, and awaited events.