IN LONDON AGAIN,
Before I reached England, some changes had taken place of which we
had as yet heard nothing in our camps and cantonments in Germany.
The king had died in October; his grandson had been proclaimed by the
title of George III., and already the Court was out of mourning, for
the new monarch had succeeded a father who had been hated by the late
king, and whom _he_ was never known to name or to speak of during the
whole of his long life; no one knows _why_, but so it is, that the
memory of Frederick Lewis, Prince of Wales, was speedily committed to
oblivion.
After a narrow escape from a French privateer, I was landed by a
returned transport at Portsmouth, and travelled post to the English
metropolis, halting for a night at the Red Lion at Guildford, where
the landlord perfectly remembered the affair of the highwayman in the
chimney, and insisted on my sharing with him a crown bowl of punch in
the good old fashion, while I fought all my battles over again.
Next evening, without encountering a breakdown of the ricketty
vehicle, an overturn on the wretched roads, a masked highwayman, or
other adventure, I saw before me mighty London, with the double domes
and peristyles of Greenwich shining in the sun, and the old battered
fellows who had fought under Anson, Hawke, and Boscawen enjoying
their pipes on the terrace; then the glorious Thames, with its myriad
shipping, and the flags of all the world (France excepted) flying
over them; the vast façade of St. Paul's--the great square mass of
the Tower, which made me think of the jewels, the crown, the chains
and dungeons of tyrants long since gone to their account, and of that
long line of Norman and English kings whom we may still see there,
with their wax faces and dusty armour, ranged rank and file in the
Armoury.
Anon I was amid the roar and bustle of Fleet-street and the Strand,
and had passed under Temple Bar, whereon were still, white, bleached,
and bare, the skulls of those who perished for principle and their
king, though the brothers of some of them led the ranks of our
Scottish corps at Minden.
I put up at the King George in Pall Mall, where, for the first night
for many, many months, I could take mine ease in mine inn, and where
from the windows I could see the flaring links and flambeaux, the
sedans and coaches, of those who were proceeding to the theatres,
opera, balls, or elsewhere.
I thought of the time when I had been last in London, under such
different circumstances--when I had come with the despatch concerning
the French spies--I, a simple orderly dragoon--concerning that wretch
Hautois, before we sailed from Portsmouth for Brittany, and ages
seemed to have elapsed since then.
After all I had seen of war, I agreed to the full with my Lord
Clarendon, in all his views and remarks on the virtues and blessings
of peace.
At the George I felt myself apparently amid lavish luxury! Yet even
carpets were almost unknown in English bedrooms during the early part
of George III.'s reign; but it seemed to me that a comfortable home,
a blazing sea-coal fire, soft hearthrugs, warm curtains, a smoking
dinner and singing tea-urn, a pretty English wife, with her true
domestic love (and a most becoming dress of course), to do the
honours of one's house and table, a tranquil life, and all that kind
of thing, were a thousand times better than pipeclay and glory, after
all; better than turning out by drumbeat or bugle-call in a dark
rainy morning, to march fasting, to shoot or be shot at; better than
to hear the winter sleet rattling on the wet tent, or to endure it in
the wetter bivouac; and so indeed thought I, Basil Gauntlet, when on
that night of December I tucked myself cosily in a warm bed at the
George in Pall Mall, and went off to sleep, with the "drowsy hum" of
London in my ears.
Next day I presented my credentials at the Horse Guards, obtained six
months' leave of absence, and was informed that there would be a
royal drawing-room at Kensington Palace in two days after; and the
commander-in-chief kindly added that he would arrange for my
presentation by his Grace the Duke of Argyle, who was full colonel of
my own Regiment, and was then in town. So, for two days I was free
to roam about the streets in search of amusement.
Ignorant of London, I stumbled first into the wooden house in
Marylebonefields, and saw a couple of sword-players slashing each
other with rapiers on a platform to the sound of French horns and a
tenor drum; then followed a game at quarterstaff, while the boxes and
galleries were crowded by men of the first position, betting-book in
hand, sword at side, and the hat cocked knowingly over the right eye.
From these I rambled to Don Saltero's Museum, to see his stuffed
rhinoceroses, tigers, and monsters; thence to an auction in Cornhill,
where, among other effects of a bankrupt shipbroker, a young negro
woman was put up to sale, and bought by a Newmarket gentleman for
32_l_.
As a soldier I could not resist going to see the home battalions of
the Foot Guards exercised at the King's Mews, near Charing Cross.
Then I dined at a chocolate-house, summoned a chair, and was swung
off at a trot to the opera, where I heard one of Mr. Handel's
performances hissed down, as quite unequal to the "Beggar's Opera."
Next day I found a card waiting me at my hotel. The Duke expected me
to dine with him on that day, if not otherwise engaged.
I found his Grace and the Duchess waiting to receive me with great
kindness and affability.
He was John Campbell of Mamore, who had lately succeeded to the
dukedom, after long service in Flanders and Germany; he was now a
Lieutenant-general, Governor of Limerick, and a Scottish
representative Peer; she was Mary, daughter of John, Lord Bellenden
of Auchinoule, a handsome and stately woman, but now well up in years.
He asked me many questions about the regiment, and inquired if "auld
Geordie Preston still adhered to his buff coat." He also made a few
queries, but with reserve, about the Cavalry movements at Minden, and
the charges brought against Lord George Sackville. On such matters
the gentle Duchess was silent; moreover, she always shrunk from
military matters, as she had never recovered the loss of her second
son, Lord Henry Campbell, who had been killed at the battle of
Lafeldt.
Perceiving how threadbare my fighting-jacket was--(it was the
sergeant's coat I had procured at Osnaburg)--I proposed to get a
court dress, or a new suit of regimentals for the presentation
to-morrow.
"Nay, nay," said the Duke; "come as you are--we shall drive to the
Palace in my coach, and believe me, the ladies will like you all the
better in your purple coat. It looks like work--zounds! yes. And,
by-the-by, if you want any franks for the North, or to hear a debate
in the Upper House, don't forget to command me."