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 32l.
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.”