Her Majesty arrived at Harwich at a quarter to four on the 2nd October, where Admiral Keppel was awaiting her with the royal yacht. During the whole journey from London she was seen to be buried in deep thought, and to gaze frequently and sadly at a talisman given her by her affectionate mother--it was a ring, with the inscription "Bring me happiness." Could she have had a foreboding of the fearful fate that awaited her at Copenhagen? Nature, too, appeared to oppose her departure, for the wind blew so heavily that it was not thought advisable for the queen to embark that night. She lay at the house of Mr. Davis, collector of customs, and spent the evening in writing the following letter to her favourite brother, the Duke of York:-- SIR AND DEAR BROTHER, I have just time enough to write you these few lines from England. If patriotism consists in the love of our country, what I feel now at the sight of that element which, in a few hours, shall convey me far from this happy land, gives me a just claim to that virtue. Perhaps you men, who boast of more fortitude, call this sensibility weakness, as you would be ashamed to play the woman on such an occasion; but, in wishing you all the temporal felicity this life can afford, I confess all the philosophy I am mistress of cannot hinder me from concluding, with tears in my eyes, Sir, and dear brother, Your most affectionate sister, CAROLINE. * * * * * On the next morning, October 3, her Majesty embarked at half-past eleven, and her sobbing heart found at least some relief and comfort in a flood of tears. Of this circumstance an eye-witness remarks: "The tears of her Majesty, on parting from the dear country in which she drew her first breath, might have inspired in those who beheld them gloomy forebodings as to the issue of the voyage she was about to undertake." In another account we read how the queen was dressed in bloom colour with white flowers. Wherever she passed, the earnest wishes of the people were for her health, and praying to God to preserve her from the perils of the sea. A gentle melancholy at times seemed to affect her on account of leaving her family and the place of her birth; but, upon the whole, she carried an air of serenity and majesty which exceedingly moved every one that beheld her. As Mrs. Gillespie Smyth justly remarks,[19] "how irresistibly do these details of the contemporary chronicler, in the quaint language of the times--the bloom-coloured dress and so on, suggest to those acquainted with the sad sequel the idea of an unconscious victim proceeding to her doom!"