Without being uneasy at the idea of invasion the Government took precautions in case of emergency. It was announced that at the firing of seven guns at the Tower, answered by the same number in St. James’s Park, soldiers and officers should repair to previously named places of rendez-vous. No crowds were allowed to assemble. A race between two pairs of chairmen, carrying their chairs, round the Park, having caused a large mob to gather within hail of the palace, was stopped in mid career by a file of musqueteers, who drove competitors and spectators into the neighbouring streets. When the park was pretty well cleared, Captain Stradwick was brought out and ‘broke,’ for desertion. Why he was not shot, as the king said he deserved to be, was owing to some influence which seemed to be stronger than the king himself. Perhaps, as a consequence, the common rank and file who had deserted were allowed their lives, but at dear cost. They got a thousand lashes, administered half at a time, in Hyde Park; and on the off days the mob were regaled with the sight of soldiers getting their five hundred stripes for speaking evil of his Majesty in their drink. [Sidenote: _REBEL PRISONERS._] Meanwhile, the river one day suddenly swarmed with galleys, which picked up numbers of ‘useful fellows to serve the king.’ Even the City taverns were broken into, and there similar seizure was made, but not without occasional mortal frays, in which there was much promiscuous shooting, and a forcible carrying off of other ‘useful fellows,’ who were hurried on board tenders, and thence sent to sea. There was hardly time for sympathy. A few women in the streets and by the river side filled the air with shrieks and clamour, but they were not much heeded. London became full of expectancy of the renewal of an old and a rare spectacle. The Carlisle prisoners were on their road to town. There were nearly four hundred of them, including about threescore officers. Those who were able to march were tied in couples, and two dragoons had charge of ten prisoners, one leading them by a rope from his saddle, the other ‘driving them up.’ The captured officers were mounted, but their arms and legs were tied. Batches of other captive men were sent by sea; some seem to have been exceptionally treated. The papers announced the arrival of ‘six coaches and six,’ filled with rebel prisoners, under an escort of horse and foot. The London gaols were emptied of felons, who were transferred to distant prisons, in order to ‘accommodate’ the captives till they were otherwise disposed of. But the most important arrival was that of the hero himself. The Duke of Cumberland, fresh from Carlisle, reached London on a dark January morning, at seven o’clock. Much was made of his having passed only ‘one night in bed,’ in that now easy day’s journey. The duke came with modesty and great becomingness. Shortly after reaching St. James’s he went straight to the little Chapel Royal. At the subsequent usual