About this time (June 1, 1811), three hundred and twenty men of the second battalion, with a proportionate number of officers, were ordered to proceed to Portsmouth for embarkation to join the first battalion in Portugal. On the morning of their departure the bugles sounded the march. My mortification was extreme, for positively the last officer was selected to accompany them, and two of my seniors stood by my side, who of course had a prior claim to mine, and who could not succeed in obtaining permission to go; so that all hope for me seemed now entirely to vanish, and we were obliged to content ourselves by accompanying them a short way on the road, until their first halt,—the merry notes of the horns striking up "over the hills and far away," the signal for wives to be torn from their husbands, children from their fathers, friends from their companions,—many bidding a long and last farewell. The detachment followed the broad path of their profession, while we, through dire necessity, took that which led to peace and pasturage amongst the Essex graziers; but no sooner had we reached our quiet quarters, than another consultation took place, between Lieutenants the Honourable Charles Gore, Wilkinson, and myself, wherein we pledged ourselves, that the trio should not be separated for individual interest, (and, as I was the junior officer, that point was of consequence to me); then hastening to the house of the senior officer, we assailed him _ensemble_ by entreaties and arguments, until, finding we were bent on carrying our point, he consented to forward a memorial to the Duke of York, penned by us, which he signed. That done, we ran down to the post office, popped it into the box, and by return of post a favourable answer was given. What a moment! Gore and myself rubbed our hands and the little corporal Wilky (for that rank he had borne at the Military College at Marlow, and still continued the title), fell on his knees and returned thanks to Heaven, for his good fortune. Our heavy baggage was crammed into the store, and ourselves, with light hearts, that evening proceeded to London. Notwithstanding the usual hurry and preparation when going on foreign service, I managed to find my way to Wimbledon Common, where, I heard, a grand review was to take place on the 10th of June of the household cavalry, a brigade of hussars, commanded by Lord Paget, (now Marquis of Anglesea), a brigade of the foot guards, a battalion of foot artillery, wearing cross belts and white pouches, armed with muskets, and a multitude of volunteers, besides a proportionable train of artillery. When the Prince Regent rode down the line, I was much struck at the Duke of York's preceding him, dismounting in front of the two regiments of foot guards, and standing with his sword across his body, while his royal brother passed. This was an excellent example of discipline, so like the prince, the soldier, and the gentleman.