Affairs were thus situated, when it became whispered abroad, from some unknown source, that, if the expected enemy should effect a landing, the Queen intended to take the field in person. The rumour soon acquired confirmation; for a day was fixed, to the delight of the whole nation, on which the Queen would review the metropolitan army at Tilbury, and take order in the purpose ascribed to her.
The extensive level adjoining Tilbury Fort, on the banks of the Thames, and on the London side of the fort, was appointed for the scene of the review. There, on the day fixed, the army assembled, under the command of its general, Lord Hunsdon, at an early hour. It was a fair morning in June, and the fineness of the weather, no less than the spectacle itself, and the expected presence of the idolized sovereign, drew to the spot, not only all the denizens of the surrounding country, but almost all the population of the metropolis. Great as the area was, it hardly sufficed, after the army had taken up its position, to accommodate the multitude of spectators. The crowd was so excessive, indeed, that thousands who had come to view the sight, despairing of obtaining so much as standing-room, would not venture to land, but sought to obtain a glimpse of the review from the opposite shore. The little hamlet of Gravesend, which was right opposite, was crowded with such adventurers, and even Windmill Hill, a mile to the rearward, was not overlooked, but was capped by masses of eager spectators.
It was a scene such as the eye had rarely beheld. On one side appeared the shore of Kent, backed by the height of Windmill Hill, and falling down towards Gravesend, when it swept round a graceful curve of the river, in a long, verdant level, towards the point since called Milton. Then came the river, bright as a mirror, with its broad bosom, here seeming to expand into a noble bay, covered with every description of craft, all filled with passengers, and decked with a thousand streamers. The grim fortress, bristling with cannon, yet scarcely rising from the low ground on which it was situated, then prepared one for the warlike scene beyond. There the spirit thrilled before the interest and singularity of the expansive prospect. The verdant heights in the background, running from the village of Tilbury towards London, sparkled with white tents, and streamer-capped marquees, forming the army’s camp. On the extensive level in their front stood the army, fifty thousand strong, and embracing, as was before stated, the strength and flower of England’s chivalry. To conclude, the vast area was enclosed, beyond a picket of volunteer cavalry, by one impenetrable mass of spectators, men, women, and children, all dressed in their gayest apparel, and animated by one common feeling of nationality and patriotism.