Horne arrived in England to a winter for body and soul. Yet the first impression was not so wintry. He had longed to be home; a hundred fresh plans surged in his mind. He had the superhuman energy and elation of one who had survived a long, difficult and exciting journey and amazed himself with his own competence and resourcefulness. He felt relief, self-congratulation, and that light-headed feeling of safety that had first possessed him on leaving Vera Cruz. The voyage home had been far from quiet. The ship he had taken down the St Lawrence from Quebec had been wrecked near the river mouth and he had been forced to travel on foot across to Saint John to collect his luggage and money. Even then his troubles had not ended. The voyage across the Atlantic in a timber ship had been enlivened by fire and mutiny. But indestructible, or so it seemed, Horne had at last come to London and the calm of his mother's house at StJames's Place.