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WILLIAM L. CLEMENTS
LIBRARY OF
AMERICAN HISTORY
UNIVERSITY/MICHIGAN





DEDICATED to the BRITISH ARMY.
MILITARY SKETCHES.
BY
EDWARD DREWE,
L Α Τ Ε
MAJOR of the 35th REGIMENT OF FOOT.
hodied aferelor in march 1798
marchize
Cut off from Glory's race,
Which never mortal was more fond to run,
Unknown I fall- no tongue ſhall ſpeak of me:
But ſome brave fpirits, judging from themſelves,
May yet conjecture what I might have been.
TRAGEDY OF DOUGLAS.
EX E TER:
Printed by B. THORN and SON.
And Sold by J. DEBRETT (Succeflor to Mr. Almon), oppolito
Burlington Houſe, Piccadilly, LONDON.
MDCCLXXXIV.

A

Τ Ο
T H E
OFFICERS OF THE
BRITISH ARMY.
Exon, May 1, 1784.
GENTLEMEN,
IT
T will be needleſs to inform you who
it is that addreſſes you, perhaps for
the laſt time. My diſpute with the
unfortunate Governor of St. Euſtatius,
and the ruin of my Military Fortune,
have long engaged your Attention.
In 1782, I dedicated to you my Cafe,
if that name can be given to a true
copy of the Proceedings on my Court
Martial, without comment or mutila-
tion. As my reaſons for publiſhing
ber
A
it,

(ii)
it, are intimately connected with thoſe
which induce me to lay the following
Sketches before you, I beg to give
them to you at large.
On my return from the New World,
deprived of all but my Honour, I I
found my acquaintance divided into
three claffes : Friends, enemies, and
neutrals. I judged, that thoſe friends,
who knew my caſe, would think it
ſomewhat unguarded in me, to pub-
lith my little errors to the world,
when my material character was found;
yet, that other friends, who were ig-
norant of my caſe, would be anxious
to learn it; and if I concealed it
from them, might give credit to thoſe
reports which my enemies had moſt
induſtriouſly circulated. In the mean
time the neutrals, knowing that I was
caſhiered, and unacquainted with the
particulars of my fate, would of courſe
put the moſt unfavourable conſtruction
conduct. Beſides this, the anx-
iety occafioned by anſwering perpetu-
al queſtions on an ungrateful topic,
threatened
on my

(iii)
nor could
any
threatened to diſturb
my future peace;
anſwer of mine be con-
vincing, as it would be ſuppoſed to
flow leſs from truth than the deſire of
exculpation. I therefore found it ne-
ceſſary to publiſh, to convince my
friends, that whatever my errors had
been, my character, as a gentleman and
a man of ſpirit, ſtood unihaken; boldly
to ſhew the world, that I declined not
laying the naked facts before it; in full
confidence, that, when my unim-
peached character in eſſentials, proved
by the teſtimony of veteran officers,
and ſtrengthened by the voice of Ma-
jeſty itſelf, ſhould be publiſhed at my
own expence, it might prevent inſult
from thoſe, who knew only my fen-
tence but were uninformed of the
cauſes which produced it.
TO
So fully has this publication an-
fwered my views, that I was determin-
ed to give it more general circulation,
by prefixing it to this little work, that
you might ſee at one glance what I
was, and what I would have been, had
I
A 2

(iv)
I met with favour inſtead of enmity.
But my adverſary has fallen alſo; and
on the very day, which blended me
with the peaceful. Reſt to his mili-
tary remains !
In no period of his
misfortunes, have I indulged myſelf
in acrimony or triumph. I am the
I
victim of his faults, yet I have never
detracted from his merits. But tho'
I have withdrawn the publication of
my caſe, yet I truſt I may be indulged
,
in ſome quotations from it; eſpecially
as I conceive them fo neceſſary to me,
that the credit of this work would be
affected ſhould they be kept from
public view.
Much as I fcorn an
ungenerous advantage, yet I am not
enough a Roman to ſuffer
my
ſink, out of delicacy to one, who
fought entirely to deſtroy it. I bring
no new matter forth.
I quote from
a book, that has been in pretty general
circulation ſince 1782, long before the
capture of St. Euſtatius; and I uſe it
no further, than as I think my cha-
racter requires.
As
fame to

( v )
As I have apologized for the ex-
tracts I am about to make uſe of, I
will now point out to you the necef-
fity which calls them forth. There
are many people, even yet unacquainted
with my caſe, further than that I was
caſhiered for diſobedience: will they
not be aſtoniſhed at my inſolence in
publiſhing in my own name a treatiſe
to inculcate obedience? Beſides, theſe
little ſketches are chiefly intended for
the younger part of the army. But
example is more prevalent than
pre-
cept; and readers will
pay
little atten-
tion to rules, however juſt, which
they are told the author himſelf was
unable or unwilling to follow. The
advice of the clergyman to his pariſh-
ioners, when he told them to attend
to his precepts not his example, was
founded more in humour than in truth;
and before I can hope that this work
will gain attention, I feel myſelf
bound to produce evidence, that my
diſobedience was not voluntary, that
it was ungenial to every feeling of my
foul,

vi)
foul, and was called forth by an unex-
ampled ſituation, which changed my
merits into crimes, and where every
ſtruggle for fair fame ſtrained tighter
the cords of oppreffion. I ſhall firſt
then give you part of the evidence of
fome veteran officers, as it ſtands in
my defence. Men whoſe experience
made them fit judges of military ho-
nor, and whoſe minds could not be
too favourably biaſſed, ſince by money
and intereſt I had robbed them of that
preferment, which, had approved me-
rit its reward, would have been theirs
long before.
Queſtions propoſed by me to Capt. Fitzgerald.
Q. Have
you known me from my firſt
entrance into the army ? and did I come
over your head as an officer?
A. I have had the honour of being
acquainted with you, from your firſt en-
trance into the army, until the preſent
time, a ſpace of about eleven years. You
did come over my head as an officer.
Q. What has been my conduct, as an
officer and a gentleman?
A. T.

(vii)
A. To my knowledge you always did
your duty, with great alacrity, ſpirit, and
attention, on real and actual ſervice. I
have always known you ſtick to the ho-
nor, and principles of a gentleman, and
never knew you deviate from them in any
reſpect.
Q. Have I not lived on the moft in-
timate footing with the officers of the
35th regiment, until I became Major to
it? And did I not always ſhew the utmoſt
reſpect to my commanding officers ?
A. You have always been on the very
beft terms with every officer of the regi-
ment, from the Colonel to the Enſign, and
was highly efteemed and reſpected by all
the field officers under whom you ſerved,
Lieut. Colonel Cockburn excepted.--You
have always paid the utmoſt reſpect to
your ſuperior officers.
Q. Did I ever mention to you my
reaſons for declining the regimental pa-
rades? And if ſo, what were they?
A. You told me that it was well
known, on your being appointed Major,
you lhewed every intention in your power,
to be on a good footing with Lieut. Col.
Cockburn; but finding it morally impof-
fible, and that Col. Cockburn had not
behaved to you in a manner that a Lieur.
Colonel

(viii)
Colonel ſhould to a Major, you declined
attending parades, left the men in parti-
cular, ſhould obſerve any diſagreeable
altercations, between the Lieut. Colonel
and the Major.
Queſtions to Capt. Campbell.
Q. From the time you firſt knew me,
what has been my conduct, as an officer
and a gentleman ?
A. I never knew any thing in preju-
dice of your character, before the preſent
misfortunes on the iſland of St. Lucia.
Q. Have I not always lived on the
beſt terms with my corps, and paid the
utmoſt reſpect to my commanding officers ?
A. Very much ſo to the beſt of my
knowledge, and I never heard any thing
to the contrary.
Queſtions from me to Capt. Maſſey.
Q. How long have you known me,
and have we been intimate ?
A. I have known you more than nine
years, and we have been intimate.
Q. From the day of your firſt ſeeing
me (not allowing for my moſt ſocial and
unguarded hours) did you ever find, in
any

(ix )
a
any part of my conduct, any propenſity to
quarrels, riot, or buckiſm, or any point
inconſiſtent with the ſtrict character of a
gentleman ?
A. Your conduct was irreproachable
to the beſt of my opinion, and ſuch as
would bear a ſcrutiny.
Q. What has been my conduct as an
officer? moth
A. Unexceptionable; excluſive of the
accuſations now exhibited againſt you.
Q. Have I not taken every opportu-
nity of ſeeking occaſions to be diſtin-
guiſhed? And did I ever murmur at any
duty I was ordered on?
A. You have fought every occafion to
be diſtinguiſhed, and ever did your duty
with ſpirit, pleaſure, alacrity, and atten-
tion.
Q. Did I ever aſſign to you my reaſons
for declining the parades? And if I did,
what were they?
A. You did ; and ſaid, that Lieut. Col.
Cockburn's ill treatment of you was ſuch
at the head of the regiment, that you
would not put yourſelf in a like fituation
again, but would inform the Commander
in Chief on his arrival of your motives
for declining thoſe parades, and the duty
of the regiment.
B
To

( x )
To convince you that I was ferious
in this laſt reſolution, I will now lay
before you my letter to the Com-
mander in Chief in conſequence of it,
written immediately after my applica-
tion for the command in ſecond of the
grenadiers, then ordered for an expe-
dition: A time in which it would
have been madneſs to have pointed
out my ill conduct myſelf. The con-
cluſion then is fairly this, that I ſup-
poſed the very ſteps which occaſioned
my undoing, were the moſt proper
and juſtifiable that my circumſtances
would admit of.
It is neceſſary to
premiſe, that the appearance of a
French fleet put an end to the expe-
dition.
To General VAUGHAN,
SIR,
MAY I intreat your indulgence for the
laſt letter I ſhall perhaps trouble you with.
Your Excellency's favourable reception
of my application for the grenadiers, gives
me hopes, that you may one day call me
forth

( xi )
forth to view. But, alas ! Sir, the prof-
pect is far diftant, and I am again given
up to the malice of my enemies, with the
additional aggravation of being thought a
man, whoſe conduct you have approved,
whoſe ſervices were acceptable to you, and
whoſe diſappointment of courſe they wiſh
to render more bitter. If my ſtaying in
this garriſon could be of any material ſer-
vice, I ſhould acquieſce without a mur-
mur. But, Sir, having tried every method
reaſon and honour could dictate, to keep
on terms with my lieutenant-colonel, even
until I was at variance with officers, by
whom I was once univerſally beloved, I
have given up fo extravagant a hope ; and
unwilling to let the regiment ſee publicly
a diſagreement between thoſe who ſhould
be united, have declined all parades and
all command.
Now, Sir, let me again repeat my
for-
mer requeſt. Is it in your power to give
me any employment under you? Will
your Excellency accept of me as an extra
aid-du-camp? My little independence
puts me above the idea of pay. I do not
expect to carry diſpatches in preference
to your eſtabliſhed aids-du-camp. I wil-
lingly decline the pomp of rank, in fa-
vour of any poſt you may appoint me to.
My
Ba

(xii)
My wiſh is, to convince you how much my
military ardour is tempered with obedience;
and under your friendly ſhelter, to reco-
ver ſufficient peace of mind, and warmth
of emulation, to juſtify any command you
may hereafter entruſt me with.
13 ore
This letter, Sir, is not a letter written
from oſtentation. My ſoul lives in every
fentence of it. You have much, Sir, in
your power; I am ſure you will not damp
thoſe hopes I have placed in your protec-
tion; you will not fentence an active and
feeling ſpirit, again to exile and oblivion.
I have the honour to be, &c.
But now let me add the main prop
which has ſupported my falling fame.
Let me finally lay before you the moſt
ſingular and flattering teſtimony that
ever was paid to merit in misfortune;
no leſs than the condoling voice of
Majeſty itſelf, given me in the very
moment of my diſmiſſion from the
ſervice.
02
Doro
Extraer

(xiii)
ExtraEt of a letter from Sir CHARLES GOULD,
Judge Advocate General, to Lord AMHERST.
Dated Horſe-Guards, Sept. 21, 1780.
I Have had the honour of laying theſe
proceedings before the King, who has
taken into his royal confideration the fe-
veral matters produced in evidence, wiſh-
ing to have diſcovered ſome ground for a
mitigation of the ſentence. He has com-
manded me to expreſs, that it is with much
regret, having been informed of the pri-
foner's ſpirited behaviour, and the wounds
ſuſtained by him in the ſervice of his
country, as well as of his unimpeached
character as a gentleman, that his Majeſty
finds ſome charges, and thoſe but too
clearly ſupported by evidence, which ren-
der it indiſpenſibly neceſſary, in point of
example, and for the enforcing a friet
obedience to diſcipline, to diſmiſs the pri-
foner, Edward Drewe, from his ſervice, as
Major of the 35th regiment of foot.
You will pleaſe here to remark a
fingularity in the wording of this fen-
tence. I am not diſmiſſed the ſervice
altogether, or rendered incapable of
ſerving:

( xiv
ſerving : But, for the enforcing a
ſtrict obedience to diſcipline, I am
diſmiſſed only as Major of the 35th
regiment of foot.
If theſe extracts ſpeak not for them-
felves, all further comment will be
needleſs.
And now I am on this ſubject for
the laſt time, give me leave to unbur-
then myſelf moſt fully. I treſpaſs
on your patience, but garrulity is
the privilege of misfortune. Tho'
ſome fanguine friends may enter into
all my feelings, yet I am aware that
there are others very reſpectable, but
of more temperate minds, or ſuch as
have never known misfortune, who
will tell me, that I ſhould leave
it to them to hold me up to ho-
A waggon (ſays the fable)
ſtuck in the mire.
fell on his knees : « Oh Hercules
aflift me!” “Put your own ſhoulder
to the waggon, (ſays the god) and
then I will affift thee.” A man's
friends will be little ſolicitous of
ſupporting
nor.
The waggoner
>

( XV)
ſupporting his reputation, if he feems
indifferent about it himſelf. But
per-
haps I may have a maxim given me,
in return for my fable. It may be
hinted to me, that true merit is mo-
deſt. Let me reſtore the reading, and
ſay, that ſucceſsful merit is modeſt.
The fucceſsful man may cover him-
ſelf ſafely with the veil of affected
modeſty, conſcious that public fame
will ſoon draw it aſide, and expoſe
the generous hypocrite to view. But
ſhould there exiſt a caſe, in which,
by an indiſcriminate ſentence, he,
whofe breaſt glows with the flame of
glory, is in danger of being claffed
with the mutinous or cowardly; he,
who has attentively ſtudied his pro-
feffion, of being blended with the
uninformed and the idle; he, whoſe
courage has been directed by reaſon,
of being confounded with the incon-
fiderate and impetuous : In ſuch a
caſe, his mind will collect itſelf into
becoming indignation; the plea of
falſe modeſty will not be attended to ;
and

( xvi)
and, tho' the uncandid and unfeeling
may upbraid him, yet the voice of in-
jured honor will be heard moſt loudly;
for what in the ſucceſsful man is boaſt-
ing, is in the unfortunate only vin-
dication.
But tho' my character is now, I
truft, fufficiently eſtabliſhed as to
courage, yet this is little ſatisfaction
to me, for meer perſonal bravery is
but a very ſecondary quality in a field
officer. My proſecutor, in his reply,
ſays (alluding to me) “ Thank God,
every Britiſh Soldier poffefſes true
courage; ſomething more, I con-
ceive, is required from the officer."
I moft fully affent to the truth of this
remark, tho'I cannot admit the
pro-
priety of the application.
Miſplaced courage may be as fatal
to an army, as cowardice. Wide is
the difference between conſtitutional
bravery, under the impulſe of igno-
rance, and the courage of the mind,
perfected by reflection. I muſt again
expreſs my fears, left the implication
may
)

( xvii)
may affect my character with thoſe
who knew me not, and it is in the
firm truſt of acquittal from having de-
ſerved it, that I fubmit the following
ſketches to your candor; convinced,
that
you will find my ideas of the fu-
perior character of an officer, fully
equal to thoſe entertained by my Lieut.
Colonel, if they do not even border
on the romantic. If I have ſtudied
my
profeffion on wrong principles, you
will at leaſt find that I did not pride
myſelf in ignorance. If my am-
bition was directed to views now
it ſeems of little conſequence, you
will find I did not wander from
them, but purſued the path which
I thought the right one, till it ter-
ininated in a fatal precipice. In
ſhort, you have here the principles
on which I had formed myſelf; and
which, had not my bloſſoms been
early nipped, it would have been
my pride to have cultivated to ma-
turity.
The
etc

( xviii)
The Letter to a Young Officer,
which ſtands firſt in this book, was
circulated among you at New-York
by Mr. Rivington, without my con-
ſent or knowledge. I had ordered
him to print a few copies at my own
expence, and, on my arrival in the
Weſt-Indies, was not a little fur-
priſed to find that he had made it a
general publication. Another cir-
cumſtance reſpecting this letter has
not a little perplexed me. While it
was now a ſecond time in the preſs, a
friend pointed out to me an extract
from it in the Critical Review for
May laſt, at page 351. I ſtopped the
printing, till I could make enquiry if
it had ever been publiſhed in Eng-
land. I had recourſe to all the re-
views and Magazines, truſting that if
the work had been worthy attention,
I might have found ſome hints to
have profited by, and many errors in
ſtile and compoſition pointed out for
my amendment.
But as all my en-
quiries have been unſucceſsful, I can
only

( xix )
I have pre-
only declare, that I am ignorant how
the paſſage crept in, ſince I am fo en-
tirely unconnected with the writers
of the Critical Review, as not even to
know them by name.
ſerved the original preface for reaſons
which will be obvious on peruſing it.
My letters to the Hibernian Chro-
nicle were written in 17749
but were
never publiſhed. I have much to
plead for attacking a ſyſtem of diſci-
pline now generally adopted, and on
which
many
officers have raiſed a high
military reputation; but human na-
ture is liable to error. I publiſh theſe
letters, truſting that any inattentions
to the minutiæ of ſervice, which may:
have been attributed in me to levity,
or inadvertence, will now appear to
ſpring from a different cauſe : From
my having viewed them as cloſely as
others, but perhaps thro' the wrong
end of the perſpective, which pre-
ſented them to me in a leſs important
point of view than that in which they
are ſeen by diſciplinarians. But ob-
ſerve,
awv
a

( x )
ſerve, that this apology is applicable
only if I ſhould be wrong. The voice of
the many will not convince me that I
am ſo. I cannot eafily be perſuaded
that ſenſe and reaſon are always on
that fide. I ſhall make only one re-
mark on the ſpeech of Potomakow,
which is, that general fatire cannot
affect individuals. Every one of you
who has ſerved in America, will re-
member the errors pointed out in it:
and that correction which amends is
ſurely a friendly one. The fketches
which fill the middle of the book,
are perhaps ſcarce worthy of attention.
Of the Contraſts which ſucceed them.
the firſt was publiſhed at the end of
my Letter to a Young Officer, the
other is of a later date, and thoſe who
read our periodical publications will
remember having ſeen the latter part
of it. Theſe contraſts are humble
attempts at a new mode of drawing
characters. I intended to have added
a few more, but as I was diffident of
ſucceſs, I declined the taſk. My
views
a

(xxi )
views in this little work reſpect only
my character as a ſoldier ; my pre-
tenſions to literary fame are but very
moderate. .
The verſes which conclude this
book were publiſhed in 1776; I have
ſince exchanged the name of Lycidas
for Dorilas ; I thought it prudent to
keep Milton out of your view. Did
I think my character now wanted ſup-
port, I ſhould break thro' the rules
of delicacy by naming the friend they
are addreſſed to, and thus claim the
habits of honor and intimacy with
one of the moſt riſing military men of
theſe days.
But with thoſe who
know me, my reputation needs no
ſuch ſupport; with thoſe to whom I
am unknown, I truſt the teſtimonies
already given will eſtabliſh it.
My motives for annexing this poem
ariſe, I hope, from a juſtifiable con-
ſciouſneſs. I with that
you
ſhould
learn what firmneſs and ſerenity of
mind I poſſeſſed when in pain and
moſt imminent danger. Thoſe, whoſe
kindneſs

( xxii)
a
you will
kindneſs ſoothed my ſufferings at
Boſton, well know it was not written
from a bed of roſes.
In peruſing theſe ſketches
find that I have endeavoured to avoid
the charge of plagiariſm, by acknow-
ledging every fentence I have bor-
rowed. A man of very moderate read-
ing will often miſtake the thoughts of
others for his own; and perhaps there
are many plagiariſms ſtill interwoven
in this work of which I am at pre-
fent unconſcious. Should ſuch be
hereafter diſcovered, I hope you will
not ſay they have been detecteda ono
Theſe trifies have been long ſince
promiſed. It will be aſked me, why
they have been kept back till a period
when the caſe to which they allude is
nearly forgotten? I anſwer thus: I
ſtill indulged the delufive hope, that
when
my
Monarch ſhould learn more
particularly my caſe, and know the
attention paid to me (tho' unfortu-
nate) by all with whom I had ferved,
he might think my long ſuſpenſion
from

( xxiii)
from rank an expiation for my faults,
and reſtore me again to my profeflion.
But in theſe times of alarming tumult
the wrongs of an individual muſt not
perhaps claim attention from a King.
Be it fo; I retire from my favou-
rite purſuits with regret, yet with
reſignation. My King ſhall ſtill find
in me a moſt loyal ſubject; nor in
times of domeſtic danger ſhall
my ex-
ertions be wanting to my country.
Conſidered as a man once a ſoldier,
many mortifications are yet in ſtore
I muſt now ſubmit to ſee
my juniors riſe over me into high
rank; nay, gain honour in thoſe com-
mands which it was once my ambi-
tion to have obtained. Yet out of the
wreck of my fortunes fome advantages
ſtill remain to me, as the man of peace;
viz. competence, connexion, and nu-
merous well-wiſhers.
Was I con-
ſcious that I had deſerved my fate, I
would have twined around theſe props,
nor ſhould you ever more have heard
of me as a ſoldier. Three years have
for me.
Now

( xxiv)
110w elapſed ſince I fell; paffion and
prejudice muſt long have given place
to reflection. I have indulged that
reflection in looking into my military
conduct with a ſcrutinizing eye; in
that fcutiny I have often found my
cheek fuffuſed with the conſcious
pride of a warrior, but never has it
confeffed the bluſh of ſhame. I have
my errors; I frankly own them; they
are incident to humanity, and I pof-
fefs them with the world in common;
but was every error as pertinaciouſly
puniſhed as mine have been, the
King would have few experienced of-
ficers in his army. Who then would
wiſh me to defert my name, my fa-
mily, and myſelf? No.
paſſport for oblivion be ſigned when
it will, it ſhall not be marked with
my fignature. Could my reflections
.
on paft ſervice be bought with the
wealth of worlds, I would mock the
offer with ſcorn. I reverence the law
of my country, tho' I fall by their
miſconſtruction. I pledge myſelf a
faithful
Let my

(( XXV
)
faithful citizen of that ſtate which I
am no longer permitted to defend.
But yet ſhall my expiring breath avow
the uprightneſs of my intentions, and
arraign the rigour of
my
fentence.
And now, in the moſt folemn and
affectionate ſtate of mind, let me bid
you my final adieu. Let me grate-
fully thank you, for the countenance
you have thewn me, in every period of
my varying fortunes: For attentions
which have brightened even my prof-
perous days, diſpelled the gloom from
my adverſe ones, and which, reflecting
the conſciouſneſs of my breaſt, will,
I truſt, raiſe me above all events on
this fide that happy and triumphant
ſtate, when human trouble ſhall be
no more.
With great truth and eſteem,
Gentlemen,
Your moſt obliged
And faithful ſervant,
Edward Drewe.
I am,
с

10. Insis
olan
arbete
svo
NOTE

CO N T E N T S.
Letter from a Soldier
Page 7
an old Soldier
54
an older Soldier
63
Speech of Potamakow
70
A Tale
80
A Fragment
Love of the Service
87
Wounds
go
Contraſt between Conde and Turenne
92
Hannibal and Scipio 99
Elegiac Epiſtle
117
84

а ти и о
E R R Α Τ Α.
o
4.8.
PAGE
LINE
3710 for few ſubalterns read fubalterns.
43 23
caſe read care.
13 thoſe the read the.
67 -16 their beads read his bead.
115-
8 Joaked read foak'd.
now read thus.
Verbal inaccuracies, which affect neither the
ſenſe nor the grammatical conſtruction, may be
eaſily re&tified by the reader.
122
21

А
L E T T E R
TO A
YOUNG OFFICER.


INTRODUCTION
TO THE
FIRST
EDITION,
Publiſhed at NEW-YORK.
THIS letter was written by the deſire of
a young officer of merit. The writer's
friends have prevailed on him to print off
a few copies of it, for their peruſal. It is
perhaps neceſſary to mention this, left any
perſon who may meet with it in its preſent
form, and gueſs at the author, ſhould miſ-
take his intention, and ſuppoſe he meant
this ſketch, imperfectly drawn up amidſt
the din of arms, and dedicated to private
friendſhip, for a compleat fyftem, boldly
held forth to the ſevereft ſtrictures of pub-
lic criticiſm.
A 2
Thus

[ 4 ]
Thus ſtood my apology for this little
Eſſay, in the proof ſheet; I have ſince
found it neceſſary to ſay ſomething more
in its excuſe.
My friends have very properly thought,
that many expreſſions uſed in it would
diſcover the author to his acquaintance;
and that, becauſe it appears in print, it
would ſtill be ſuppoſed of a public nature,
the
young
officer it is addreffed to a ficti-
tious character, and the Introduction on
the plan of thoſe affectedly modeſt ones, ,
with which ſome authors intrude their
farragos on the world ; therefore they
wiſhed it to be carefully reviſed. I ſub-
mitted. Various are men's opinions; va-
rious are the materials of this eſſay ;
courſe all parts could not ſuit all men.
Friendſhip applauded the piece as an whole,
but ſcarce a ſingle part of it eſcaped from
an objection, One friend hinted, that
my
bringing in religion was combating too
much on facred ground; another dif-
claimed a fyftem of advice which excluded
ſo neceſſary a branch; not a few (who felt
its influence) conceived it an unfaſhionable
fubject.
of

[ 5 ]
ſubject. My definition of gallantry was
too refined; at preſent it was little under-
ftood, and ſtill leſs feit. And my idea of
an accompliſh'd general out-heroded per-
fection.
I have before me the celebrated fable of
the Miller, Son, and Afs; and ſince to
fuit the work to all fancies will be to de-
ſtroy it entirely, I will abide by the moral
of the fable, follow my own way, and caſt
it on the charity of thoſe who may by acci-
dent meet with it, with all its imperfections
on its head. This I muſt premiſe however,
that it contains ſentiments which I have
perhaps more cultivated in my mind, than
juſtified by my example. If the generous
man who peruſes it ſhall find himſelf
amended either by the ſting of ſatire, or
ſpur of emulation, I am repaid for all the
attacks it may ſuffer. But ſhould there be
any man of ſo unkind a temper as to loſe in
the errors of the author the honeft intention
of the friend, I ſhall conſole myſelf with
this reflection, “ That the piece was not
written for HIM."
The
>

[ 6 ]
The few notes fubjoined, confift of
thoughts on the ſubject, which, having
occurr'd to me ſince the compoſition of
this effay, could not be interwoven into the
body of the piece.
T
A LETTER

A
L E T T E R
Το Α
A
YOUNG OFFICER.
PART I.
Sublime Part of a Soldier's Durystale
I Andleig
YOU
MY DEAR WILLIAM,
OU aſk my advice for your conduct in the dif-
ficult profeſſion which you have embrac'd.
Neither age nor experience entitle me to give you
a regular fyftem for it, which, from the many va-
rying circumſtances of life, can only be drawn
from obſervation.
Yet a few years ſervice has furniſh'd me with
ſome hints which may be uſeful; and I ſhall give
them to you, as they occur, in as much form as
my leiſure will permit.
The two principal things you muſt conſider, in
embracing the military line, are,
Firſt,
a

[ 8 ]
First, If you are poffefs'd of the peculiar difpofi-
tion which is eſſential in giving you a reliſh for it.
Secondly, If you have a ſufficient reſolution of
mind to ſupport this difpofition.
You may anſwer, perhaps, that all men poffefs
theſe requiſites, fince almoſt all men meet peril with
intrepidity. I wiſh this anſwer was as true, as it
is ſpecious; but I am afraid on a ſtrict examination
we ſhall find, that although of thoſe many warriors,
who from the earlieſt period, have offered their
lives to the ſervice, ſcarce fix in a century have
ſhrunk from danger ; yet that there are not ſo many
as we may ſuppoſe poſſeſſed of a true military fsi-
rit, or even of a well directed courage.
Let us now examine what is a true military
ſpirit.
A diſpoſition which fits us for any particular
plan of life muſt be fo framed as to afford us actual
enjoyment in the execution of it, or elſe fo enamour
us of the reward attending it when executed, as to
make us ſuppoſe this a fufficient recompence for
paffing through the medium of inconvenience. A
profeffion which conſequently deprives a man of
eaſe, pleaſure, country, conſtitution, nay of perſo-
nal ſafety itſelf, no man can poffibly enjoy ; but
that he has fixed his hopes on ſome future reward
which may amply compenſate him for this facri-
fice; and, as the facrifice is that of
every
comfort
which mankind in general think effential to their
happineſs,

[ 9 ]
happineſs, that turn of mind muſt be far fron
common, that can form to itſelf any reward to
make amends for it.
What then are the rewards which military men
form to themſelves, as they ariſe from their various
diſpoſitions ?
One man grows old in care to preſerve, or in-
creaſe his ſmall annual pittance. Alas! pecuniary
rewards, as they are diſgraceful to true glory, are
ſeldom found in this profeſſion, except in the ille-
gal practice of plunder.
Another man is puſhed on by the hopes of power
and rank. This principle is equally ſelfiſh and
miſtaken. The military line is perhaps the only
one in which you muſt be abſolutely poſſeſſed of
riches and power, before you can increaſe your
rank or affluence.
Some diſgrace the nobleſt of profeſſions by ſup-
poſing it a vehicle for the indulgence of vicious ha-
bits; others (more inodeft) do actions which
would give credit to Alexander, in hopes of being
admired by the ladies. The one, forgetting that
cold and want, the conſtant companions of a
camp, ill ſuit with a luxurious temper ; the other,
that climate, contagion, or the momentary chance
of war, may produce deformity or death. What
then is the reward which muſt compenſate for
ſo many misfortunes? It is Glory. Not that
glory which hopes its recompence from the voice
B
of

[ 10 ]
a
of popular fame alone, but that which is founded
on a ſenſe of juſt and meritorious actions. We
are born the debtors of ſociety; in diſcharging the
debt, the noble mind repays itſelf. A foul ſenſible
to glory, will deſpiſe the ſelfiſh rewards of a mean
one: to him the approbation of his Prince, or the
applauding ſhouts of his country, will be Indies,
diadems, and crowns; and if moreover theſe pub-
;
lic founds of joy ſhould meet an echo from with-
in, he will then be a very chymift in happineſs; he
will crowd into that one triumphant moment, the
common pleaſure of an age.
This, my William, is a true military ſpirit,
and ſuch as I am convinced you are poffeffed of *
Since we have touched on the peculiar difpofi-
tion neceſſary for the army, let us now conſider
what degree of reſolution is required to ſupport it.
By reſolution is commonly meant bravery, or
the habit of defying danger. But how few act on
Stot
this
* The trophies (not the ſpoils) of Miltiades deprived The-
milocles of his reft. One ſhout of public applauſe was
ſhowered on the hero of Salamis, and he confeſſed himſelf
repaid for all his toils.
The loſs of command affe&ted not the godlike Epami-
nondas; he was poor in intereſt, but he was rich in fame;
and perhaps that one triumphant monient when the whole
army called him forth from a private centinel to the chief
command, once more to preſerve ungrateful Thebes, wiped
#vay every former diſgrace.
Vid. Plus, in vit. Themift. & Pelop.
2

[ II
this principle of defiance, unleſs ſwayed by ſome
motive or accidental cauſe, which takes much
from its merit? One man marches to action with
a daring inſenſibility, becauſe he has never reflected
on its confequences ; another is weary of exiſt-
ence; a third knows not its value ; a fourth fears
being broke with diſgrace; a fifth is infenfible to
diſgrace, and trembles only for his commiffion.
I could quote many more inſtances, but you
will demand of me who is a brave man? Is he one
ſwayed by noble Principles, and inſenſible to dan-
ger? No. He is one fwayed indeed by noble
principles, and yet ſenſible to every danger.
There is a dread of peril interwoven with the
conftitution of man: this dread is called forth
chiefly by reflection. The man of reaſon muſt
feel it in all its force. But in proportion to his
feeling, ſo much the more noble his reſiſtance. A
ſcene of univerſal carnage inelts the tender heart.
The very thought, that life, youth, and happineſs
in this world, are faked againſt a dark uncertainty
in the next, and that the caſt is the chance of a
moment, muft alarm the bravest breaft. Since
the man of reaſon finks beneath thoſe weakneſſes,
which the thoughtleſs and inſenſible feel not, what
has he to ſupport his mind in the conſequent horror
of his ſituation. If that mind has been directed to its
proper point, he has ſhields of tenfold adamant,
principle, providence, and a good conſcience.
As
B 2

[ 12 ]
As I have mentioned two words which our de-
praved age has never ſuppoſed to have been uſed,
but with an eye to hypocriſy, even although from
the mouth of a divine, I ſhall explain in what ſenſe
I would have them underſtood. By a good con-
ſcience, I mean not the conſciouſneſs of a breaſt
void of failing, Youth is an unſurmountable bar
to the maſtery of the paſſions, nor can it be fup-
poſed, that he who is but juſt entangled in the
gilded ſnares of this world, ſhould ardently fix
his affections on another. Time only (the flow,
yet certain conqueror of the paſſions) by convinc-
ing us of the folly of this ſtate, can prepare us
cheerfully to quit it. But it is in every man's
power to exert in ſome meaſure his reaſon, and in
the fatisfaction of reflecting that this has been
exerted, if not to the beſt of his intentions, yet
of his power, confifts perhaps the charitable idea
of a good conſcience. God is all powerful, but
he is alſo all merciful and all wiſe.
Providence is a word, perhaps not only miſun-
derſtood, but by zealots innocently, nay religiouſly
applied to ideas verging on impiety. There are
not wanting fome, who, reflecting on the general
providence of God, have applied it to particulars,
and intimately included themſelves in the num-
ber; have dared imagine, that he whoſe fiat cre-
ated the world, is anxiouſly attentive to all the little
actions

[ 13 ]
actions of their lives, nay the author of every
trivial accident which befals them. Thus pre-
verting the purpoſe of religion; and inſtead of
pofſeffing a due veneration for the majeſty of God,
reducing that all-powerful Being to the ſtate of an
affiduous, yet reſponſible domeſtic. Shall I dare
I
think that he has ſpread his wing over me, when
a Pitcairn and an Abercromby fell ? or has loaded
me with fickneſs as a correction in that hour
when I was moſt reſigned to his fway? We are
told that he is all-wiſe, and as far as human reaſon
can, fuch I will endeavour to conceive him. The
true religious principle then perhaps is to acknow-
ledge his general protecting power, yet be diffi-
dent of its particular exertion. To be conſcious
of your faults, yet inſult not his mercy by deſpair.
That arm created not to deſtroy, but where it
meets with impenitence. Humbly acknowledge
then your frailties, and have a firm reliance on
being received into his paternal boſom.
A man in this diſpoſition of mind, will far ex-
ceed in heroiſm any conſtitutional warrior.
As a brave man (if ſuch there is) relies on a
particular ſtrength of nerves, his bravery often
fails at any ſudden ſhock, which an unexpected
accident may occafion; but the man of reſolution
having weighed all events, is prepared for every
ſituation, nay the ſolemn ſtate of his mind will
caft

[ [
14 ]
caſt a majeſtic ſerenity around him, and, by check-
ing the ardour of his fpirit, give him that ſteady
coolneſs which is not inherent in his nature, nor
ever to be attained by the brave man.
Having now given you ſome hints on reſolution
in its limited ſenſe, that is, as it reſpects bravery or
defiance of danger, let us now take a view of it
in its more general one, that is, as it alſo compriſes
fortitude or defiance of evil; and in this light I am
apprehenſive it has been too little conſidered.
How often do we find ſoldiers, who have fought
with ſpirit, ſhrinking beneath the knife of the ſur.
geon; or at every change of climate, fortune or
food, exclaiming againſt the ſervice, and regret-
ing that they were not enabled to leave it?
I will not in mercy ſuppoſe thoſe men void of
fortitude, but ſurely they have ill informed them-
felves of the many hazards of our profeffion.
Does all courage conſiſt in ſupporting a few
moments of danger? Is it not exerted (and poſſi-
bly with more force) in fupporting pain or misfor-
tune? Does a man appear leſs a hero when ſmil-
ing at his wounds with reſolution, than when
ruſhing into thoſe ſcenes where he muſt expect to
receive them? I will be bold to ſay, that I once
imbibed more philofophy to ſupport me in my fuf.
ferings from the unmanly wailings of a wounded
officer, who juſt before had dared even death itſelf,
than
a

[ 15 ]
a
than from all the reaſoning I could ever bring to
my
affiſtance. *
But it is not in pain only, but in inconve-
nience, in diſappointment, in all the varying
anxieties of our tumultuous life, that this fortitude
is a neceſſary attendant ; yet its exertion ſhould
not produce a Stoical indifference, but rather a
calm philofophic reſignation. This then is the
touchſtone of a true and noble ſpirit; let us re-
ſign to the mere ſoldier his claim to perſonal bra-
very, fince fortitude is the birthright of the
hero.
The requiſites neceſſary to form a ſoldier hav-
ing been conſidered, let us now take a view of
the duties of his profeſſion.
The firſt principle of a ſoldier (his duty to fo-
ciety excepted) is a uniform and ſteady obedience;
I will not pretend to define how far that obe-
dience binds in caſe of a ſecond maſſacre at
Glencow, or the abſolute fubverſion of our liber-
ties; when there is a probability of the ones hap-
pening,
а
a
* This may appear perſonal; I wiſh to avoid theſe
things; but it is impoſſible to gueſs at the man I mean,
as no man living is in poſſeſſion of his name from me. I
ſhall therefore only ſay, qui capit ille fecit.
† It is in the hour of danger or calamity that
the mind calls forth its native vigour. To the little ſoul
belong the pleaſures of life : the noble fpirit triumphs in
combating nature and misfortune.

[ 16 ]
a
pening, or a poſibility of the others, it will be full
time enough to prepare for the event.
Obedience then, as it is our firſt principle, it
ſhould feem is alſo our firſt duty: no, it is not;
for our modern ſoldiers, imitating that nice diſ-
tinction in politics, which has ſeparated private
from public virtue, have indeed granted obedience
to be a duty, but yet have ſeparated duty from
obedience. Let us trace this refined innovation
to its ſource.
That obedience in general was at firſt a ſoldier's
duty, I believe has never been diſputed. But as it
was found neceſſary, to preſerve health, that
there fhould be ſome relaxation from fatigue, only
a part of a regiment was kept on duty at one time;
the names of the men and officers were entered in
a book called a Rofter, by which every man might
know his hours of relaxation, admitting (as I fup.
poſe) that no material ſervice demanded him.
This Rofter then, intended at firſt as a regulator
of military obedience, has finally deſtroyed her
power ;
that
power once abſolute is now contract-
ed in very narrow bounds, and the Roſter is become
the Magna Charta of this new created duty, which
law muſt on no account be infringed.
But has duty herſelf gained by this? indeed very
little. Her
power is alſo a mere fhadow, and her
votaries divided into two factions, viz. Thoſe who
will

[ 17 ]
will not do more than this duty and thoſe who
will do no duty at all.
A man, my friend, like you, who has formed
,
himſelf on the Roman model, will not readily
perhaps conceive what is meant by a foldier doing
more than his duty. Let me define it. A fol-
dier is now ſuppoſed to do more than his duty
when he ſeizes every occaſion of being uſeful,
without reſpect to his immediate tour of ſervice.
All bright and ſplendid actions which ſwerve a
little from the common line, are by the narrow
minded called works of fupererogation ; but were
all men to judge thus, a General would often
find his ſituation like that of one who fell into a
ditch, and received no aſſiſtance from his atten-
dants, becauſe neither of them could find that the
office of helping him out was mentioned in his
paper of inſtructions. The illuſtrious Philopamen
breaking thro' the ſhackles of orders, won the
battle of Selafia. His General complained to An-
tigonus. Sir, replied the King, that young
foldier has acted the part of a general; you, the
general, that of a young foldier." I mention
I
this as an inſtance, rather than an example, for
perhaps ſuch daring ſtrokes are only allowable to
a genius like Philopæmen.
There is another phraſe founded on the fame
narrow principles, which is generally made uſe of
by our friends to induce us to quit our dangerous
с
employment.

[ 18 ]
a
employment. It is that of having done enough.
But pray on what ſuperior actions can be founded
our claim of being nolonger uſeful? Is it becauſe we
have ſhewn our courage ? Did we then break
thro' our domeſtic ties merely to diſplay a quality
the moſt indigent Briton is pofſeſt of? But we
have alſo diſplayed our zeal. This argument re-
coils on its ſupporter ; for ill would he deſerve
the name of a citizen, who deſerts his country's
cauſe in that moment when he finds that he has
virtue to ſupport it.
The duty then, my friend, of a ſoldier conſiſts
in ſeizing every opportunity of being uſeful. Its
grammar is not the roſter, but its rules are written
on that unſpotted leaf : A LOYAL, BRAVE,
and GENEROUS HEART.
Having juſt glanced at the firſt faction, viz.
Thoſe who will not do more than their duty,
let us juſt take a peep at thoſe who will do no
duty at all.
This faction conſiſts (or rather ſhould confift)
of men of great fortunes, who enter into the
army only to ſhow that they deſpiſe it, look on
all obedience to be abject ſubjection, and accept
indeed their ſcanty military ftipend, becauſe it
gives them an opportunity of comparing it with
their own independence. . I will not aſk, if theſe
men are more noble, more free, or more indepen-
dent than a Percy, a Harrington, or a Rawdon,
fince

[ 19 ]
ſince in our line profeſſional rank alone gives fupe-
riority; but this I muſt ſay, that it would be
happy for fociety if they were as uſeful, Yet
theſe men are culprits againſt the ſtate. They
neglect and diſgrace the duties of their truſt, and
whilſt pofſeſt of an uſeleſs and oftentatious fuper
fluity, keep perhaps a poor pittance from a brave
neceſſitous man, who would do honour to the
commiſſion he is entruſted with, and think himſelf
well paid in pofſeffing but the means of ex-
iſtence.
I have hinted at liberty, a dangerous word to
meddle with. I cannot then refrain repeating to
you a fingular opinion. If you ſhould happen to
be what is now called a patriot, I beg leave to af-
I
ſure you, the author alludes to liberty only as it
reſpects our joint profeſſion ; however you may
apply it as you pleaſe. The ſentence is taken
from the looſe hints of a friend of
yours.
I trem-
ble whilft I tranſcribe it; but nil de perandum eft.
So here it is.
" The ſtruggle for liberty has always been ac-
6 counted glorious, but for what reaſon I am at a
e loſs to conceive, Is there any thing glorious in
wiſhing to enjoy life with as few reſtrictions as
poffible? I think the more noble principle lies
C in facrificing fome part of ones private right for
ss the public good. It may admit of a nice dir-
pute which is the moſt generous character, viz.
CG
C2
an

[ 20 ]
66
a
an abject ſlave or a licentious freeman. This
"muſt however be granted, that if love of liberty
“ confifts in love of pleaſure ſans reſtriction,
" there are not two ſuch patriots to be found as a
“ Billingſgate fith-woman and a fruit girl.”
But a truce with raillery,
Since we have now then taken a ſhort view of
the three great component parts of a military ſpirit,
that is, bravery, fortitude, and obedience; or to
compriſe them in one general term, patience, for
bravery is but a fufferance of danger; fortitude,
of evil; obedience, of command, &c. Let us
dwell a moment on one ſeemingly great eſſential
to the character of a ſoldier, but which has been
ſo long out of faſhion, that it is now ſuppoſed to
be of no imaginable fervice whatſoever, I mean
the knowledge of the ant military.
This miſtake derives its ſource from an opinion,
that experience alone formed a foldier. I will not
enter into a diſpute which has been ſo frequently
and ably ſupported, that is, whether theory or
practice is of moſt benefit to a military man; for
why ſhould we wiſh to ſeparate thoſe who ſhould
walk hand in hand together?
Theory may be compared to a ſhy and tender
child, in whom are all the uſeful virtues ; expe-
rience is the nurſe that foſters them, and calls
them forth to public view : But tho' experience
ripens theory, it can by no means want its affift-
ance ;

[ 21 ]
ance ; for I am certain, that without the know-
ledge of ſome leading rules, all military operations
will appear an undiſtinguiſhable chaos. As the
fayourers of mere practice are often of great au-
thority, I will proceed no farther on this ſubje&t.
But what ſhall we ſay of thoſe who, wrapt up in
ignorance, diſdain the alliſtance of either, and will
neither permit their eyes to ſee, their ears to hear,
or their lips to aſk a queſtion.
Enquire of a man of this kind what new works
are erecting ? (perhaps too he has been on the
working party) he knows not; that is the engi-
neer's buſineſs. What is the ſtate of the army? let
the general look to that. By what means do we
get our proviſions ? he will anſwer, that he is not
purveyor to the camp. In ſhort, he leaves the
ſublime of war to his general, and the detail to
his ferjeant; and yet aſk him on what conditions
he receives his pay ? he will tell you, to ſerve and
defend his
country.
Place this man on an outpoſt, the enemy ap-
proaches, he must fortify himſelf; but where is
the engineer? Whilſt the queſtion yet trembles
on his lips, his party fails a victim to his igno-
rance; he eſcapes himſelf, is once more entruited
with command, his ſupplies are cut off, has he
provided for this event ? no; he thought the
purveyor would have looked to that - his detach-
ment periſhes without a Itroke.
Such

[ 22 ]
>
Such a man as this commits errors in advanced
life, a cadet at Woolwich would bluſh for. If his
conduct affected himſelf only, it would be happy;
but his ignorance is a crime againſt the general
who entruſted him with command, and that coun•
try which had relied on his protection : yet whilft
the fatal roſter exiſts, and a tour of duty is marked
by rule, not merit, ſuch men muſt conſequently
be entrufted with command, unleſs we adopt ſome
mode of reformation.
It will admit of no diſpute that the officers of
the French army are in general more informed
than thoſe of the Engliſh; and we are far out-
fhone in profeffional knowledge by the navy. Yet
our judgments are more folid than thoſe of our
lively neighbours, and we yield not in abilities to
our naval brethren. The difference then ariſes from
a cuſtom amongſt the others, which obliges every
candidate for rank to prove by examination that he
has fufficient knowledge to ſupport it properly.
Adopt this, with an eye to the character alſo, the
evil complained of would immediately be removed,
and the rofter might keep its ground in peace.
As I have now pointed out to you the four
chief requiſites in the character of a ſoldier, you
expect perhaps that I Thould touch on the me-
thod of applying them to the beft advantage.
In regard to the rules of your profeſſion, as a
fcience, they are regular in their general opera-
tion ;

[ 23 ]
a
tion; and if ever they vary, it will depend on genius
and circumſtance to direct them.
I am ſure your
ſpirit and emulation will puſh you rapidly to
the attainment of them; but I muſt caution you
againſt a fault men of lively parts often fall into,
viz, that of thinking they know enough becauſe
they know more than their neighbours ; fince that
learning which is admired in a man of your age,
will be very moderate when you advance in life
but a few years farther. Perhaps it is a tax on
great parts, that when they are beſt diſplayed, then
chiefly moſt is expected from them.
As to obedience, its application is eaſy ; let it
bę uniform and ſteady. Set the diſintereſted ex-
ample yourſelf; let no inequality of birth or ge-
nius make you fail in it to your ſuperior officer,
and you may exact it with ftrictneſs from a
Prince.
As to the application of bravery and fortitude, as
it depends on circumſtance, it will conſequently
admit of no rules. But I cannot quit the ſubject
without warning you againſt fome deluſive phan-
toms, which have ſo nicely aſſumed the appearance
of thoſe virtues, as not only to have impoſed on
the undiſcerning, but even miled men of gene-
rous ſentiments, but too warm imaginations, who,
following theſe ſhadows, have loſt both the ſub-
ſtance and their lives.
The

[ 24 ]
The firſt of theſe which perſonates bravery, is
rafoneſs, perpetually employed in puſhing a man
into danger, and making him venture a life which
is the
property of the State, in ſituations where he
is neither neceſſary nor uſeful. The conſequence
of which is natural. His courage loſes its effect
by being too familiar, and thus he deſtroys his end
by the very means he takes to obtain it.
Nec Deus interſit niſi dignus vindice nodus,
An old maxim of Horace, has been hitherto
confined to the drama; but the rule fo univerſally
admits in every ſtate of life, and more particularly
in the military, that I beg you will ſpare my pen,
and at the beginning of every ſentence inſtead of
The Graces, The Graces ; repeat, Nec Deus
interfit, &c.
As no ſituation is ſo well underſtood by an at-
tention to itſelf, as to one which is fomewhat fimi-
lar, take the following ſketch from familiar life ;
if it is tolerably drawn, the application will not be
difficult.
* The gentle Cynthio tumbles over chairs and
overſets tea-tables to pick up a fan or a glove.
A Beauty holding her cloak, ſeems to him Atlas
ſupporting the univerſe: Cynthio, like Hercules,
muſt
* The firſt fentence is taken from Fielding's Covente
Garden Journal. Let us give even the great Cæſar his
mite.

[ 25 ]
muſt eaſe her of the load. His eloquence is ſquan-
dered in perpetual compliment, and his life is one
round of flattering attention. Is not Cynthio a
man of breeding? Without doubt.
Dorilas is alſo a man of acknowledged polite-
neſs, yet not ſo active in diſplaying it. His man-
ner is generally complaiſant, but he has been de-
tected in letting a beauty paſs uncomplimented,
and has frequently left the play without a fair hand
in his protection. Is not Cynthio then the fa-
vourite of the women ? Far from it; the compli-
ments of Cynthio are levied as a tax; thoſe of
Dorilas take their force from their ſcarcity.
An eulogium from Cynthio affects not; whilſt the
moſt trifling attention from Dorilas ſeizes on the
vanity. He grews the darling of a woman, be-
cauſe ſhe thinks herſelf his favourite; and thus in
one well applied moment is maſter of that heart
which had been inſenſible to all the flattery of
Cynthio.
Hiſtory points out many military facts, which
would comment on this moſt excellently. You
are a good hiſtorian
but as theſe may not fo
readily occur to you, you will excufe my ſparing
your memory:
Cæfar fought battles in his tent; Marlborough's
poſt was in the centre of his army.
The critical
appearance of the greateſt captain of the ancients
recovered the day againſt the Nervii. The
D
greateſt
3

[ 26 ]
>
greateſt modern captain rallies his broken troops,
and ſtorms the entrenchments of Teniers.
This is the Deus interfit, the ſudden and proper
interpoſition of a ſuperior Perſonage.
In what light moſt of the great characters,
ancient and modern, have regarded a culpable
raſhneſs, may be gathered from every page in
hiſtory. An arrow falls at the feet of Timotheus.
" I bluſh," ſaid that wiſe Athenian, “that I have
expoſed my army by my temerity," and imme-
diately retired to a place of ſafety.
A late naval officer, when complimented on
his victory over the French, aſked : Pray do you
praiſe me for fighting the Namur or the Britifh
fleet? If the firſt, I have done my duty ; as to
the fecond, I am ignorant of the affair. He was
ſo well aware of the tumult of a general action,
that he had determined in his next engagement
to drop out of the line, and diſplay his ſignals from
a frigate. This would have been an improvement
in naval tactics, but his country ſoon loſt the pro-
jector, who alone could have given it authority.
I ſhall conclude theſe quotations with a ſarcaſm
of the Duke of Parma, on one whoſe virtues have
made even raſhneſs reſpectable. That veteran
warrior
* Admiral Boſcawen. Since this was written I find
with pleafure that another great naval officer bas juflified
my quotation by his example,

[ 27 ]
warrior having been accuſed of permitting Henry's
ſmall army to eſcape him at Aumale, replied: It
was becauſe I expected in the King of Navarre
the leader of a great army; but I find him a
captain of light horſe, and for the future ſhall treat
him accordingly. +
But you may ſay you are neither a general nor
a God. You miſtake. There is a profeſſional as
well as a natural chain, and as you look up to your
general as your Deus, ſo are you a Demigod in
your own little circle of command. From you
your inferiors will catch their very tone of action,
and it will be in the
power
of
your countenance
to inſpire either confidence or diſmay.
But am I never to diſplay courage? Moft cer-
tainly you are to diſplay it. Cæſar the centurion
gained a civic crown, and colonel Churchill firſt
mounted the breach at Maeſtritch. Show your
D 2
courage
a
+ I have heard much of daſhing fellows. To daſh (if
there is ſuch a word in our language) may be allowed to
the fire of youth; but when I ſee a man who ſhould have
a habit of danger, in this daſhing mood, I cannot be per-
fuaded but that his vehemence of courage proceeds from
the ſame principle on which a perſon exclaims under pain,
viz. to drive away the ſenſe of his ſituation.
Perhaps it is no very wide line which ſeparates the wiſh
to ſhorten danger by advancing, from the wiſh to avoid it
altogether by retreating:
N. B. In attacks or rapid charges, fire and activity are
neceſſary; in defenfive war, a calm and ſteady animation.

[28]
courage the firſt opportunity, but when you have
proved it, do not indulge an oftentation of it.
You may find many occaſions of diſplaying it to
advantage, ſeize theſe occaſions with avidity; for
tho'raſhneſs is blameable, yet in a profeffion
founded on glory, not to be conſpicuous is to be
diſgraced. If a general fhould with a breach to
be ſtormed, or any other dangerous ſervice to be
undertaken, and leave the execution optional, ac-
cept the poſt, that is if you feel that you have abi-
lities to fupport it ; otherwiſe your claim does in-
juſtice to your country. But take care that even
this command does not interfere with your rank,
for who would fall a private markſman in another's
company, whilſt an inferior officer commands his
own?
There is a ſpeech of King William generally
attributed to phlegm, and mentioned with ſtrong
diſapprobation ; but which, when more nicely at-
tended to, is a proof of his ſound diſcernment.
At the battle of the Boyne, an officer rode up
to him and informed him that Walker of London-
derry was flain. The king coolly replied, “ Pray
what bufinefs had the fool here. The application
is eaſy: Walker at the head of his Diſſenters de-
fending his native town, was an example of well
placed fortitude; but a clergyman fighting at the
battle of the Boyne as a private ſoldier, was an ob-
jest miſplaced, therefore contemptible. I will
conclude
a

[ 29 ]
conclude this head with characters which have
fallen within my own obſervation--that of very
brave men, who were foremoſt in every attack,
and volunteers in every ſervice. They were
anxious to diſtinguiſh themſelves ? No. They had
fome perſonal revenge at heart? No. Wonderful
to relate ! the cauſe of all this daring effect was no
more than a deſire to fire ſixty-two rounds at the
Yankies. Thus that bravery, which ſpringing
from another ſource, would have made them the
admiration of the army, became as great an ob-
ject for ridicule, as a behaviour every where oppo-
fite. Our general, expreſſing his diflike of
officers firing in action, deftroyed at once the ex-
ploits of theſe heroes; and if a ſimilar law had
prevailed in Macedon, I fear we ſhould loſe much
of our reſpect even for the great Alexander.
The next phantom I ſhall preſent before you,
perſonates fortitude, not ſo well perhaps as the
other does bravery, but with more faſcinating
ſucceſs,
This phantom ſpurs on the generous mind to die
heroically, rather than furvive a defeat. Strip off
her maſk, ſhe will be found a compound of irrefo-
lution and deſpair, and her votary no other than a
miſtaken, yet culpable fuicide. Why would you
wiſh to die, becauſe the chance of war is againſt
you? Have you endeavoured to rally your troops ?
Have
a

[ 30 ]
Have you encouraged them by your example ? You
have. Fly then, and reſerve yourſelf for more no-
ble and ſucceſsful attempts, unleſs you could ſave
your country by robbing a parent of his child, or
the ſtate of a uſeful member.
But, my friend, fince the oracle has ceaſed at
Delphos, the Curtii and the Decii are out of
vogue.
Conde (the braveſt man in France) had a fleet
horſe ready at the battle of Dunkirk. He fore-
faw the ill fate of the day, and had prudence
to provide againſt its chances. Coligne, after four
defeats, was yet formidable to the catholics.
Montroſe (whoſe death was the patriot's and the
hero's) was taken in diſguiſe in a ditch, nay even
offered money for his life. Let this example in-
ſtruct you to preſerve life whilft it is uſeful, and
meet death, when neceſſary, with fortitude,
The glory of dying in victory is ſomewhat a kin
to this phantom, but its claim to merit is better
founded, and has the patronage of a late accom-
pliſhed warrior ; but though this glory is perhaps
the faireft flower that adorns the garland of fame,
I am not ſo much a Roman as to with it to bloom
on my temples.
There is a conduct that has been generally fof-
tened by the name of obſtinacy, but which ariſes
either from a dread of pain or a culpable defpon-
dence.
a
a

[ 31 ]
dence. This is a refuſal to permit one rotten
branch to be lopped off, whilſt thus the tree pe-
riſhes in its vigour.
What if thou haſt loft a branch? Thou mayeſt
ftill flouriſh in thy native foil, and thy green head
wanton amidſt the Zephyrs. The philoſophic
mind will create ſatisfaction, when the bodily ac-
tivity is no more.
Is not fomething due to thy friends? Will not
their attentions footh thy grief? Thou beareſt in-
deed a mark of deformity, but a perpetual tefti-
mony of thy fame.
Thy pen and book are never failing compa-
nions; they may even yet render thee ſerviceable
to thy country.
But if no joys in this life can delight thee, fure-
ly a few moments are well gained in preparing
thee for the life to come.
I ſhall now hint as another error very amiable
men may fall into, from paſſion rather than re-
flection, and conclude the firſt part of
It is the
Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas
Immolat.
That is the meanly ſeeking revenge for wounds
received in fair action,
If the author of your ſufferings intended to af-
fi& you perſonally, this revenge may be allowable,
fuppofing you had never aggreſſed him. But he
attacks
my hints.

[ 32 ]
attacks you in your public, not your private cha-
racter. You arm yourſelf againſt another's life,
and do
you
ſeek revenge
becauſe he wiſhes to pro-
tect it? Let us pluck forth this weed from the ge-
nerous mind, let us give it a moment of reflection.
l
A thought occurs to me: One word more, if
you pleaſe.
An obvious objection ariſes to my having
quoted examples from the ancients. It is a popu-
lar prejudice that the change of weapons has al-
tered the fyftem of war, and that beſides, this
ſyſtem having been in a continual ſtate of improve-
ment, muſt be otherwiſe fo varied, that a very
good general amongſt the ancients, would be now
foiled by a very bad general amongſt the moderns.
I ſhall anſwer the laſt obſervation firſt.
If from its earlieſt invention the art of war had
continued in a ſtate of improvement, this perhaps
had been true : But we forget that all ſciences
were overwhelmed by the fatal irruption of the
Goths. This may be called the deluge of litera-
ture, from whoſe waves it is but juſt emerging,
and war of all its branches raiſes its head the laſt.
The ſyſtems of Guftavus and Frederick are but
copies fron the ſcattered fragments of the Roman
ſoldier, and affume moft merit, when they moſt
cloſely copy their original.
That the great principles of war can be altered
by a caſual change of weapons, I own ſtaggers my
belief.

[ 33 ]
belief. I will go further ; I doubt if we have
changed our weapons. I allude not to their figure
but their effect. May I be indulged with fuppo-
fing Cæfar to arife in the midſt of a modern coun-
cil of war? This granted me; I will alſo fuppoſe
the following, perhaps not unnatural, dialogue to
enſue.
Preſident of the Court. Who are you, and what
do
you want? For boob
Cafar. I am Cæfar the Di&tator, fent by Ju.
piter to command your army; fo get ready with
out delay. And as I ſhall proceed by flow marches
of about fifty miles a day, I fuppofe no veteran
will murmur at carrying his whole camp equipage,
although it may weigh fixty-five pounds.
P. Fifty* miles a day! Sixty-five pounds!
Alas, Sir! you was a great man in your days,
but you will be of no uſe to us now.
C. Why fo, Sir?
P. The alteration in our weapons have allow
me the expreſſion) changed the very face of
nature.
C. I don't underſtand you. Do I not fee
hills to pitch my camp on? moraffes to cover my
front ? rivers and woods to ſecure my flanks, as I
E
uſed
* This is a little heightened; but we are told, that the
Spartans marched at that rate to ſupport the Athenians at
Marathon

[ 34 ]
uſed to find them in Gaul? get your javelins then
without delay.
P. Alas, Sir, you are quite out! we have no
javelins now. Inſtead of javelins we ſend theſe
leaden balls out of thoſe engines; and inſtead of
fwords we pierce with the ſharp inftruments at
the end of our engines.
C. Very well. You throw your balls firſt as
we did our javelins, and then uſe your ſharp in-
ſtruments by ruſhing on the foe? I underſtand
this perfectly. Have you any catapultas ?
P. No; we uſe theſe hollow tubes.
C. How do they act? olim
P. They throw iron balls as the others do
leaden, but at a greater diſtance.ro
,
C. Then I ſuppoſe you uſe them in annoying a
diftant enemy, and in battering a town, juſt as we
did our catapultas ? non od
P. Ah, Sir, you talk of battering towns, that
does not belong to you.
C. How ſo? I was always accuſtomed to
do it.
P. I mean, Sir, that it is not now the faſhion
for a general to take a town ; that buſineſs is left to
the corps of engineers: he is only to ſupply the
materials for the fiege, and run away with the re-
putation of it.
C. Ah! then I ſhall be but little embarraſſed
by the change in fortification. But what do I
fee?

[ 35 ]
>
fee? a compleat legion drawn out? velites?
equites? principes ? haſtati ? triarii ?
P. Hah! hah! hah! my good Sir, your ima-
gination runs on Rome ſtill. Theſe are light in-
fantry, cavalry, grenadiers, battalion, and reſerve.
C. Away, Sir! you have deceived me. Names
I perceive are changed, but eſſentials are the
fame. Therefore follow me, Gentlemen of the
Council, and I promiſe you the victory.
Now who would dare to ſay he would not be as
good as his word? In ſhort, the alteration of arms
is to war, what the alteration of dreſs is to man:
It changes perhaps the external, but can never
alter the air or character. And it would be as
abſurd to ſuppoſe that the Cæfar of the Romans
would not now be the Cæfar of the Engliſh, as to
fuppoſe, that the powers which Garrick dif-
plays in the fable weeds of Hamlet, would for-
fake him altogether in the more coſtly robes of
Richard.
SD
PART
II.
Domeſtic Duty of a Soldier.
I Have now, William, concluded my obſerva-
tions in the ſublime part of a foldier's duty,
and you may poffibly expect that I thould touch
on his duties in familiar life.
But
E 2

[ 36 ]
a
But here a large field opens to my view, per
plexed with ten thouſand mazes, where I am en-
tirely at a loſs which track to purſue. I ſhall
leave then to the care of a late noble author
your
conduct, as to the world in general, and to your
own good heart to correct his principles when er-
roneous.
You will find the ceconomical part of
your duty in a little book entitled, Friendly Advice
to a young Soldier. Nothing then remains for me
but to give you a few hints as to your conduct in
common; amongſt thoſe of the ſame profeſſion; or
as it may be termed, the domeſtic duty of a
ſoldier.
The beautiful allegory of the two paths which
lead to bliſs and perdition, is extremely applicable
to the military line. Here alſo are two paths,
and two only; the one conducting you to the
meaneſt infamy, the other to the attainment of
the nobleft virtues. Theſe paths are alſo fo oppo-
ſite in their direction, that he who has entered the
one, can ſeldom, if ever, find his way back to
the other.
But now the parallel fails; for it is the ſtrait
path, ſtrewed with honour, virtue, and heart-felt
ſatisfaction, which leads to the attainment of hap-
pineſs; whereas the crooked path, entangled with
ſickneſs, diſappointment, and thame, precipitates
to the loweſt defpondence. In ſhort, here vir-
tue

[ 37 ]
a
tue and vice, fame or infamy, are at your option;
and it remains with you to give the preference.
A regiment, like a ſtate, contains, in common,
two claffes of people, and two parties. Let it be
your principle to chooſe the higheſt claſs amongſt
the people, and altogether to avoid intermeddling
with party matters. On theſe hinges hang your
character and promotion.
I know it has been generally ſuppoſed that polite
company is expenſive, and that few fubalterns on
their pay cannot afford to meſs with their colonel;
but this is a miſtaken notion. There is commonly
more expence with leſs credit amongſt the lower
order of a regiment; beſides the preſence of offi-
cers of rank and experience ſhould be a perpetual
clog on extravagance and diffipation. That im-
provement in manners can only be gained by an
intercourſe with the polite world, admits of no dif-
pute; and the remark of an ingenious writer*
may be very applicable here, viz. that in great ta-
verns you pay for luxury, and in ſmall ones for
what
you cannot eat.
The two parties in a regiment reſemble much
thoſe in a ſtate. On the one ſide are, in general,
,
the commanding officers, the majority of the cap-
tains, and all the generous and independent men
of the corps ; on the other, the four, the indigent,
and the diſappointed. The firſt ſtands firm, con-
ſcious of its ſtrength, and ſcorns to court aſlift-
ance.
* Vid. Fielding's Voyage to Liſbon.

[ 38 ]
ance.
your colonel.
The latter, often more oftenfible in num-
ber, though weaker in power, affails a young man
with ſuch popular complaints, as ſeldom fail to
fap the good underſtanding of the unwary.
Cringing to ſuperiors, ftrictneſs of diſcipline, in-
juftice of promotion, are perpetual topics of con-
verſation ; and thus he is early taught to think
obedience a anark of ſlavery, and oppoſition to
power a proof of determined fpirit.
Beware of theſe, my William.ee
Avoid, if poſſible, all parties, but if borne down
by the ſtream, you muſt neceſſarily lean to ſome
fide, you will find it more for your intereſt and
honour to embrace the party
of
Conſider his conſequence; that on his word de-
pends your credit with thoſe in power, and of
courſe your promotion. Has oppofition weight
like this? I will even admit that your command-
ing officer may be wrong; you may in ſome caſes
be aggrieved; yet do not fondly think you can al-
ways gain redreſs, by demanding an enquiry from
his fuperiors.
It is a maxim in politics, that
private wrongs muft yield to the public good; and
it will perhaps be neceſſary for the ſupport of com-
mand, that your juſt complaint ſhould be neglected,
to prevent the repetition of thoſe which may be
unjuft.
To fteer clear of party, and go through a mili-
tary life with a character unfained by ſervility or
diſobedience ;
.

[ 39 ]
a
diſobedience; in ſhort, to conciliate men's affece
tions by an inoffenſive conduct, is not ſo difficult
a talk as we may ſuppoſe it.
I have known officers, who, on their entering
into a regiment, have ſo cautiouſly avoided all par.
ty, as to be equally eſteemed by the whole corps.
So that when they fortunately came into high
command, over the heads of the deſerving, but leſs
ſucceſsful, they might fay with pride, that their
promotion had eſcaped envy, and ſeemed to give
pleaſure even to the unfortunate. You may think
then they had ſtudied the ſcience of pleafing? far
from it: their whole art conſiſted in not making
it a ſcience to diſpleaſe.
Human nature (notwithſtanding what Cynics
have advanced) is rather prone to fympathy than
moroſeneſs, attuned to friendſhip, not to hatred.
Ride from London to the Land's End, you will
find many a fellow traveller, eager to claim your
acquaintance, but not one who will attack your
perfon, unleſs ſwayed by avarice or revenge.
When a man meets with no indulgence for
his foibles, be aſſured his material character is not
found.
But though mankind in general are fitted for fo-
ciety, yet there are not wanting fome who take a
diabolical pleaſure in diſturbing the harmony of
foul which reſults from it, by unprovoked and re-
peated inſults. Duelling has been ſuppoſed a fuf-
ficient

[ 40 ]
hcient remedy for theſe attacks. I ſhall not enter
on a topic fo fully diſcuſſed as this; only will ob-
ſerve, that, as a military man, you are born under
its influence ; and fince we cannot bring men to
our way of thinking, it is neceſſary to yield a little
to theirs. To be flow in anger, and quick in for-
giveneſs, is the maxim of a man of feeling and
honour. Another proof of a generous mind is, to
acknowledge your error with noble confidence,
rather than frorn falſe pride, add premeditated
murder to inſult. Your mind is too good not to
take the force of this. But ſhould you be engaged
with one whofe heart is generous as your own,
but whoſe diſcernment is not ſo ſtrong; oppoſe
coolneſs to his heat, and perſuafion to his fury.
The triumph of reaſon is inore noble than that of
the ſword. Should you meet with a man of falſe
honour, when on ſervice, conſider that your life is
the property of your country: preſerve it then by
deſpiſing his inſults, and inform the general of his
zeal to be diſtinguiſhed, who may turn that mil-
placed bravery into a proper and uſeful channel.
“Let your courage, Sir, be as keen, yet as po-
liſhed, as your ſword.” * Avoid every civil
murder as far as prudence or honour may permit ;
that if from neceflity you are compelled to take
this ſtep, you may reflect with ſatisfaction, that you
are perhaps in the hands of Providence, the
fcourge
* Vid. Sheridan's Rivals for this definition.

[ 41 ]
fcourge of a wanton fuicide, the unprovoked enemy
of your honour and your life. In this caſe, and
in this only, perhaps, by every law you may be
exculpated; for why ſhould he be acquitted who
kills in defence of life, yet he condemned, who
kills in defence of his dearer reputation ?
I have juſt ſlightly touched on inſults from thoſe
of our own rank. Some dwell on inſults from
thoſe of inferior rank; but I muſt confeſs I know
of no ſuch inſults. I have ſeen men of faſhion
bruiſed by common carmen, and others of ſmall
fortune ruined in a court of juſtice, for reſenting
fuppoſed affronts received from the loweſt of the
people. But furely we are raiſed too high to feel
the little farcaſms of the mob, or at leaſt to confeſs
that we feel them. Believe me, William, filent
contempt is the fevereſt chaſtiſement of the
vulgar.
I need not warn one of your good ſenſe to
avoid a vain-glorious converſation ; but there is a
fault men of generous tempers fall into from a
too great warineſs of manner. It is that mock
modeſty which affects to be unconſcious of a merit
which is viſible to the reſt of mankind. If you
pofſefs emulation to impel you to noble actions, it
muſt render you not indifferent to their reward ;
and what reward is more juft or glorious than con-
ſciouſneſs of a well earned reputation. When
your actions then are the ſubject of converſation,
F
ſpeak
a
a

[ 42 ]
ſpeak of them with conſcious dignity, not inſulting
modeſty. Men muſt know that you cannot be
infenfible to your fame, and will conſtrue your
diffidence into inſult. Perhaps it would have been
more fupportable in Turenne, to have boaſted of
having done every thing, rather than of having
done nothing. *
The interior oeconomy of a regiment or com-
pany may be claffed with the domeſtic duties of a
ſoldier, and is ſuppoſed to be an object of ſuch
conſequence, that whole volumes have been writ-
ten on it, in which the character of a drum-major
has been delineated with uncommon exactneſs,
and every poſſible method of cleaning the accou-
trements afcertained with the niceſt preciſion ; yet
notwithſtanding this afiiſtance, the talk has been
found fo arduous, as to employ half the time of
many able officers, who, by the oath, the cane,
the aid of courts martial, and an unremitted atten-
tion, haye abſolutely arrived at the perfection of
ſettling their weekly pay bill, and bringing their
fhoes and firelocks to a tolerable degree of
poliſh.
As I confeſs my deficiency in this great branch
of my profeſſion, I am unequal to the taſk of giving
you
* Coligne after four defeats preferred himſelf to Alex,
ander or Cæſar. Perhaps this boaft diſplayed more of the
indignation of an expanded mind, than of the vanity of a
little one.

[ 43 ]
a
a
you any rules for it. For born a gentleman, and
educated as a foldier, my intercourſe with me-
chanics has been but partial : However I will juſt
give you my idea of the management of a com-
pany. I have always thought that the blow de-
grades the foldier leſs than it does the intemperate
officer who inflicts it; that a frequency of courts-
martial diſplays the want of authority in him who
demands them; and, altho' I allow a lance cor-
poral to be of great uſe in his department, yet I
have perhaps fondly ſuppoſed that a commiſſioned
officer was a ſuperior perſonage, whoſe dignity
muſt not be proſtituted; that he ſhould command
the troops he is entruſted with, not ac fimply as
the firſt non-commiſſioned officer amongſt them.
On this principle I conceive that all reprimands
ſhould be delivered with coolneſs, and puniſh-
ment exerted ſeldom, yet with ſeverity. That we
ſhould on no account break one link in the great
chain of authority; for when our ſerjeants no
longer have weight, the ſuperiority of an officer
lofes its force. The corporals then ſhould be an-
ſwerable to the ferjeants for their ſhare in the caſe
of a company, the ſerjeants to the fubalterns,
theſe to the captain, and he to the officer who
commands the regiment. Thus a reſpectful diſ-
,
tance ſhould be preſerved thro' all ranks, and the
command being properly methodiſed, would go on
'uniform and ſteadily. But I would not have any
partiality
F 2

[ 44 ]
5
partiality for me make you embrace a fyftema
which has been long thought erroneous.
You
may, however, one day arrive at the command of
a regiment: Let me then point out to you, more
fully, fome of thoſe errors in command which have
dim'd the bright mirror of military fame, and will
occafion perhaps the loſs of our weſtern world.no
The genius of the King of Pruffia combines the
moſt minute attention to trifles, with the fublimeſt
depth of military tactics; * and he has won victories.
But ſome of our commanders overlooking, or ra-
ther not comprehending, the elevated ſcale of war,
have fixed all their attention on theſe trifles,
hoping alſo to win victories by the afliſtance of
hatters, cordwainers, and taylors. But this would
rather excite the ſmile of pity, than call for the
ſcourge of ſatire. The evil is of a deeper root.
Frederick's rigour is exceffive, and his troops are
amongſt the beſt in the world. We have there
fore adopted this rigour, in all its force, judging
little of different fituations, and ſtill leſs of that
attention which ſhould be paid to national cha
racter. The Pruſſian armies are chiefly compoſed
of native Germans, flaves from their birth; and
ſoldiers
* Hiftorians will differ on this point; whild abe admi-
rer of Frederick will praiſe the univerſality of his genius,
the more philoſophical biforian will quote this attention
to trifles, in ſo great a man, as a deplorablc infance of
the imperfection of humanity.

[45]
foldiers of fortune, without home or connexion.
Deprived of theſe fucial ties, which call forth the
finer feelings of the mind, they are patient, ſub-
miffive, and indifferent to all worldly matters.
Unaccuſtomed to lenity or comfort, with them
battle is vacation from puniſhment, and holds
forth the hope of relief from a painful exiſtence.
But far different is the high-born ſpirit of the
Britiſh foldiery. Active from the love of fame,
and their country; for theſe they rifque all the
comforts of our genial government. In general,
independent, accuſtomed to the freedom of rea-
ſoning on the conduct of others, and of judging
for themſelves, how impolitic is it to introduce
this diſcipline amongſt them! A difcipline calcu.
lated to aid the caprice of the mean-ſpirited and
envious, to make one man the tyrant of the many,
to check generous love of fame, to damp rifing
emulation, and thus to leave it in the power of un-
controuled oppreſſion to fink the tender ſpirit in
deſpondence, or rouſe the more active one to re-
volt; and all this under the fpecious name of the
good of the ſervice,
It is this fatal error which has occafioned difunion
between almoft all claffes of our officers, either by
contention for power amongſt thoſe of equal, or
abuſe of it by thoſe of ſuperior rank, id not
Let the man, who is unconſcious of merit, in-
dulge himſelf in the deluſion of cominand; let
baciv iw su pod him
on

[ 46 ]
him ftalk forth the folitary tyrant of the defart, ex-
acting conſtrained civility, incurring private in
dignation ; let him trick himſelf out in the trap-
pings of authority, to ſupply that conduct which
inſures it; let him fear mutinies, andcombina-
tions ; let him guard his footſteps, left he fall
before the injured ; and let him dread his protectors
in the hour of battle: yet let him reflect, with an-
guiſh, that no military code can bind opinion ;
and that, when many men of different ranks, cha-
racters, and connexions, are united againſt one
whom it is even their intereſt to keep well with,
that common ſenſe will direct the public opinion
to the ſide of the many. If he thinks the infolence
of command can overbalance ſuch multiplied dif-
traction of mind; be it his ; but let him not ſe-
duce the liberal ininded man: for him be happier
hours, ariſing from the happineſs of others; let
his officers be his counfellors, and his foldiers his
humble friends; no oppoſition will be formed
againſt him ; for his caufe will be that of his offi-
cers, and they will prevent him in juſtice. His
orders will be complied with even when erroneous.
Regard and fear of change will make his troops
yield to inconvenience, convinced that he meant
not to oppreſs them. Each morn will he come
forth from his tent, ſurrounded by the grateful
and the happy. His officers will anxiouſly ſupport
his fame ; for what he entruſts to them with
confidence, they will execute with vigour; and,
in

[ 47 ]
in the hour of death, his ſoldiers will be his
bulwark.
This enchanting ſcene has been viewed by
many amiable men, who have yet turned their
eyes from it. They have regarded it as a deluſion
of the fancy, unattainable, or elſe liable to attack
from diſciplinarians. But I aſk you, William, if
Luther would not have ſmiled, had he been adviſed
to ſtop the work of reformation, becauſe, forfooth !
the bench of cardinals thought him in the wrong.
I fear I muſt now inſiſt upon a point which
will meet with yet leſs indulgence, but which a
late great officert held to be an eſſential part of
our duty, and ſeverely puniſhed the neglect of. I
mean no leſs than an abſolute command of our
pafſions when on ſervice.
If bodily vigour is then requiſite, who would
wantonly deſtroy it? or who would not ſhudder
at the thought, that he is confined on the day of
action by ills acquired from vicious habits, and
which will be puniſhed by the loſs of fame and
promotion ?
But it may be objected, that this facrifice is im-
poſſible to human nature. Believe me the objec-
tion
+ Duke of Cumberland, who always fat aſide him who
was ill of an acquired diſorder in favour of the pext in
rank, alledging, “That it was too great an indulgence
to be excuſed from duty, and at the ſame time entitled to
promotion."

[ 48 ]
of war.
tion has no weight; for it is abſurd to ſuppoſe a
man capable of reſigning life itſelf, and yet not
poſſeſſed of fufficient fortitude to give up a few
tranſient pleaſures which now materially affect his
honour, and in their beſt ſtate weigh but little in
the ſcale of a wiſe man's happinefs.
But left I ſhould appear ſomewhat of the Stoic,
I declare that my attack is levelled not at the
natural but the forced indulgence of the paſſions.
Some ſmiles are wanting to ſmooth the rough front
Who would deny the foldier the chear-
ful glaſs of affection, and every reaſonable inter-
courſe with thofe the moſt charming works of
nature, who can alone inſpire thoſe ſoft atten.
tions, thoſe amiable graces, and that happy inſinu-
ating addreſs, which give a pohith to our manners
in familiar life, and diffufe a kind of gentle glory
around all our fuperior qualifications ?
Gallantry is the fifter of the Graces, and the
parent of brave and generous actions. There are
thouſand beauties enamelled on the mind of a
woman, which we can never reach but by imita-
tion. To imitate we muſt admire. To admire is
in fome meaſure to love. It is this noble flame,
the natural confequence of our commerce with
the ſex, that purifies our mind and manners. The
Lover unites with the ardour of deſire, the foft
reſpectful fympathy of eſteem.
He perceives
his natural haughtineſs gradually wear off, and
in

[ 49 ]
in proportion to his hopes is more polite, more
åttentive, more elegant in manners, and more fit
for ſociety than before.
The wild yet enchanting heroiſm of the days of
chivalry, tho' now the ſport of the unfeeling de-
bauchee or four pedant, has never been equalled
in our times. Love alone then gave life to more
great, more diſintereſted actions, than all the pre.
cepts of the ſchools : Nay, tho' long decried by
our faſhionable inſenſibles, it ſtill retains its power,
tho' perhaps it is more partially exerted. The
elegant Addiſon remarks That there is no
,
66
man, of whatſoever temper or ftation in life, but
has been capable of ſome gallant action when
under the dominion of this paffion;" and indeed,
however we may affect to deſpiſe a Tancred or
an Orlando, there are few of us who would not
feel a ſecret fpur to his courage, when fighting
with his miſtreſs's glove in his hat, or a lock of
her hair next his bofom.
But I muſt return from this flowery excurſion
and draw towards a concluſion, fince, if I was to
enumerate all the accompliſhments requiſite to the
character of a ſoldier, I ſhould perhaps exceed
Tully's character of an orator, and poffibly with
more juſtice ; but as from your preſent inferior
fituation it may be long ere you arrive at an inti-
mate view of thoſe great captains under whom
you may have the honour to bear arms, I ſhall
G
conclude

[50]
conclude with my conception of a character you
eagerly look up to: That of an accompliſhed
general.
The office of a general requires the greateſt
abilities human nature can attain, and the greateſt
vigour of mind to exert them.
Beſides being a complete maſter of the whole
military art (of itſelf the ſcience of an age) he
ſhould be able to combine all the various opera -
tions of war at a glance ; and thus foreſee, prevent,
contrive, and execute ſchemes of deep inport;
even in that moment when the weakneſs of man
might naturally direct his thoughts to the care of
his own preſervation,
A thorough knowledge of the country which is
the ſcene of action, is entirely neceſſary to a gene-
ral, and that not only as to its different ſituations.
of ground, but the nature of the people, their con-
nexions, policy, and reſources.
He muſt be a maſter of intrigue, to manage his
knowledge advantageouſly, for more is effected
by negotiation than by arms.
As a general will often repreſent his prince in
courts and in councils, he ſhould be an able and
elegant ſpeaker ; and as he muft negociate with
different nations, he ſhould be a maſter of
many
languages.
Few men are bleſſed with a noble and pleafing
figure, but the graces amply ſupply its place;
there
a

[ 51 ]
theſe he ought to poſſeſs in the higheſt degree.
Grace and figure have a wonderful influence on
the imagination ; and I doubt not but the beau-
teous majeſty of Marlborough's perſon had an
effect on his troops in the field, equal to that
which his exquiſite addreſs had on his allies in the
cabinet.
With all that gentleneſs, which wins the affec.
tion of mankind, he ſhould unite the utmoft ſtrict-
neſs in command.
He ſhould be a maſter of the paſſions of his
foldiers, and a parent to their wants.
His man-
ner ſhould be equally diſtant from the ſervile flat-
tery of a courtier, and that roughneſs in which
ſome think dignity conſiſts.
It ſhould be free, yet civil ; ingenuous, yet not
harſh; manly, affable, and unaffectedly polite.
Tho' plunged into all the horrors of carnage,
his boſomn ſhould warm with the milk of human
kindneſs. He ſhould not only tenderly regard the
health and diſtreſſes of his own troops, but even
his enemies ſhould bleſs his benevolence. Amidſt
the tumult of war as inſenſible to rage, as to terror,
his ſword ſhould be levelled at the oppofer ; but
his ſhield ſhould be ſpread over the vanquished;
his friendly arm ſhould raiſe the trembling, and
proftrate, and his preſence be the refuge of the
unhappy; as if he came a guardian ſpirit from
above, not to deſtroy, but to ſave.
G 2
A

[52]
a
A loyal attachment to his king, and a firm obe-
dience to the legiſlative body of the ftate, (in
which alone confifts true patriotiſm,) ſhould ſhine
forth molt diftinguiſhed in a general. At their
command he ſhould chearfully forego his home,
his tender affections, and all his domeſtic enjoy
ments, again to reſume his former glorious arms,
and devote his laſt days to his country. W
A general ſhould be ſecret in bis reſolves, un
biaſſed by party in his rewards, and of ſufficient
conftancy of mind to purſue his ſchemes, unmoved
by clamour and reproach. A general on but
here I muft top, checked by the extent of my ſub-
jedt, for was I to inform you, that running, leap-
ing, fencing, horſemanſhip, nay arithmetic, were
neceſſary to his character, you might ſmile: Yet
theſe, nay many other ſeeming trifles are far from
being unneceſſary to it. But was I to pronounce,
that a general ſhould unite in himſelf all that is
great or noble in the ſoldier, the patriot or the
man, you might ſuppoſe this character beyond the
attainment of frail nature: Yet believe me it is
not the creature of the fancy. It has exiſted, and
the more you attempt its imitation, the ſooner
will you attain perfection in the noble ſcience you
have embraced. Biodata
And now, my dear William, I have to the beſt
of my power diſcharged the duty of a friend, in
giving you the few obſervations I have made in
the

[53]
the courſe of my little ſervice in that glorious pro-
feffion, under the ſhadow of which all others
flouriſh in peace.
Si quid noviſti rectius iftis
Candidus imperti ? Si non, his utere mecum.
In the firſt caſe I ſhall not be jealous. In the
fecond I give you free liberty to outſtrip your
mafter, ſince I never can envy a reputation in
which I ſhall conceive myſelf a partaker.* You
remember a fine thought of a late feeling author,
with a parody, of which I ſhall take leave of this
ſubject.
"O come then, my friend, my brother war-
rior; together let us 'tempt the heights of glory.
And what if thou falleft in diſtant climes, unknown,
unwept by thoſe that love thee! know the moſt
precious tears are thoſe with which heaven bedews
the unburied head of
A SOLDIER.”
Souto
ab
CO
19
2
DOHC
* Goldſmith's Vicar of Wakefield.
TWO

[ 54 ]
Pucioard
TWOL E T T E R S,
RS
INTENDED FOR
THE HIBERNIAN CHRONICLE;
Written at the Time when the AUTHOR was on
DUBLIN Duty.
L E T T E R I.
To the Printer of the Hibernian Chronicle.
SIR,
I
Am an old roldier. I was an officer in one of
thoſe regiments which conquered America un-
der Wolfe, and was not unknown to that com-
mander, Having received a wound on the famous
13th of September which diſabled me, I retired
on a ſmall penſion to a little village in the north
of this kingdom, and aſſure you, Mr. Printer,
intended to have paſſed the remainder of my days
free from the alarms of war. But it happened
that the fame of modern diſcipline reached me
in
my retreat; and I was told, that there was now
a fyftem, introduced amongſt our troops, entirely
different from the old one eſtabliſhed in my time,
and

[ 55 ] ]
and which would render the British
army
the ter-
ror of the univerſe. I therefore mounted my
Rozinante forthwith, came up to Dablin, and
was preſent at a field day of what is now called a
Pattern Regiment. A fight fo different from
any thing which I had ever ſeen before made fo
forcible an impreſſion on my mind, that even
fleep could not eraſe it. I dreamt a very un-
common dream, Sir. And as ſome people think
that all dreams are from Jove, according to the
poet, I ſhall give it you without further apology.
I dreamt, that I was tranſported to the Streights
of Thermopilæ, famous for the defeat of the nu-
merous army of Xerxes. The ſhrill clangor of
trumpets pierced my ears. I looked around, and
beheld three hundred men clad in ponderous ar-
mour, with each a weighty ſpear in his hand,
advancing towards the pafs, with firm lep, and
determined countenance. At their head ſtrode a-
majeſtic form, who, by the manly vigour of his
perfon, ſeemed worthy to command the world.
Theſe veterans having reached the paſs, halted.
When Leonidas, afcending a pile of pack-faddles
according to the antient cuſtom, with lofty mien
and audible voice, thus addreſſed his troops.
Warriors of Lacedemon, be reſolute, be bold, It
is not Xerxes, nor the cowardly Perſians, againſt
whom you are oppoſed. No. It is the army of the
Britons; the conquerors of Canada, the terrors
of

[ 56 ]
aris,
of France. This is a conqueſt worthy of your
Fight then for honour, for victory, for
glory. He ceaſed; and the Spartans fent up a
fhout, the trumpet founded to battle, and the
brave three hundred, ſtanding firmly in their poft,
feemed filently to wait for the approach of their
opponents. Shortly I heard a murmur amongſt
their ranks, and ſaw their eyes directed eagerly
forward. I turned mine to the ſame point, and
beheld at a diſtance a number of red figures, who
ſeemed to be advancing to the tune of a country
dance; yet gained no ground; always pitching
nearly in the ſame ſpot they tilted from, reſem-
bling much the jacks of an harpſichord. As this
phænomenon fowly advanced, I thought that I
perceived ſomething of the human form ; but ſo
exceedingly diſguiſed, that I almoſt doubted the
reality. Each figure was ſcrewed into a jacket of
fuch exceſſive tightneſs that not a finew had room
to play, and the whole body reſembled much the
form of a truffed rabbit; its legs were jammed
into two long caſes of black linen, fo exceffively
ftrait as to vie with the French torture of the
Brodequin;* its head was loaded with a quantity
of flour, and dragged back upon its ſhoulders by
the
or
* A wooden boot, into which the criminal's legs being
put, wooden chiſels of different ſizes are driven in between
his knees, which preſſing his legs againſt the ſide of the
reſting boot, cruſh the bones in pieces.

[ 57 ]
a
the weight of an enormous queue made of ſheep's
wool, and on the head was perched a hat which
ſeemed to be the manufacture of Lilliput. Theſe
figures had at length advanced near the Spartans,
when the word halt was given; and inſtantly
there ftrode from out the ranks a form clad nearly
in the fame veſtment, but whoſe ſhoulders were
ſo broad, and whoſe face was fo terrific, that I
doubted not his being the champion of his army,
who had advanced to defy the boldeſt Spartan to
combat. He appeared to be conſcious of his ſu-
perior ſtrength, ſince he had no other arms, than
a ſmall rattan in his hand, and ſomething like a
long corking pin in a white ſheath at his ſide.
But great was my amazement, when the cham-
pion turning him round, and gently reclining his
head to the left, pronounced in a fhrill and deli-
cate voice, “Reſt y-o-u-r fellicks, order y-o-u-r
-
fellicks, eaſe y-0-u-r ems." After which he
ftrode back, and again ſheltered himſelf amidſt
the ranks. Aſtoniſhment was painted in the
countenance of Leonidas, and all the Spartans ;
however he heſitated not, but giving the word
charge with a voice that pierced the vaulted hea.
vens, drew his fword, and at once the Spartans
couching their Spears ruſhed on in a firm phalanx.
The words ſtêdy, not a mofon, reſounded from the
oppoſite army; and in an inſtant, two orderly cor-
porals ruthing from the ranks, armed with hair
H
bruſhes,
a

[ 58 ]
bruſhes, began dufting of coats, fettling of hats,
ftraitening of queues, and, by the mction and
glitter of their firelocks, I could perceive that the
Britons were going through their manual. Now
had the Spartan phalanx reached the oppoſing foes
(who were then in the attitude of ſecuring their
firelocks), and to all appearance would have
entirely routed them ; when, wonderful to relate !
I beheld them face to the right about, and,
marching back, take their way to Sparta, leaving
the paſs undefended, which the Britiſh army (hav-
ing firſt compleated their manual) advanced in
their former ftile, and took pofſeflion of. I was
thunder ſtruck, that Leonidas, who had fo bravely
oppoſed the united powers of Afia, ſhould tamely
give up ſo important a paſs to an army that
fcarcely feemed women. I thought in my dream
that I ſaw him march off with ſhame and indigna-
tion in his countenance, and I determined to en-
quire the reaſon: He gloomily replied, the fpears
of my Spartans have been embrued in the blood of
men, and ſhall not be ftained with that of monkies
I thought I heard a voice in the air, crying,
Look up, and behold the ſource whence flows
Modern Military Virtue. I looked up, and be-
held a tottering maſs of whip'd ſyllabub, on the
ſummit of which was placed an edifice of a very
uncommon conſtruction. The body of the build-
ing was a dome, in the ſhape of a grenadier's cap,
formed

[ 59 ]
formed of the moſt ſhining blacking ball, and fup.
ported on every ſide by pillars of ſweet ſcented po-
matum; the top of the dome was creſted by an
huge ſpiral queue, which ſeemed to pierce the
íky; and on the front of the building was this in-
fcription - THE SCHOOL OF MODERN
MILITARY VIRTUE. I thought that I was
ſuddenly lifted to the top of the trembling maſs
on which the temple ſtood. I ſurveyed the build-
ing attentively. I perceived two portals; the
one on the right was lofty, and of furprizing
breadth. Through this I could perceive a number
of hardy veterans enter, with large hats, long
ſkirts, and a firm footſtep; I knew the American
army. From the other portal on the left,
which was low and narrow, I could perceive the
fame body of warriors ſkip out, curtailed of their
hats, ſkirts, and firm footſteps, and only to be
known for the fame army by the ſcars they had
received in battle. At a little diſtance were placed
a band of Kilmainham penſioners, who, with
ſtreaming eyes, and hands uplifted to heaven, ex-
claimed, Oh Minden! Oh Louiſbourg ! Oh my
Country!
I advanced towards the portal on my
right, determined to explore the cauſe of this
ſtrange transfiguration. As I approached it, I
heard a loud voice, which ſeemed as that of one
declaiming to a multitude of people. A ſudden
fhout reſounded from the temple ; and a number
of
H 2

[ 60.
6
of fhrill voices at once exclaimed, "All hail,
thou father of our military art! thou more than
Cæſar of the age !" I entered, and beheld a per-
fonage clad in a modern military veſtment, and
perched on a throne of blacking ball of ſuperior
poliſh. His right hand was extended, in act of ad-
dreſſing the multitude of fantaſtick figures below;
in his left he held open an eſſay on the importance
of drill ſerjeants ; his head was encircled with a
diadem of the ſofteſt puffs from the ſwan ſkin ;
and under his feet lay, trampled in wild confuſion,
Cæſar, Turpin, the reveries of Saxe, and the im-
mortal campaigns of Marlborough. He ſeemed
to be in the middle of his lecture when I entered.
“Do you think (ſays he, addreſſing the wondering
croud) that the field of Blenheim was won by the
manæuvres of its general? No; he was entitled
for his ſucceſs to the ſuperior poliſh of his boots.
Did the ſteadineſs of the Britiſh army conquer in
the field of Ramillies ? Ah, who knows not on
that day, that the foldiers of Britain were queu’d?
Let Wolfe enjoy the fame of having fubdued his
Quebec, but what would he not have done had
he worn a hat of this conſtruction ?” Here he
pointed to a machine for cocking of hats, which
lay for that purpoſe at his feet. A ſhout of ap-
plauſe roared throughout the temple. He bowed,
and purſued his difcourſe. “I have here (ex-
claimed he, extending a long queue of ſheep's
wool)

[61]
wool) the falſe tail of Papirius Curſor, the rough
conqueror of the Samnites. Here is the perfumed
pomatum of Hannibal ; and here that ſpecies of
blacking ball which enabled Mithridates to refift
the all-conquering Romans. Moreover, can ye
think, that the ſucceſs of an army depends on the
genius of its leader? Does it depend on the vi-
gourof his troops ? No. On whom then does it de-
pend but its drill ſerjeants." His audience ſtood in
mute amazement at this ſtrange propoſition which
he was about to enforce from the eſſay in his hand;
but, at this inſtant a burſt of artillery ſhook the hea-
vens ; martial muſic was heard ; a ſudden blaze
of light flaſhed throughout the temple. I looked
up, and beheld a pale figure ſurrounded with a ra-
diance of glory; I remembered the form of Wolfe.
On his right appeared the godlike Theban ; on
his left the great Guftavus. His countenance had
a mixture of indignation and grief. His boſom
ſeemed to heave with an heart-rending figh; and
I thought I heard him, with ſuperior majeſty, dif-
tinctly utter theſe words. Are theſe the troops of
Britain? Is this the victorious army whom I
led to conqueſt and renown? Alas, how fallen!
how changed! Where is now the manly look,
the vigorous form, that iron body which alike
defied the deadly engines of the foe, and the bit-
tereft inclemency of heaven? Alas, they are fled
to the Ruſſian or the Turk, In Britain they are
found

[ 62 ]
found no more. Hence then
ye
leſs than women
in the form of men. Refign the ſacred name of
ſoldier, and take one equal, if one can be found,
to the fuperior inſignificancy which you court.
But ye brave veterans (turning to the penſioners
of Kilmainham), who tho' covered with ſcars, and
loaded with infirmities, ftill preſerve the honor
of the Britiſh name: Ye fhall once more riſe
frons unmerited contempt, and nobly triumph in
your turn. The time is at hand when
party
ſhall
be no more, and the collected force of Britain,
deſcending like the ſnow ball from the Alps, and
gathering freſh force from oppofition, ſhall plunge
with redoubled fury on the proſtrate vales below.
In that day it ſhall be found, that fucceſs depends
neither on the queue, the well cocked hat, nor the
well poliſhed gater ; but that victories are enfured,
and powerful empires are fubverted, by genius,
by vigour, by reſolution.” He ceaſed. And
fudden, the blacking ball dome, the pomatum
pillars, and the whole temple began to melt, and
the fyllabub mals to give way beneath my feet.
I awoke in inconceivable terror, and fat down to
write
vou
this whilſt it was freſh in my memory.
If you like my correſpondence I may poffibly
dream again. In the mean time I remain your
conftant reader,
AN OLD SOLDIER.

[ 63 ]
LETTER II. de
To the Printer of the Hibernian Chronicle.
SIR,
OUR
parfon has juſt read to me out of your
paper, the dream of An Old Soldier after
feeing a field day of a modern pattern regiment;
and I really think he has dreamt to the purpoſe.
I am an Old Soldier alſo; as old as the æra of
long wigs, and long ſkirts. In fort, Sir, I ſerved
under Marlborough in the Flandrian wars. I
have ſeen ſome ſervice, and I love the army. I
cannot bear to ſee a ſoldier made ridiculous, or
a man turned into a monkey. Our army, once
the glory of this nation, is now become its dif-
grace. To whom is this owing? Not to any
degeneracy in our troops; but to a few fine fea-
thered fparks whofe ſervice has been devoted to the
fair, and who to our ſorrow are put into com-
mands over the heads of thoſe who better deſerve
them. I live in a town, Sir, where a body of troops
are quartered; they have what is called a Maca-
roni colonel; of courſe all his ſoldiers are macaro.
nies. When this regiment parades, the men are
fo curtailed in their cloaths, that they appear like
a fet of trimmed game cocks. I have an old long
fkirted coat which I wore at the battle of Malplaquet.
This

[ 64 ]
a
This I wear on the King's birth day as a mark of
my bravery, for there are two ſhot holes thro' it.
Yet this coat is the conſtant ſource of laughter for
our ſparks. They call it an old ragged garb all
in holes ; tell me to get a new one with ſhorter
fkirts ; and ſwear that I look like an hog in ar-
mour. When I mention the old duke (which I
always do with reverence) they laugh; tell me, that
he was well enough for thoſe days; that Tom Gater-
Clip did not think much of him; and that he had
not a well cocked hat in his whole army. They
laugh at Folard and Cæfar as out of date, and tell
me that the effay on drill ſerjeants is the only
book for a ſoldier.
When I ſerved, Mr. Printer, 'tis true the art
war was more plain to be underſtood, and our
inſtruments of death were fewer. Yet the old
firelock, the only fire arms we made uſe of, did ſome
execution. But now, Sir, this old faſhioned wea-
pon is quite laid aſide; and a thouſand new ones
are invented in its place, which Marlborough
never could have dreamt of. Thus, Sir, we have
now the Fellick, and the Fallick, and the Fillick;
the Fixs, the Fexs, and the Fouks. The old
Bayonet too is exploded; and gives place to the
Bannat, the Binnet, the Bent, and the Bant.
Old Jeffery Wilcox, who was killed before
Tournay, could give the word diſtinctly to three
battalions. There was not an adjutant, Sir, in
of
Our

[ 65 ]
a
our army, that did not try to imitate him. He
gave the word, Sir, in a full ſoldierly manner.
But this manner is now held in contempt. The
ſhort, quick method of giving the word, is now
in vogue.
If
you was to hear the officers quar-
tered in this town giving the word on a field day,
I proteſt to God, Sir, you would take them for a
pack of village curs, ſnapping at the heels of a tra-
veller's horſe. I have ſeen ſome of them, in fup-
preſſing their voice to give the word unuſually
hort, thrown into ſuch violent convulſions of face
and body, as to ſeem fitter for a mad houſe than a
command. But this is not all, Mr. Printer. I
live in a town, where we ſcarcely ſee a newſpaper
in a year ; and if we did, I am too old to read
one, for I am above ninety. I know nothing of
what is doing in theſe times; and for any thing I
can ſay to the contrary, the Laplanders may have
dethroned the Pope. As I was the other day
peaceably crawling to my old wooden bench, about
an hundred yards from town, I was ſurprized with
the appearance of a body of French horſe, advanc-
ing on a canter. I crippled back in amazing
terror, and called out, that the French were upon
us. I was received with a loud laugh; and, to
add to my aſtoniſhment, was told, that thoſe men
in white jackets, whom I had ſuppoſed to be the
French, were only a diviſion of Lord Dandlecub's
light dragoons.
I
Sir,

[ 66 ]
Sir, this is too much! Our peaceable beaux hare
long ſervily imitated the French; and I am ſorry
to ſay, that our military beaux have been fome-
what infected by them. Yet they ſeemed alhamed
of the infection; they made very gradual, very
trifling innovations in our dreſs; the long queue,
the cockle-ſhell hat, were indeed borrowed from
the French; but red, the colour of the victorious
regimental of Britain, ftill maintained its ground.
But now, Sir, at the caprice of one man, the Eng-
lith regimental gives place to the French, and a body
of victorious ſoldiers are compelled to wear the
ſervile dreſs of thoſe whom they have conquered.
The Macedonians would have followed Alexander
thro' every peril; yet when this man (whom
they looked on as a god) commanded them to
wear the dreſs of the Perſians, they revolted againſt
him, and could with difficulty be appealed. Yet
Alexander did not lay aſide the Macedonian arms;
it was the peaceful veſtures of the Perſians he wan.
ted to introduce. But here, Sir, a ſoldier is taught
to contemn that dreſs in which he acted nobly for
his country, and to embrace the very dreſs of that
people whom his actions have taught him to de-
ſpiſe. I again repeat, Mr. Printer, that an inno-
vation of this kind is too much! I only with, Sir,
that
any
old rough Roman conful was to riſe from
his urn, and fee a modern regiment dreffing for a
review. In the name of heaven what would he
think
a

[ 67 1
a
think of us? What would he think of a general's
coming to the field, with his fide-locks in nine
curls, and a whole buſhel af powder diſcharged
upon his head? Would he not doubt his eye-ſight?
Would he not believe it fome chimæra of the
brain ? I am no fcholar, Sir; of courſe can't quotę
Latin. But I remember, that in one of Tully's
orations which I read in Engliſh when a boy, the
orator, talking of the delicacy introduced into
the Roman manners, ſays, “In my time we
uſed to ſcratch our heads with our whole hands;
but now our delicate gentlemen ſcratch their heads
with one finger only, for fear of diſcompoſing their
curls.” But which now of our madern warriors,
Sir, dreſſed ſprucely for the field, would dare to put
even one finger to their heads ? I believe ſuch a hero
is not to be found amongſt us.
Mr. Printer, we
want ſomething to do; we want action. The
mind muft have employment, and when not occu-
pied by material affairs, fixes itſelf too attentively
on trifles. I have ſeen, Sir, a number of modern
commanders collected together on a parade, with
folemn look, ſerious attitude, as if the fate of all
Europe was on their heads: when the whole reſult
of their confultation has been the altering of a
buckle, or a button.
sTis this attention to trifles that makes the fer-
vice diſguſtful to men of real genius, and thoroughly
contemptible to all. Who that enters the army
I 2
with

[ 68 ]
with an idea of a Scipio, or a Cæſar, can conde-
ſcend to imitate the vigilance of a ferjeant major.
Let us have every thing in its place, Sir. A fer-
jeant is a uſeful character in his way. But an of.
ficer is a ſuperior being. His dignity muſt not be
proſtituted. Sir, to return to the French faſhion
introduc'd amongſt us. I ſhould not wonder if
our old ſtep, old ſalute, and other old faſhioned
methods were now exploded at our reviews. We
want only this new alteration to become entirely
French; and I expect in a few months to hear
that two dancing maſters are appointed to each re-
giment; who are to teach the officers to falute in
a promenade ſtep, and the men, inſtead of ranking
off before the general as in common, to do it by
a double balance, and a parigadoon. I am told,
however, that there have been fome very uſeful
inventions even in thofe days. Certain colonels
have cauſed a number of paſte roſes to be baked,
and tacked on to their men's
queues.
This an-
ſwers a double purpoſe: Firſt, of adorning the
men ; ſecondly, of fubfifting them in an enemy's
country. There is ſome uſe in this foppery, Mr.
Printer. The ſame colonels have invented queues
of ſheep's wool, of a great length and thickneſs ;
which, when tied on to the men's heads, drag
back the head to a proper ſtiffneſs, and when taken
off, ſerve (as I am told) inſtead of walking canes.
There is ſome uſe in all this, Mr. Printer. The
ſamt
a
W
9

[ 69 ]
fame colonels have invented a method of carrying
the firelock with a crooked elbow; and altho' this
method is very tirefome, and a great ſtrain upon
the muſcles; yet it makes the men cover mere
ground, and ſurely there is ſome ſort of uſe in that,
Mr. Printer. If all commanding officers had the
genius of theſe colonels, and could make their
foppith innovations have the leaſt appearance of
uſe, I ſhould be more reconciled to our modern
cuſtoms. But, alas ! Sir, theſe colonels are men
of very extraordinary genius. You wont meet
their fellows every where, Mr. Printer.
I believe I have now tired your patience un a
ſubject which has long ſince tired mine. Since,
after all that can be ſaid, and after all that can be
done, our modern warriors are too obſtinate to
amend, and the ſervice as now carried on is a ſub-
ject too mortifying for any man of ſpirit to dwell
upon. I therefore conclude with aſſuring you of
my wiſhing (was I able) to be your conſtant
reader.
AN OLDER SOLDIER.
a
*** All the characters in theſe two letters are purely
ideal, and may fuit any perſon to whom the reader may
chuſe to apply them. Tom Jones and Blifil were drawn
from general nature, yet no one has accuſed Fielding of
perſonal ſatire, becauſe there are people in real life whole
chara&ers reſemble theirs.

[ 70 ]
moto
To Mr. Rivington, Printer, at New-York.
(Written in 1778, and never publiſhed.)
will
SIR,
N
In this military
æra perhaps it may not be un-
entertaining to your Readers, to perufe the
Speech of Potomakow, a great warrior of the
Guarani Indians, in the ſervice of the Jefuits of
Paraguay. It was addreffed to his army in 1744,
and was communicated to me by Don Guzman
de Pintado, Lieutenant Governor of Buenos
Ayres. It is impoſſible in any tranſlation to pre-
ferve the peculiarities of the Guarani language,
I have therefore reduced this ſpeech as near as
I
TO
could to the idiom of the Engliſh,
D
I am, Sir,
30
Your humble ſervant.
nog
Friends, Countrymen, and Fellow Warriors,
OUR reverend maſters, the Miſſionaries, have
often told me of a great nation over the
water, who conquered all between where the
fun rifes and ſets, and whoſe generals were ac-
cuftomed to explain to their armies by ſpeech
what were their orders or plans. Our Guarani
commanders neglect this cuſtom; whether it is
3
that they know not how to ſpeak, or that they
have
Tbc Romars.

[ 71 ]
have no plans to explain, or rather becauſe they
are entirely ignorant that ſuch a nation has ex.
iſted, I know not; but from this neglect it ariſes,
that you have often marched in anxious ſuſpenſe
on, expeditions of the moſt trifling nature, and
at other times have been ſurprized into an action
long reſolved on by the commander; the conſe-
quence of which is confufion, embaraſſment, and
diſmay. To free you from ſuſpenſe, it ſhall be
my buſineſs to break through the manacles of cur-
tom, by acquainting you (as far as is proper) with
the nature of the ſervice you are embarked in,
for though I know you to be brave, yet you your.
ſelves muſt acknowledge that the ſtrongeſt courage
is fometimes ſhaken by falling into dangers it is
not immediately prepared for.
You are now then to march againſt the Tucu-
mans and Pampas,t theſe who ſo lately diſputed
with you the maſtery of the great Savannahs. It
may appear ſurprizing that, with what is called a
diſciplined army, we have not been able to ſubdue
the rebellious Chacos in four long years, ſo that at
laſt we find theſe rebels ſupported by our moſt
inveterate foes. Our generals have been blamed ;
admit they are faulty, yet the ſource of the evil
lies deeper. This army is not diſciplined.
In the awful criſis in which I am called forth to
command, it is due to you all, that I ſhould freely
point
+ French and Spaniards.

[ 72 ]
point out the defects in your diſcipline. If you
amend not by this advice, I muſt proceed to ex-
tremities; for I will never fuffer Paraguay to be
ruined, and that ruin to be charged on me, merely
to humour your capricious fancies. I know ye
brave. I know it, my brother warriors. But what
is bravery alone? It is a miſtaken notion, that one
of you is equal in perſonal vigour to a number of
rebellious Chacos; believe me, it is only as a
firm collected body, that you can be formidable to
undiſciplined numbers. Neither of you fingly
can either run, or leap, or ſwim, or dart the
Hafſaguay, better than an individual of this na.
tion. What then, in the name of the great
Manco Capac, can induce you to forego the aid
of diſcipline, and ruſh on the enemy with a
precipitance and confufion, which would difho-
nour even a popular tumult?
However appearances might guide me, I will
not think that it ariſes from a kind of impatience
of fituation that forces you to ſhorten danger, ra-
ther than await its regular approach; nor from a
conſcioufneſs, that you are incapable of preſerving
order, and ſo wiſh to hide the defect under the
maſk of valour ; but I will ſuppoſe it proceeds
from eagerneſs to be fignalized, and a fear left the
enemy ſhould eſcape you. But I have told you
juſt now, that you cannot run ſwifter than other
men; how then can you hope to overtake theſe,
who

[ 73 ]
who, winged alſo with terror, have often many
miles the ſtart of you. If they chuſe to await
you, a little time will not tire their patience.
If they fly, how can you reaſonably expect to
overtake them?
I appeal now to yourſelves. How often have
you ſeen by much the greater part of your fellow
warriors panting, dying, dead, ſcattered through
a very long line of march, that a few of the moſt
vigorous might reach the enemy with expedition?
Have they reached them? Seldom. Have they had
ſtrength to charge them? Seldom. Have they
had ſtrength to purſue the advantage? I will ven-
ture to ſay never. Of what uſe then was this
celerity? Of none. And
yet a few minutes de-
lay would have brought you up regular, in breath,
and enſured you every advantage. Thus our war
has been diſtinguiſhed from all others, for expe-
dition has occaſioned every inconvenience, which
is generally found in delay. But on the other ſide,
have we not often found ourſelves in ſo defenceleſs
a ſtate as to afford an eaſy prey to thoſe we pur-
ſued, ſhould they have had reſolution to turn on
us? The Tucumans never think themſelves beaten
until their ranks are broke; what would be their
aftoniſhment to hear that we began the battle by
breaking them; and what fatal advantages would
they not reap from it? You have now a foe that
will ſtand you at bay: conceive the horrors of theſe
K
ſoldiers,

[ 74 ]
ſoldiers, whoinour uſual exhauſted ſtate ſhould come
up with an enemy who ſtood firm, and charged in
their turn, freſh, and in regular order? In vain
would they look back for aſſiſtance on their nu-
merous companions, theſe almoſt exhauſted, can
only behold their fate with unavailing eye, ex-
pecting the refiftleſs ſtroke which foon muſt fall
on themſelves. You may call this a picture of
the fancy, but I dread the hour when it may prove
a true one.
But perhaps this tumultuous mode of attack
proceeds from your conceiving, that all a ſoldier's
duty conſiſts in fighting, whether right or wrong,
and upon all occaſions. Our gracious maſters, the
Miſſionaries, have often told me before I was ap-
pointed to this command, of fonie generals over
the great waters, one of whom ſaid: “He did
not like theſe actions in which fortune had more
to do than judgment." And another, " That
he was not put in command to fight, but to
overcome.” And alſo of two men of the great
nation I told you of, one of whom conquered
two great kingdoms, and another faved his
country merely by avoiding a battle; and yet
you cannot ſee twenty men perched on a hill but
you
call
your
officer a coward if he does not at-
tack them, though perhaps it entirely difconcerts
a more important expedition.
a
Twenty
$ Doria, Alva, Corbulo, and Fabius.

[ 75 ]
Twenty men appear on a hill in the road to 2
place you want to ſurpriſe. Your officer wilhes
not to be diſcovered, and would turn into another
road, but he fears for his character: He attacks
with a ſuperior force, loſes many men, forces an
inferior number from a poft of no importance, and
which he leaves from the countries being alarmed,
and he returns without having executed his or-
ders. Now had he purſued his own pian he would
have obeyed command, and as you love fighting,
you
would have had full fufficient of it in making
a ſoldierly retreat to your army. But I ſhall re-
gard not your clamours, I ſhall be ſparing of your
blood on trifling occafions; but when your coun-
try and your glory demand it, then you ſhall ſhed
it moſt profuſely. I conceive myſelf your father,
regard you each other as brothers; whether would
you cruſh the foe at the expence of the blood of
your brothers, or would you rather reſemble the
bolt of heaven, which is felt before it is ſeen!
But what is little reconcilable to this
rage
for
war, is that tumult, noiſe, amazement, and con-
fufion that often reign amongſt you at the fight of
that enemy whom you came prepared to meet, as
if ſome ſupernatural appearance was before you,
which you were by no means taught to expect :
nor can I reconcile that gloomy amazement which
alſo ſometimes poſſeſſes you when you hear of any
man's being killed or wounded, though one would
K 2lona i think,

[ 76 ]
think, that when you march againſt an enemy,
armed with inſtruments of deſtruction, it would
be more wonderfull if you ſaw no enemy, or
their inſtruments of deſtruction had been by ſome
magic rendered harmleſs. This conduct is be-
neath the truly brave man, to whom all ſituations
ſhould be, or at leaſt ſhould ſeem to be, familiar.
Silence on expeditions I need not recommend,
you muſt all ſee the propriety of it, though you
have been very deficient in keeping it. The firſt
man who ſpeaks when filence is enjoin'd, I ſhall
inſtantly command to be put to death, as one who
had nearly deſtroyed his brother warriors from dif-
obedience, and an indulgence of his own humours,
even at the expence of their lives.
But there is one abſurdity which calls aloud for
redreſs : every man with us is a general. On
your arrival at any new ground, the bows and
haſſagueys are inmediately laid aſide, and every
man has recourſe to his hollow bamboo; this you
call ot ertionnocer.f Nay more: every man de-
ferts his poſt without diſtinction ; warriors of in-
1
ferior rank, children who have never ſtretched a
bow ſtring, as well as more experienced veterans,
communicate
+ It is very ſingular, that this Indian word, which I
have preſerved for that reaſon, read backward makes
the Engliſh words to reconnoitre; yet
I ſhould be very
ſorry if this defe&t was our caſe. Prince Maurice of
Naſſau forbad all reconnoitring,

[77]
communicate ſchemes, obſervations, and falſe in-
telligence to the commander. Thus he is often
beat before he can form any plan of his own, or
perhaps forms a confuſed piece of patch-work,
compoſed of different parts of all theſe plans,
which nothing but fortune can make ſucceſsful.
Nay ſhould he even adopt a good plan with ſuc-
ceſs, every man thinks he would have acted better
if he had followed his own particular ſcheme;
never conſidering that men fee ground in different
points of view; that a ſingle army cannot exe-
cute the ſchemes of every man in it, or if every
man had a ſeparate army, that very army would
be ſubdivided into an equal number of theſe
ſcheemers, until the ſcheemers alone would cover
a ſpace of ground equal to the armies themſelves.
But what is ſtill more fatal is, that men will
preſume to act from themſelves, with a view to
a partial advantage, which if taken may ruin
a grand ſcheme they are not acquainted with, and
of courſe cannot comprehend. A young boy of
fpirit ordered to retreat from what he thinks an
inferior number, accuſes the general of cowardice;
or pretending that no ſuch order can be given,
charges, falls in with a body he did not expect to
meet, and is cut in pieces. Or fuppofing he routs
them? He comes in triumph to the general. Was
I that general not Manco's ſelf ſhould ſave him.
Had he retreated through dark woods, my troops
kota to meto te would
គេ បាន

[ 78 ]
would have furrounded the foe, and the vi&ory
had been compleat. I would commend indeed
his valour, but he ſhould expiate his diſobedience
by death. *
Know then, that I alone will be general; in all
urgent buſineſs I will conſult my ableft officers:
but let no man give me advice unaſked. Any
ſituation of the enemy that I cannot well diſcern, I
Shall be glad to know from another, but it ſhall be
Jeft to my opinion how to treat it. I would rather
decide firmly on a wrong meaſure, than heſitate
too long on a right one, for much is allowed to
Fortune, much to my troops. Every man from
me ſhall obtain the reputation he deſerves; and
it is but juſt that no man ſhould by his obftinacy,
ſelf-conceit, or ill-conduct, endanger mine.
For myſelf, brother warriors, you muſt not
expect to ſee me marching at your head with my
bow, my hafſaguey, and my blanket. I ſhall
make uſe of a lama or a palanquin. It is when
your fatigue is over, that mine is to begin. Whilft
you ſleep in ſecurity, I am to watch for you, to
mark the ſituation of the enemy, to viſit the poſts,
learn the nature of the country, and fix the plan
for the enſuing day. It will be little confolation
to you that I have wearied myſelf with you on
the march, if you afterwards find me incapable
of taking any fteps for your ſafety.
Hauan
Nor
bid* Vid, the inſtance of Manlius Torquatus.

[79]
Nor muſt you think, becauſe you do not fee
me adventuring my perſon on all occaſions, that
I am leſs brave than iny predeceffors in command.
With me reſts the plan of action, with me the
intelligence, with me many ſecrets material to
your ſucceſs, and which are not yet intruſted to
another. I am no common life ; your own lives
depend much on mine. You will have excellent
officers to lead you on, be it my duty to fpare no
fatigue of mind to enfure you victory with fafety.
But if by the will of the great Manco Capac, by
my own error, or the unavoidable chance of
war,
ill fortune ſhould be our lot, you will find none
more patient of calamity than your general, none
more adventurous in the hour of death,
My fellow warriors, let theſe
precepts fink
into your minds. 70
*But fee! the great luminary of the world
haſtens to gild the palace of Manco, and illumine
the regions of the happy. Prepare your arms.
That when he again ſhall raiſe his glittering crown
in the eaſt, he may behold us marching with
obedience againſt the perfidious fpes of our ſtate;
not like the winter's torrent which roars for a
time and is no more heard, but flow and refiſtleſs
as the advancing tide of the ocean: nor ſhall our
courſe be ſtayed, until rebellion bows its head, our
faithleſs enemies confeſs our power, and our ca-
noes again fail triumphant on the vaſt waters of
La Plata.
A TALE.

A
TA LE.
IN that remarkable æra, when Charles the fifth
was engaged in war with the Princes of the
Smalcaldic league, a club of politicians (for there
were ſuch clubs even in theſe early days) were al-
ſembled at their nightly rendezvous, in Dreſden,
to read the papers. They found in one a ſhort
paragraph, hinting at an advantage gained by the
troops of the Elector, the particulars of which
would be published in the next Gazette. On
this an antient member of the club aroſe, with
felf-fufficient face: Gentlemen, fays he, wait not
for the Gazette, I have intelligence full as good
as any it can afford. I have here a letter from my
fon Ferdinand, written immediately after the
action. The company called aloud for it, and he
read as follows:
Honoured Sir,
I Have juſt time to tell you, that we have gained
a great victory. The enemy was poſted on almoſt
inacceſſible precipices, defended by ſtrong works;
yet, after a hot engagement, we drove him from

[ 81 ]
been up
all. Luckily there was no ſhelter for the routed
foes, ſo we killed not a few in the purſuit. We
marched at day-break, but did not begin the ac-
tion until five in the afternoon, Could we have
fooner, we might have done more miſchief.
be I am, &c. Ferdinand de Kuntoch.
After he had read this with ſome applauſe, ano-
ther gentleman got up. Mr. de Kuntoch, ſays
he, I am much afraid that Mr. Ferdinand, as a
young man, has raiſed mole-hills into mountains ;
and, as to the enemies having no Shelter in their
retreat, he ſaw them where they could not be
feen. Mr. De Kuntoch was about to reply with
ſome warmth, when the other proceeded to read
aloud a letter he had received from his nephew.
Dear uncle,
ALL I can tell you is, that we have gained a
victory. The action laſted from morning till
night. We ſcarcely faw any of the enemy, as the
wood we engaged in was low, ſwampy, and ſo
thick of bruſh, that we could ſcarcely make our
way through it. I am, &c.
Guftavus Meningerode.
The whole company gazed with wonder on each
other ; when a third gentleman aroſe, and without
deigning to make uſe of any prelude, but that of
caſting a contemptuous fneer on each of the two dif-
putants, opened another letter, and read as follows:
L
My
a
>

[ 82 ]
My dear Sir,
THIS day has been brilliant, as to fight and
fuccefs. The enemy never gave us fo open a
front. A fine champain country, without hedge,
ditch, or any impediment to obſtruct our opera-
tions. The march of the cavalry to charge each
other, in a plain where there was no ſhelter nor
advantage to be taken, formed a glorious ſcene. I
am weary, fo muſt conclude.
Yours, 8c.
Frederick Smidſt
At the concluſion of this account, fo contradic-
tory to both the others, the club remained for fome
time filent, and then fell into violent altercation.
The veracity of all parties was doubted in turn, and
ſuch was their animoſity, that a fociety of 200
years ſtanding was about to ſuffer final diffolution,
when an old officer, who had been long looked
on as a ſtrange incommunicative man, faid,
Gentlemen, I can eafily ſettle this buſineſs. I
will prove, that each of theſe letters contains a
true fate of the fact, to the beſt of the writer's
obſervation. Here is a note from a field officer,
who knows as much as any man, yet knows but
little of the matter.
Dear Sir,
WE are victorious. The enemy was poſted
with his left entrenched in the Harſpurg moun-
tains; his right oceupied the wood of Glubit ; and
his
a

[83]
his center a fine plain, near the village of Weid -
neidftfleighterneight. Our right was ordered to
defile by Kobleift to take his left in flank, our left
and centre attacked his front. The battle was not
ſo deciſive as it might have been, as we could not
reach the mountains till five in the evening. We
know not how many fell in the wood, as the
underwood was thick. We mowed down num-
bers in the plain. As to any more particulars, you
know enough of action to know the impoffibility
of giving them with truth, Yours, &c.
Now, gentlemen, how eaſy is this reconeiled,
by ſuppoſing your three correſpondents on the
right, the left, and the centre. How unjuſt is it
then to demand from individuals an account of the
operations of the army, which few but the com-
mander can judge of, and whoſe account, if you
will wait a little, you will ſoon ſee publiſhed by au-
thority? The company aſſented with loud ap-
plauſe to their new oracle, and the bumper circu-
lated to the battle of Weidneidftfleighterneight,
and a ſpeedy publication of the Gazette.
*** The credibility of Gazettes in general is not to be
gathered from the authenticity of one in the time of the
Smalcaldic league :
Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur ab illis.
A FRAG-

neo
Sandra
A FRAGMENT.
,
A Dod
YOU have ſeen hard ſervice, Col. Northerton,
ſays Mr. Wealthy. Aye, d--n me, has he,
replied the Major ; for I'll be ſworn he has not
gone to bed ſober theſe five years. There was
the 27th of Auguſt --- A memorable day, ſays.
Wealthy.- I know little about the day, ſays the
Major, but the night was d--n'd memorable: the
Colonel and I drank eight bottles, hand to fift.-
Pray, Sir, ſays Wealthy, may I beg fome account
of that day ? - He give an account, replies the
Colonel ; he be d-n'd; he was too drunk from
the laſt night's debauch, to know any thing that
happened there. - Pray (with ſubmiſſion), fays
Wealthy, is not a clear head neceffary in carrying
on the art of war? - Art! (ſays Colonel Nor-
therton, with a countenance of ſurprize) Art of
war! By God I never ſaw any art in it; for,
d--n me, all I do is to halloo my men to the ene-
and he that gets up firſt is the beſt man; and
I believe I am as good an officer as my neighbourse
- Aye,
my,

[85]
-Aye, by G-d are you, Sir, ſays the Lieutenant
(who had long been liſtening with admiration), for
the devil a man in our regiment can run with you.
By G-d I have often ſeen you, in a charge,
twenty yards a-head of Jack Thomas, the long
fifer ; and if your men had not always been
knocked up, I'll be ſworn you would often have
beat the enemy - Here the Colonel called out,
with great extaſy, “Follow me; come on, come
on-ſtop for no one"-concluding with that har-
monious found, which in the hunting phraſe is
termed a view halloo.
The Parſon now put in his word by remarking,
that he believed there was a different mode of war
carried on by that great captain, Epaminondas.-
Who to the devil is he? fays the Colonel. He
muſt have come out lately to America; for I have
got drunk with all the Heffan captains over and
over, and may I be d-n'd if ever I heard his name
before.- Perhaps he belonged to the northern
army, ſays the Major.--Aye, very likely, replied
the Colonel. Pray, Sir, was he a full captain, or
only captain-lieutenant of the Brunſwick troops !
- I do not mean, ſays the Parfon with a ſmile,
that he was merely the captain of a company, but
ſpeak of him as you would perhaps do of Wolfe,
when you ſay he was the greateſt Britiſh Captain
of our times.-By G d, Sir, fays the Colonel, I
never ſaid it; and I ſhould lie confoundedly if
did,

[ 86 ]
did; for we all knew him to be a Major-General,
and one that would have beat fifty of your cap-
tains with the confounded German name. Good
Mr. Parfon, ſays the Lieutenant, ſtick to your
preaching ; don't talk with the Colonel on theſe
matters; egad, whoever catches him, will catch
a tortoiſe.- So I ſhould judge, ſays the Parſon,
from the impenetrable hardneſs of the ſhell.-
Solid as the Colonel's ſhell was in reality, it could
not refift fo keen and well pointed a ſtroke. His
face grew infamed, and ſeizing a decanter
Lætera deſunt.
a
N. B. I truſt this caricature, in which I have endea
voured to revive Fielding's Northerton in the rank of a
field-officer, will not be ſuppoſed a farcaſm on the army
in general. Many men of this deſcription; from connexion
or flattery, often in time of war rob the brave and honeft
man of his promotion; and, by their ignorance and ill-
conduct in time of peace, entail diſgrace on a profeſſion,
which of all others, when properly purſued, is the ſchool
of elegance and honour. To thoſe who have trod in the
true paths of fame, I have addreſſed theſe bafty ſketches,
Should the Northertons of the army be my enemies, I
fhall conſider their enmity as my triumph.
blu
}
Love

to novoril o svo
-ideas
on ndarbeit
website
Love of the Service.
po
Tood
boom
A Man of a very common plain underſtanding
will eaſily form to himſelf the ardour with
which a young man may take the field, who has
not experienced the hardſhip of fervice : but fuch
a man will be much ſurprized when he is told, that
twenty thouſand men of different ranks, tempers,
and educations, who had for the preceding year
been expoſed to rain, hunger, thirſt, and want of
covering or comfort; who had been fecluded from
every intercourſe of ſocial life, and ſubjected to
perpetual danger; to whom a cloak had often been
a houſe, a cruſt a luxurious banquet ; ſhall at the
commencement of a new year, in that ſeaſon
when all nature is attuned to love, and the ſoul
melts with ſympathy and pleaſure, forſake their
winter quarters, again to encounter theſe evils :
not with reluctance, but with joy, with extafy,
with tranſport. A man of the deſcription I have
mentioned, will attribute this to madneſs, or a
thirſt for human blood. But the fource is far re-
moved from either, eſpecially the latter cauſe.
Service, indeed, ſhakes off fome weakneſſes inci-
dental
a

( 88 )
dental to tender minds, but it heightens every tint
of humanity.
This love of ſervice may operate ſtrongly on a
man's mind, who is not even tinctured with ambi-
tion. The ſource of it is mutual confidence. We
are a body of men deſerting our near connexions,
equally ſharing danger and calamity, and engaged
by every honourable compact to defend each other,
at the riſque of life itſelf. Hence ariſes a kind of
affection amongſt men, whoſe names are ſcarcely
known to each other; for each man in his brother
warrior behclds a friend and a protector. Hence
that noble diſintereſtedneſs of ſpirit, free from jea-
louſy, free from guile, which is found in the open
The manners of a camp reſem-
ble thoſe of the golden age, before the ſelfiſhneſs
of property was known. A foldier unknown to
you
will often claim a ſhare of
your food, or the
corner of your watch coat, almoſt without waiting
for an invitation. This matual tie of confidence
humanizes the heart, amidſt the wildneſs of foreſts,
or the ſavage horrors of carnage.
There is alſo in war an inceffant change of
ſcene, which gratifies the curioſity; an activity
required, which ſets the ſpirits on foat, and leaves
no time for reflection; and a kind of folemnity
and grandeur, which elevates the mind, and ex-
pands the underſtanding. From theſe fources
are derived the love a true military ſpirit has for his
profeffion,
generous foldier.

[89]
a
profeſſion, and that noble yet guarded freedom,
which is only to be learnt in a camp.
With all theſe advantages there is a fault, how.
ever, attending the conſciouſneſs of a foldier. For
however polite and guarded he may be, yet if he
,
is a man of warm imagination, this conſciouſneſs
may beget a kind of ſecret contempt for all men
(however eſtimable) who are out of the pale of
warriors. But this is ſo natural, as almoſt to dif-
arm cenſure.
There is a fomething, a nameleſs ſomething, a
kind of illuſion, which attends the reflexion on
military ſervice. When a man conſiders calmly,
that he has undergone fatigues as great as thoſe of
any hero of romance; that like that hero he has
croſſed tempeſtuous oceans, and fought glory
amidſt inviſible agents of deſtruction, cloathed
in ſheets of fire, and the roar of infernal thunder ;
the reaſon can ſcarce confirm the experience of
the ſenſes. But when he further reflects, that
theſe were combated for no inchanted princeſs,
but for his country and his king, there muſt ariſe
in his mind a certain matchleſs elevation: He
can ſcarce think himſelf a being of this world; he
has encountered ſcenes of death and horror, be-
yond the belief or conception of the man of peace.
Hence ariſes a feclufion of the mind. He grows
indifferent as to opinion; he confiders himſelf as a
being far removed above the peaceful Sphere; as if
M
he
a

SAVE
THE CONTRAST
BETWEEN
15
CONDE and TURENNE.
a
T
"HESE men ſeemed to be particularly deſigned
by Providence to complete the ſplendour of
an age which dazzled the univerſe with its bright-
neſs; and, like twin ſtars, they preſerved their
luſtre unfaded amidſt a conſtellation of heroes.
At a time when military virtue was at its
height, and every part of the world could boaſt of
fome able commander, the voice of Europe pro-
nounced them the greateſt Captains of the age.
Victory followed their arms; and if the left them
for a moment, it was to convince the aſtoniſhed
univerſe, that every diſadvantage, nay loſs of fuc-
ceſs itſelf, prevailed not againſt the reſources of
genius.
Yet though their fortune, their reputation,
their glory were the ſame, their minds, their
tempers, nay their genius itſelf, formed a ſtriking
and remarkable CONTRAST.
The one, fond of the ſplendour of great ex-
ploits, ſeemed eagerly to ſnatch at fortune, dir-
daining
a

[ 93 ]
daining to wait for events ; the other, regarding
utility rather than ſplendour, ftrove to enſure
her by a more moderate conduct, and ſcarce left
any thing to chance, which forefight or judgment
could obtain. Thus, while the ſucceſs of the
former is ever marked by ſome victory, ſome
coup de main, or fome ſtriking line by which we
may trace it, we are ſurprized at the advantages
reaped by the latter ; and finding no faſcinating
mark of brilliant rathneſs, are amazed at his good
fortune, ſince on a tranſient view we are unable
to account for it.
The one, was ſuperior to all men in ſeizing and
purſuing an advantage; but his vivacity made him
leſs capable of combining the operations of a cam-
paign. The other, inferior in genius, ſupplied
this defect by obſervation; and though he gained
no victories which aſtoniſh us, his conduct mult
demand our eſteem.
If in the one we ſee great errors, amended by
ſtrokes almoſt furpafling human abilities; the
judgment of the other prevents a ſimilar praiſe, by
affording him few cauſes for amendment.
In Conde all is bright: in Turenne all is beau-
tiful. The one a glorious fun, now ſhaded by a
fleeting cloud, now burſting forth with more re-
ſplendent luſtre. The other a milder fun in an
unclouded ſky, more equal in its heat and in its
ſplendour.
The
وا

[ 94 )
The one a cataract, daſhing over rugged rocks,
whoſe broken and uneven points add to the rude
wildneſs of the ſcene. The other, a deep ſtream,
rolling along in folemn pomp, uniformly full and
majeſtic.
The actions of Conde riſe emboſſed on the ima-
gination; thoſe of Turenne are enamelled on the
judgment. The works of the one are bold, but
incorrect; but on examining thoſe of the other,
we fhall find them, tho' leſs ſtrong, yet more
beautiful ; almoſt without a defect; and diſplay-
ing, even in the minuteſt parts, the finished
touches of a maſter,
The courſe of fame which was allotted to theſe
heroes, ſeemned traced out by this differente of
genius.
The Prince, like a comet, burſt at once upon
the fight in a full blaze of glory. Without expe-
rience, without ripened years to aſſiſt him, he
routs numerous and veteran armies, headed by able
generals. Spain and Germany ſee their victorious
troops ſink beneath the fortune of a boy. Rocroi,
Lens, Friburg, and Norlingen, proclaim the tri-
umphs of the hero. Already he equals in fame the
glory of the greateſt commanders.
The Viſcount as it were ſteals upon the judg-
ment. With leſs genius than his rival, he fup-
plies the defect by application. Experience ripens
hinn fo gradually, that we perceive not the ſteps
with
a
a

[ 95 ]
a
with which he advances; yet though his parts
open flowly, he riſes by a beautiful climax, until
at laſt when we find him checking even Conde
himſelf, and baffling the force of the empire, we
are tempted to enquire, whence ſo ſuddenly ſprang
up a warrior fo wife, and ſo accompliſhed ?
Their genius was not more oppoſite than their
tempers. The Prince was born with violent and
unbridled paffions, which his high rank and early
fucceſs ripened into a fatal luxuriance.
The Viſcount's paſſions were more gentle; and
from an early habit of military obedience, he had
gained an eaſy and conſtant command of them.
Hence the conduct of the one was at times
irregular and violent; that of the other always
uniform and calm.
Both were ambitious. But the ambition of
Conde was called to view by the impetuofity of
his ſpirit, whilſt that of Turenne was concealed
by the uncommon moderation of his tenper.
Thus, whilſt we execrate the Prince for making
his love of power the ſource of civil diſcord in his
country, we loſe in the ſeeming diſintereſtedneſs
of the Viſcount, his having facrificed every ſacred
tie to obtain a poſt, which as yet had been incom-
a
patible with his principles *.
The
* The admirers of Turenne, who hold him up as a
model of perfe&tion, ſeem to have purpoſely overlooked
this fingular circumſtance, viz. This virtuous and all-ac-
compliſhed

[ 96
The conteſt in arms between theſe great com-
manders preſents us with one of the nobleſt ſcenes
that has been acted on the human ſtage.
Here we behold the two firſt captains in the
univerfe exerting the whole ſcience of war, to fur-
priſe, circumvent, or gain ſome advantage over
each other.
If Conde now appeare with leſs brilliant ſucceſs
than before, we muſt conſider that he was a ſub-
altern ; a fugitive in an army, headed by generals
without vigour, and who prided themſelves in dif-
ſenting from every opinion he advanced. Yet
without command, almoſt without troops, and
deſtitute of the advantage of having had a maſter
in the art of war, he checks the progreſs of the
armies of France, and becomes formidable to the
moſt experienced warrior of his age.
If + experience had aided the genius of Conde,
Turenne had not ſo often prevailed againſt him.
In
a
compliſhed man abſolutely changed his religion on the
king's binting to him, that he could wiſh to raiſe him
higher; but the pofts he had in view were incompatible
with Hugonot principles.
+ The word experience is not here to be taken in its gene-
ral ſenſe. Conde bad ſeen fullas much ſervice as his rival, but
he never was in a ſubordinate command. His firſt eflay in
arms was at the head of an army; and as his birth and in-
fluence muſt have drawn a crowd of flatterers around him,
he was left intirely to his own imagination, having perhaps
few

[ 97 ]
In his riper years, we find the hero at the head of
a difpirited army, checking the progreſs of the
great Montecuculi, and forcing him, (though
fluſhed with victory) once more to repaſs the
Rhine.
Colup och bris,
Theſe great men dreaded, yet efteemed each
other. Though plunged in the horrors of a civil
war, the nobleneſs of their minds triumphed over
the prejudice of party ; and whilſt they were pub-
Jicly exhauſting every art of deſtruction, conſidered
as the leaders of two factions, they ſtill preſerved a
private and amicable correſpondence, as friends
that had been mutually happy.
Conde com-
plains of the Viſcount for having ſpoke flightingly
of his conduct; his noble motive for this letter
gilds over the injuſtice of the complaint.
May we then venture to make this analyſis of
their parts?
Conde had a genius formed for war; but
want of early experience prevented his attain-
ing perfection. In Turenne, experience and ob-
N
ſervation
few in his army who would either give him advice, or find
fault with his mñeaſures. This gave him that kind of obfti-
nacy in opinion, which was diſplayed in his attacks at
Friburg and Norlingen, againſt the advice of Turenne;
and ſucceſs having juſtified his raſhneſs, this obſtinacy grew
habitual, and never entirely forſook him. However, if
his faults are to be aſcribed to this deficiency in his military
education, we muſt acknowledge that his beautics were
derived from his own comprehenſive genius,

[ 38 ]
ſervation ſupplied the place of genius, and rendered
him, if a leſs ſhining, yet a more univerſal com-
mander. In Conde we have brightneſs of parts ;
in Turenne depth of underſtanding. In Conde
we find the quickneſs of Alexander; in Turenne
3
the fteadineſs of Cæfar. We admire the flights
of the one; we eſteem the certainty of the other.
The ardor of Conde breathed fire into his troops ;
the caution of Turenne inſpired confidence.
Conde would be the hero of our youth ; Turenne
the admiration of our riper years.
For whilſt the
imagination is enamoured of the Prince, the
maturer judgment becomes the ſlave of the
Viſcount.
THE

00
sisi de
A
a
10. now boold ritibhuw adscenen
som inte ao
THE CONTRAST
gogica del bacio Se 9
credaid to BETWEEN Santino lo es
-Terop to od bani sido
HANNIBAL and SCIPIO.no
boodbido a mort w ru bord Dodorov
Orban is to den
Contraſt between Hannibal and Scipio ? (ſays
the Reader) What can the author mean?
Can there be a fitter ſubject for a parallel, and have
not all hiſtorians drawn the parallel? True. And
notwithſtanding the ground has been ſo often trod
before mę, I am almoſt tempted to retrace it merely
from the facility of the way. It is extremely eaſy
to bring together fome circumſtances in which
two men may reſemble each other; as Plutarch
has done in his parallel between Philopæmen and
Flamininus, where the whole reſemblance lies, in
their having both been at the head of armies: but
there is a peculiar character in every individual.
This character it is the buſineſs of the hiſtorian to
elucidate ; his taſk is not parallel, but diſcrimina-
tion. Upon this principle, I have, with ſome ti-
midity, and in a very unconnected manner, under
taken to contraſt two men, whoſe genius and glory,
at firſt view, ſeem to bear a very ſtriking re-
femblance.
asas
N2
Lepg

[ 100 ]
Long had the rival ſtates of Rome and Carthage
deluged the world with blood, when, on the
551ſt year of Rome, their armies met on the plains:
of Zama to decide at once the fate of empire.
The Roman army was commanded by Scipio,
that of Carthage by Hannibal :* both hitherto
invincible in war, and the moſt conſummate cap-
tains that either nation had produced. They
were both bred
up
in war from their childhood ;
But Hannibal had ſeen much of action, and had
been entruſted with high command in Spain ;
whilft Scipio never poffeffed a ſeparate command
until he became a general ; but he was in fome
meaſure trained to arms by his great opponent ;
and even the defeats of Ticinum, Trebia, and
1S
Cannæ,
a lot
bitw.si
sto
* Polybius tells us, that Hannibal was victorious in
every action, however trifling, till the battle of Zama.
Livy, on the contrary, has given every commander of a de-
tachment the victory over him, and has killed him more
men than he had in his army. Polybius perhaps carries
this matter too far, to enhance the triumph of Scipio. It
is very natural to ſuppoſe in the fortune of war, that Han-
nibal was fometimes unſucceſsful, and probably fome of his
ſcattered parties might have been cut off; but if he had
fuffered one of the defeats mentioned by Livy, his allies
would have forſaken him: yet we fee him embarking his
wñole- army for Cartbage, without the Romans daring to
moleft him. As I cannot allow temporary checks to
amount to defears, I muſt therefore with Polybius call:
Hannibal hitherto invincible.

Γ [ 101 ]
Cannæ, were better ſchools for a ſoldier than all
Hamilcars's victories over the Spaniards. The ge-
nius of Hannibal was enterpriſing and vaſt ; that
of Scipio more regular and cautious. Their per-
fonal ſpirit was undoubted; but that of Hannibal
was more active, he was found at the head of
every detachment ; Scipio more frequently en-
trufted them to others. Hannibal had been
wounded before Saguntum, he had been again
wounded at the attack of a little town after the
battle of Trebia; Scipio viewed new Carthage co.
vered with the ſhields of his body guard. Scipio,
you are no ſoldier, exclaimed a centurion. True,
he replied, I am a general. Yet this was that
Scipio, whoſe ſteadineſs faved the remains of the
Roman army after Cannæ, and whoſe perſonal
exertions ſecured the victory at Silpia.---They
both poſſeſſed, in a wonderful degree, that cap-
tivating addreſs which wins the hearts of men ;
but Hannibal's addreſs was of a more accommo-
dating nature, adapted to the different nations he
commanded ; that of Scipio was a little tinged
with the native haughtineſs of a Roman. The
foul
bus la
* I omit quoting Scipio's having ſaved his father's life
at Ticioum, becauſe this anecdote, with that of his converf.
ing with Jove in the Capitol, and his mother's having been
viſited by a dragon, are fuch bare-faced copies from the
Rory of Alexander, that I much wonder any biftorian of
credit could admit them into his page.

[ 102 ]
foulof Hannibal, tho' fierce and inveterate againſt
Rome, was by nature generous and tender ; that
of Scipio, unmoved by tenderneſs or rage, was at
all times inflexible and fteady. " With the
“ riſing fun we again behold the Roman army.
" Will Marcellus never let us reft ?"
ſays the
Carthaginian. Marcellus falls, Hannibal himſelf
ſpeaks the eulogium of his foe, and preſents his
afhes to his ſon. “Deliver up your lovely bride to
grace my triumph,” ſays the Roman to a mo-
narch, his friend and his ally. How ſhall we re-
concile this with a great and generous mind? Shall
we'execrate the unfeeling breaſt of Scipio, or the
brutal policy of Rome? The ſtratagems of Han-
nibal were exhauſtleſs, but tho' he had all the
Roman force to contend with, and was unſup-
ported by his country, yet we find none that were
marked with perfidy or injuſtice. How far Scipio's
treacherous victory over Syphax, and unjuſt con-
duct in the buſineſs of Emporia, can be done away
by the Roman maxim, " that no faith ſhould
be kept with barbarians,” let the admirers of the
Romana Fides explain. His diſmiffion of the
ambaſſadors of Carthage after the inſult his own
had received ; and his boldly releaſing the fpies,
after having ſhewn them the diſpoſition of his
camp, prove that his mind wanted neither genes
roſity, nor elevation, but, with a Roman citizen,
the

[103]
the aggrandizement of the ſtate, abſorbed all other
confiderations.
The diſcipline maintained by Hannibal, in an
army compoſed of nations different in arms, ha-
bits, and language, had been long the admiration
of the world. And tho' the Romans indulged
hopes that the ſweets of Capua would enervate
his forces, yet a conteſt of thirteen years con-
vinced them how deluſive theſe hopes had been.
Scipio had been accuſed of negligence in diſcipline,
but it was by thoſe who were jealous of his riſing
greatneſs. His army experienced but one mu-
tiny, and that in the abſence of the general ; but
his preſence and conduct foon quelled the inſur-
rection; not indeed with that ſplendid boldneſs,
which ſhould beſpeak the brother of Ammon,
and ſon of Capitoline Jove, but with the ſteadi-
neſs of a commander, and the art of a politician.
In all viciffitudes of his fortune, Hannibal had
been obedient to Carthage; Scipio was haughty
to the ſenate, and wiſhed to move, unfettered by
controul. But this difference of conduct ſprung
rather from circumſtance than temper. A ge-
neral of the Carthaginians not bleſſed with ſuc-
ceſs, expected an ignominious death; but the
;
perſon of a Roman citizen was inviolate; he
trampled on the diadems of kings, and ftooped
with reluctance even to immortal gods. Both
generals had been accuſed of tardineſs and neglect;
the
a

[ 104 ]
the one in not belieging Rome, the other in not
earlier beginning his operations in Spain and ina
Afric; but Hannibal had neither force nor engines
to juſtify an attack on Rome, and Scipio's delay
was founded on prudence and foreſight. He
choſe to leave nothing unprovided, and to form
alliances in the country he was to invade, that he
might begin his wars with advantage,
Hannibal relied on a rapidity, Scipio on a re-
gularity of genius. The Carthaginian was fained
for marches and ambuſcades, he infuſed a certain
matchleſs vigour into his troops, and led whole
armies with the celerity of a partiſan ; Scipio was
more cautious and circumſpect, he loved ſtratagem
but little, and choſe to found his victories on the
principles of military tactics. But this difference
in conduct was not ſo much traced out by genius,
as by that neceffity which aroſe in ſome meaſure
from the different orders of battle maintained by
theſe rival nations. The Carthaginians were al
moſt always formed in one line, the Romans in
three. Thus the troops of Carthage once routed
could not rally, but thofe of Rome could combine
three battles in one, Hannibal was conſcious of
this defect, and amended it by ſtratagem and fube
tlety. The Romans relied too much on their fu-
perior order of battle, which made them de-
ſpiſe refinement, and often eager to engage at every
diſadvantage :

[ 10 ]
diſadvantage: witneſs the bloody fields of Thra-
fimene and Trebia. Doub
The great battles of Silpia and Cannæ had juftly
raiſed the fame of the rival warriors.
The plans
of theſe battles at the firſt view bear a ftrong re-
femblance to each other; but, on a nicer inſpec-
tion, we fhall find each marked with the peculiar
character of the general. Both were won by the
beft troops having been placed in the wings, and
the armies formed in a kind of ſemi-circle. But
Scipio gained Silpia by advancing with the wings,
keeping back the centre; and Hannibal won
Cannæ by advancing from the centre and keeping
back the wings. Scipio preſenting to the enemy
.
a concive, and Hannibal a convex order of battle.
Before the action of Silpia, both armies had faced
each other for ſome days with their beſt troops in
the centre, when ſuddenly Scipio came forth from
his camp with his beſt troops in the wings, and
advanced rapidly on the enemy, keeping back his
centre. The oppofing general had not time
change his difpofition, and the event was obvious.
This was a very capital manoeuvre, but yet it had
nothing of ſtratagem in it. Scipio's intention was
cafily ſeen through, tho' it could not be guarded
againſt ; but the field of Cannæ, in which a ſmall
army ambuſcaded a greater in open ground, by dint
та
of fair military evolution, was a unique in war,
which

[ 106 ]
which had baffled the conjecture of tacticians, and
of which no age has produced an example.
Hannibal had invaded Italy, and pierc'd to the
walls of Rome; but checked by an inglorious
faction his victories had been rendered uſeleſs;
and now, after a war of fixteen years, maintained
by the reſources of his genius, he was recalled to
oppoſe Scipio, who had invaded Afric with ſuc-
ceſs, and removed the ſtorm of war to the gates of
Carthage. The plan of carrying war into the
country of an enemy, had been propoſed to their
different ſtates both by Hannibal and Scipio, but
with theſe different views: The one wiſhed to
ſcatter deſolation thro' the enemies' country, the
other to remove it from his own. Hannibal's
propoſal met at firſt the full approbation of Car-
thage; but the Roman fenate oppoſed, nay
thwarted, the views of Scipio. He boldly en-
gaged in it, at all hazards; on himſelf he took
the important taſk; and when we contraſt his
youth with the judgment he diſplayed in his plan,
the addreſs with which he ſecured the command
of
* Cato accuſed Scipio of Audying Greek in Sicily, and
therefore moved, that he ſhould be ſuperſeded. Hannibal
the barbarian wrote his campaigns in Greek. Carthage was
the mart of the world; the Greek tongue there perhaps
was ſpoken as the French is now in London; but ignorance
was the boaſt of Rome, till Cato himſelf began to leara
Greek at fourſcore years of age.

[ 107 ]
of an army to execute it, tho' oppoſed by the great
names of Fabius and of Cato, and the courage
and ability which he diſplayed in the execution,
we muſt allow him the praiſe that is due to
ſuperior genius.
But if Scipio here appears to advantage, great
was the contraſt between the difficulties to be ſur-
mounted in the attempt. The march of Hanni-
bal was through hoſtile nations, through deep
foreſts, o'er rapid rivers and mountains that ſeemed
to prop the heavens ; he could not guard againſt
ill fortune, he had no retreat, and he was to at-
tack a nation the moſt warlike in the world, and
whoſe force, hitherto unbroken, was concentered
round the Capitol. Scipio had only a narrow
part of the ſea to croſs, and he had a retreat in his
ſhips. He was to wage war with a ſtate of mer-
chants, whoſe finances were exhauſted, whoſe
veteran troops were far diftant, and whoſe preſent
defenders were undiſciplined mercenaries, headed
by generals without vigour or experience. Neither
Afdrubal nor Syphax could hold the ſcale of war
againſt Scipio: on Hannibal reſted the hopes of
Carthage.
In the middle of the plain which divided both
armies theſe famous warriors held an interview.
The firſt moments were ſpent in that filence
which is impreſſed by mutual admiration. The
beauteous perſon of Scipio, now in its prime,
glowed with health and manly vigour ; his heart
02
was

[ 108 ]
.
was elate with ſucceſs, and civility thinly veiled
the exultation which was diſplayed on his counte-
nance. Hannibal had loſt an eye; his perſon,
now in its decline, was ſtill vigorous, but furrowed
with the traces of anxiety and hardſhip. The
fall of Afdrubal and the injuſtice of Carthage had
diffuſed a melancholy o'er his mind, and tho' he
was now the generous champion of an ungrateful
country, yet the Agnofco Fortunam Romanam ſtill
kept poſſeſſion of his breaſt. Short was the inter-
view, and took its complexion from the different
ftates of mind of the generals. Hannibal warns
Scipio of the inſtability of fortune, and propoſes
terms of peace and ſubmiſſion from Carthage
Scipio haughtily rejects them, and refers the arbi-
tration to the ſword. The field of Zama is
known to every ſoldier. Each general departed
from his uſual order of battle. Scipio left his in-
tervals open, to let the elephants paſs without
diſordering his ranks: Hannibal could not truſt
his new levies in his line, left they ſhould deſert
him. He therefore drew up in three lines,
placing theſe levies between his Africans and his
Italians, who formed the third line, and were in-
tended to attack Scipio's army, when in confu-
fion, fatigued, and with blunted weapons, after
the ſlaughter of the two firſt lines. But Scipio,
with the keen eye of a general, penetrated thro
his fchemne; and, after the defeat of the two firſt
lines,
Store

[ 109 ]
lines, halted, ſent his wounded to the rear, and
forming the principes and triarii on the flanks of
the haftati, advanced in one line to attack the
reſerve of the Carthaginians. Here Scipio adopted
the Carthaginian order of battle; but the reafon
was obvious. There was not room, in front of
Hannibal's reſerve, to form three lines, without their
being entangled in the dead bodies ; by forming in
one line, Scipio was freed from this incumbrance.
The battle hung long ſuſpended, when Lelius and
Mafliniſſa, returning from the purſuit of the Punic
cavalry (which had been routed by their own ele-
phants), fell on the rear of their infantry. Hanni-
bal fled to Adrumetum, and Scipio gave laws to
Carthage.
The partial Roman hiſtorians, writing of the
battles of Canna and Zama, attribute the loſs of
the one to the imprudence of Varro, that of the
other to the inferiority of Hannibal to Scipio as a
warrior ; and they tell you, that both battles were
won by the cavalry. But I believe it will be
found, that Varro received poſitive orders to fight;
that Æmilius, at that time the greateſt general of
the Romans, conducted the chief buſineſs of the
day; that no one blamed Varro or Æmilius, they
only confeſſed the ſuperior ſkill of the Carthagi-
ginian; and that the difpofition of the Roman
forces was excellent, we have the opinion of a
man, whoſe knowledge of military tactics no rea-
fonable

[ 110 ]
fonable man will deny (admitting even that Cæfar
formed no columns); I mean the French com-
Dientator on Polybius. bei at
At Zama the ſkill of both generals was very
great, ſuch as might be expected from two fuch
men in the final ſtruggle for empire. But Hanni.
bal could not forefee that his own elephants would
Tout both his wings of horfe, and thus expoſe his
Iear to the attack of the Roman cavalry. Un-
doubtedly the horſe had a great ſhare in both ac-
tions; but obſerve, that at Cannæ Hannibal had
mearly ruined the enemies' infantry, before his
cavalry attacked their
rear ;
but at Zama the vic-
tory was doubtful (if it did not incline to Carthage),
till the fortunate return of the Roman horfe.
Thus it ſeems that the horſe only compleated the
victory of Hannibal, but gained the victory for
Scipio.
But it is on his return to his native city, that
Hannibal appears in a new and fuperior light to
Scipio. He is not crucified ? No. He is made
chief magiſtrate of the ſtate. He now reforms
abuſes, regulates the finances, and governs with
the abilities of a ſtateſman, and the authority of
one who had been fortunate. Whilſt the great
Ecipio could rot procure an office in Rome, either
for his friend or his relation. How ſhall we ac-
count for this ? Shall we ſay that Hannibal had
univerſal talents, and that Scipio was only great in
war ;

[ 11 ]
war ; or fhall we not rather ſay, that the hopes of
ruined Carthage were centered in Hannibal, and
that Rome, jealous from proſperity, dreaded the
ambition of her protector.* domu
.
Behold ye, who would fcale the heights of
fame, the unſtableneſs of human glory. Su
See Hannibal driven from the ſtate he had
pre-
ſerved, dependent on barbarian kings, wandering
a wretched out-caſt from realm to realm, perſe-
cuted by the ungenerous policy of Rome, and at-
tempting in vain to rouſe the timid nations to re-
venge ; 'till, like a wounded lion at bay with his
purfuers, let us, ſays he, rid the Romans of their
dreaded foe, and expires. Santa
See again the humbler of Hannibal and Car-
thage charged with peculation in that ſenate,
where he preſided. Does he clear himſelf of the
charge? No. The prudent man would have
done fo? True. But the ſouls of heroes are of
ſuperior eſſence. He tears his accounts before the
people. It was on the day of the anniverſary of
the field of Zama. This day, ſays he, I conquered
Hannibal ; let us return thanks to the gods. The
multitude,
* It will be aſked me if Scipio's brother had not the
command againſt Antiochus the Great, and if he did not
attend him as his lieutenant? Certainly. But I allude to
a prior æra, A. U.C. 560, when Scipio loſt the conſule
fhip both for Scipio Nafica and Lelius, the intereft of
Flamininas prevailing againt him.

[ 112 ]
multitude, ſtruck with reverence, follow him to
the Capitol; he facrifices, and then quits Rome
to return no more.
With Lelius, the companion
of his fortunes, he retired to the village of Liter
num ; there, amidſt the calm delights of litera-
ture and friendſhip, declined the days of the great
Scipio. Injured as he was, he took no part in the
tumults of the ſtate ; yet the balm of philofophy
was in vain applied, deep rankled the ſhaft in his
boſom, and his expiring lips breathed forth, Oh !
truſt not my remains with my ungrateful country!
I have now finiſhed the contraſt I propoſed, and
am aware that it will be aſked me, vhat is be-
come of the cruelty of Hannibal and the clemenc
of Scipio, which have filled the hiſtoric page? I
fear I may be thought one, who wiſhes to refine
away the ſober truth of hiſtory. But I ſhall not
plead guilty to the charge. I do not preſume to
offer hints to ſuch as write hiſtory, but I truſt I
may give fome to thoſe who read it; more partie
cularly, as my defence is cloſely connected with
the obſervations which conclude this effay.
In reading hiſtory we ſhould be very cautious
not to judge of characters from epithets, but from
facts. Hiſtorians have fallen into a ſtrange error ;
and thinking no ſubſtantive complete without its
adjective, imagine that every great name is imper-
fect without its epithet. The epithet-the ruling
epithet is perhaps frequently choſen from one fin-
gle

[ 113 ]
]
0
gle action; which ſo far from marking the general
character, may poſſibly be utterly different from
every other part of it. Mr. Macquer, in his Chro-
nological Abridgment, ſays of Hannibal, “ If this
great captain wanted religion, fincerity, and hu-
manity, as he is ſaid to have done, I will perhaps
grant that he had the accompliſhments of a con-
queror,
but I will not allow him thoſe of a hero.”
The author here ſeems to doubt the juſtice of the
character he gives, by the qualified and cautionary
expreſſion," as he is ſaid." But by whom is this
great captain ſaid to be devoid of religion, humanity,
and ſincerity? There is no proof of his having
been deſtitute of religion ; unleſs the proof of it
may be drawn from what poſſibly was the effect of
zeal, his deſtroying the temples of thoſe who
profeffed another faith. There is no inſtance re-
corded of any inhumanity, but what falls within the
fair province of war, and may be warranted by the
policy of this world, or what hath been called the
law of nations. As to his fincerity, we need no
ſtronger proof of it than the long and inviolable at-
tachment of his army and allies. From whom then
is this very ungracious account of Hannibal taken?
From the Romans. It is drawn from the harſh
epithets beſtowed upon him by their hiſtorians and
poets. But there required no extraordinary inftan-
ces of cruelty to affix the epithets of atrox and cru-
delis on the ſucceſsful invader of a ſtate. But when
P
21
Scipio
ti

[ 114 ]
Scipio, breaking a moſt folemn treaty, ſurprizes
two unſuſpecting armies, and not content with
burning two thirds of them in their camp, facri-
fices the remaining five thouſand to Vulcan, it is
only remarked by Mr. M. “ that this horrid ſacri-
fice ſhews how the nobleſt minds may be tainted by
ſuperſtition;" and immediately after he is called,
" the brave the generous Scipio." His breach of
faith, his horrid ſacrifice, are both funk in the
contemplation of Scipio's ſelf denial in the inſtance
of the fair Spaniard :-as if a man's forbearing
to raviſh the wife of another was ſuch a ſingular
action of heroic virtue, as to have merit ſufficient
to atone for ſome of the blackeſt crimes that could
fully the honour of human nature! -To give a ſpe-
cimen of more of the hiſtorian's epithets. The
execrable Ravilliac ftabs Henry the IVth, the pro-
feiled enemy (as the aflaflin ſuppoſed) of the
religion and liberties of his country: but it is the
mild, the patriotic Brutus who plunges his dagger
in the breaſt of his friend, his benefactor, and per-
haps his parent. It is in vain to plead that Cæfar
was an uſurper. Rome could not exiſt without a
dictator. The clemency and wonderful abilities of
Cæſar gave him a kind of hereditary right to that
dictatorſhip. Henry ſucceeded by arms to the
throne of Anjou ; and Cæfar to the dictator-
fhip of Sylla. - The dark, the unrelenting Philip
brings religious perſecution on his ſubjects, yet not
perſonally

[ 115 ]
perſonally but by proxy: but it is the amiable
Francis, who marches as firſt executioner at a reli-
gious auto-de-fe in Paris.
More modern times have produced a very
ſtriking inſtance of the miſapplication of epithet,
when the name of GREAT was affixed to a very
weak man, and facts were ftrained to ſupport its
credit. A Conde or a Luxemburg fhaked all Eu-
rope with alarms. This is called the prevailing
fortune of Lewis the GREAT." A Colbert
and a Louvois exert all their powers to
ex-
tend the fame of his domeſtic economy. Ab-
forbed in pleaſure and bloated with pride, he al-
fumes the merit of inſtituting a marine, keeping
on fout numerous armies, and atchieving victories,
whilft dancing in the gallery of Verſailles. Become
now the head of Europe, time robs him of his
protectors: but yet it is Lewis the GREAT that
ſuffers his marine to decay, himſelf to be robbed of
his triumphs; and who for want of penetration,
or from a weakneſs that made him the dupe of fe-
male artifice, placed at the head of his ſhattered
armies and finances thofe in all his dominions
the moſt unfit for the poſts they poſſeſſed. Finally
deprived of his foreign conqueſts, oppreſſed by the
weight of Europe, the barrier of his kingdom
taken, his glory withered, and age doubling dif-
grace upon him ; ſinking under the ſuperior fame
ef a private ſubject of Britain, and a prince born
P 2

[ 116 ]
in his own realm, and whom his own want of fa
gacity had driven into the ſervice of his foes; his
people impoveriſhed, his treafury exhauſted, and
himſelf (long the play-thing of women and of
prieſts) depreffed by the weight of dotage and infir-
mity, yet even then his infatuated ſubjects, " lured
by the whiſtling of a name," ſtill extolled the ex-
ploits of Lewis le GRAND; and whilſt that
mighty potentate ſcarce felt the ſenſations of
being, his metropolis was adorned with triumphal
monuments, inſcribed" TO THE IMMORTAL
MAN !!!"
AN

[ 1171
Α Ν.
ELEGIACE PISTLE,
nowe
ADDRESSED to a FRIEND,
Sada
On my leaving Bostaal in 1775, for the Cure of my
Younds,
Wounds, ſuſtained at BUNKER'S HILL.
OH,
H, DORILAS, and muſt we part !
Alas! the fatal day.
And muſt I leave thee, generous youth,
And tempt the raging ſea !
Muſt
we untwine the firmeft link
In Friendſhip’s golden chain !
'Tis fo ftern Deſtiny decrees,
And Friendſhip pleads in vain.
In infancy, e'er reaſon dawn'd,
We felt her facred beam;
'Twas love inſtinctive filld the fpot,
Where now dwells
pure eſteem.
And as we ripen'd into man,
That love was ſtill the fame,
Save that the ſpark, in childhood nurs'd,
Glow'd with a ſtronger flame.
Say
2009 fimcoextra
wede bokkiintheboh koceny
order
علا

[ 118 ]
*Say, had thy EDWARD e'er a grief,
That was not mourn'd by thee;
Or hadft thou e'er a ſecret joy,
Which brightned not in me?
Each thought, each act, ſeem'd but to flow
From one united mind,
So cloſe had Friendſhip's magic pow'r
Our mutual hearts entwin'd.
When late fell Diſcord rear'd her torch
O'er Boſton's hapleſs land,
Unmov'd we left our weeping friends,
At Honour's high command.de
Together tempted Ocean's rage, w
And dar'd th' unequal war ; qidal
For time had bright'ned to a fun me
Young friendſhip's early ſtare bat
And muft we part, my DORILAS!pustil
Yon ſignal ſpeaks it true ;
The ſhip’s unmoor'd, the canvas fpread;
Once more, dear friend, adieu! W
То
* Whene’er had I a joy that was not Polydore's,
Or Polydore a gricf that was not mine.
ORPHAN, A&I.
a

[ 119 ]
To fav’ring winds and azure ſkies
I ſpread my eager fails,
And ſeek Hygeia's* ſacred fane
In Devon's peaceful vales.
Whilſt thou art doom'd in realms to pine,
Where ſcorching Sirius reigns ;
Where peſtilence pollutes the air,
And carnage gluts the plains;
obb
For me, my much-lov'd joyful fire dans
The plenteous board prepares,
And pale diſeaſe at length ſhall yield
To ſoft maternal cares.
betesome
Yet let no jealous pang, lov'd youth, a work
Deprive thy mind of reft;
Nor think, that diſtance, tiine, or place,
Shall rob thee of my breaſt. o isto bi
Tho' parents fond, and anxious friends,
Each joy prepare
for
me,
Kly fick’ning foul is ill at eaſe,
Whilſt thus bereft of thee.
Frequent i'll tread th' enamelld mead,
Or climb th' aſpiring hill,
Where Fancy oft her revels kept,
Obedient to our will.
Ву
* Hygeia, the goddeſs of health.

[ 120
]
By her creative pencil touch'd,
The cottage of the dale,
A creſted caſtle tower'd to view,
Which valiant knights affail.
Oft on yon flower-embroider'd lawn,
Which ſkirts the waving wood,
Ideal armies fiercely charg'd
And dy'd the plain with blood.
The wood itſelf is hallow'd ground,
Where Dryads keep their court;
Where Pan leads up the fylvan dance,
And jocund Satyrs ſport.
据
​How oft together have we ftray'd
By Iſca's* filver ſtreams,
In meditations rapt like theſe,
And viſionary dreams?
How oft, beneath yon hoary oak,
Indulg'd the noon-tide hour,
Entranc'd by Shakeſpeare's wood-notes wild,
Or Spencer's fairy pow'r?
Still at that hour, oh! well-known tree,
I'll court thy friendly ſhade;
There violets bloom, the cowflip bends
Its dew-beſprinkled head.
III-
* re, the Latin name for the river Exe.

[121] ]
Ill-boding flower, ah me! e'en now,
Far from his native land,
A fairer flow'ret droops to earth,
Oppreſs’d by Death's cold hand.
Horror! behold his mangled corſe
All bleeding on the fore;
Ah ! ſee the ruddy bloom of health
Now paints that face no more.
Silent thoſe lips, whoſe accents ſweet
Beguild the live-long day;
Clos’d are thoſe eyes, which fondly beam'd
With Friendſhip’s living ray.
Oh War! thou fell inſatiate fiend,
Yet ſpare his tender age !
I
pray in vain; he ſinks beneath
1
Thy undifcerning rage.
Alas! he wanton'd not in blood,
Fame call'd him to the field;
* The proud oppoſer felt his ſword,
The vanquiſh'd bleft his ſhield.
a
His
* " His ſword ſhould be levelled at the oppoſer, but his
ſhield ſhould be ſpread over the vanquiſhed.” See page
51. If I maft plead guilty to a charge of plagiariſm,
it will be ſome mitigation, that, like the miſer in the play,
I have ſtolen from my own property. The Letter to the
Young Officer was publiſhed in 1778, three years after this
peem.

[122]
His mind was of that ſteady bent,
Which gives the mock to fear
His eye was of that melting fort,
Which ſtreams with Pity's tear.
Gentle his foul, yet to himſelf
She breath'd her harſheſt tone;
To others griefs he gave the figh,
Which roſe not for his own.
In him each pure and manly grace
Was mix'd in juſt degree ;
Truth, filial love, affection kind,
And bright ſincerity.
What tho' around thy brow, brave youth !
Glory her wreath fhall twine;
Say, can that wreath repair the lofs
Of virtues ſuch as thine ?
But ſtay: 'Tis all illufive ſhade,
The phantom of the brain;
It finks, it fades, it dies, -and now
I wake to life again.
And fure fome God propitious now
My labouring breaſt inſpires ;
My ſoul its power prophetic feels,
And glows with all its fires,
Thou

[ 123 ]
Thou ſhalt not fall, my DORILAS,
By War's inſatiate hand;
Yet ſhalt thou live, oh, much lov'd friend!
To bleſs thy native land,
Yet ſhalt thou live, my DORILAS,
,
This anxious mind to calm ;
And cheer a parent's drooping age,
With ſweet Affection's balm.
The Virtues o'er their fav’rite fon
Will ſpread ſome ſecret charm,
To check the bullet's deathful flight,
And ſtay th' uplifted arm:
# And when Rebellion ftern is cruſh'd,
And War's alarms ſhall ceaſe,
Reſtore him to his long-loft home,
In victory and peace.
Come
* The power prophetic I ſo much boaſt of, has here
failed me in one infance; butin another I have been won,
derfully ſucceſsful. My friend has ſince been reported to
have been killed in battle, and was as ſuch bewailed: He
is now in the boſom of his native country, in peace, health,
and affluence.

[ 124 ]
a
Come then, dear youth! thy wearied limbs
Shall find a welcome reft ;
Come, with thy preſence cheer the gloom
Which darkens EDWARD's breaft.
chi
લોકો પણ
FINI S.



Drewe, Edward
1764