By those who have compared the military genius of the English with that
of the French nation, it is remarked, that "the French officers will
always lead, if the soldiers will follow;" and that "the English
soldiers will always follow, if their officers will lead."
In all pointed sentences, some degree of accuracy must be sacrificed to
conciseness; and, in this comparison, our officers seem to lose what our
soldiers gain. I know not any reason for supposing that the English
officers are less willing than the French to lead; but it is, I think,
universally allowed, that the English soldiers are more willing to
follow. Our nation may boast, beyond any other people in the world, of a
kind of epidemick bravery, diffused equally through all its ranks. We
can show a peasantry of heroes, and fill our armies with clowns, whose
courage may vie with that of their general.
There may be some pleasure in tracing the causes of this plebeian
magnanimity. The qualities which, commonly, make an army formidable, are
long habits of regularity, great exactness of discipline, and great
confidence in the commander. Regularity may, in time, produce a kind of
mechanical obedience to signals and commands, like that which the
perverse cartesians impute to animals; discipline may impress such an
awe upon the mind, that any danger shall be less dreaded, than the
danger of punishment; and confidence in the wisdom, or fortune, of the
general may induce the soldiers to follow him blindly to the most
dangerous enterprise.
What may be done by discipline and regularity, may be seen in the troops
of the Russian emperess, and Prussian monarch. We find, that they may be
broken without confusion, and repulsed without flight.
But the English troops have none of these requisites, in any eminent
degree. Regularity is, by no means, part of their character: they are
rarely exercised, and, therefore, show very little dexterity in their
evolutions, as bodies of men, or in the manual use of their weapons, as
individuals; they neither are thought by others, nor by themselves, more
active, or exact, than their enemies, and, therefore, derive none of
their courage from such imaginary superiority.
The manner in which they are dispersed in quarters, over the country,
during times of peace, naturally produces laxity of discipline: they are
very little in sight of their officers; and, when they are not engaged
in the slight duty of the guard, are suffered to live, every man his own
way.
The equality of English privileges, the impartiality of our laws, the
freedom of our tenures, and the prosperity of our trade, dispose us very
little to reverence superiours. It is not to any great esteem of the
officers, that the English soldier is indebted for his spirit in the
hour of battle; for, perhaps, it does not often happen, that he thinks
much better of his leader than of himself. The French count, who has
lately published the Art of War, remarks, how much soldiers are
animated, when they see all their dangers shared by those who were born
to be their masters, and whom they consider, as beings of a different
rank. The Englishman despises such motives of courage: he was born
without a master; and looks not on any man, however dignified by lace or
titles, as deriving, from nature, any claims to his respect, or
inheriting any qualities superiour to his own.
There are some, perhaps, who would imagine, that every Englishman fights
better than the subjects of absolute governments, because he has more to
defend. But what has the English more than the French soldier? Property
they are both, commonly, without. Liberty is, to the lowest rank of
every nation, little more than the choice of working or starving; and
this choice is, I suppose, equally allowed in every country. The English
soldier seldom has his head very full of the constitution; nor has there
been, for more than a century, any war that put the property or liberty
of a single Englishman in danger.
Whence, then, is the courage of the English vulgar? It proceeds, in my
opinion, from that dissolution of dependence, which obliges every man to
regard his own character. While every man is fed by his own hands, he
has no need of any servile arts; he may always have wages for his
labour; and is no less necessary to his employer, than his employer is
to him. While he looks for no protection from others, he is naturally
roused to be his own protector; and having nothing to abate his esteem
of himself, he, consequently, aspires to the esteem of others. Thus
every man that crowds our streets is a man of honour, disdainful of
obligation, impatient of reproach, and desirous of extending his
reputation among those of his own rank; and, as courage is in most
frequent use, the fame of courage is most eagerly pursued. From this
neglect of subordination, I do not deny, that some inconveniencies may,
from time to time, proceed: the power of the law does not, always,
sufficiently supply the want of reverence, or maintain the proper
distinction between different ranks; but good and evil will grow up in
this world together; and they who complain, in peace, of the insolence
of the populace, must remember, that their insolence in peace is bravery
in war.