Motto for a soldier.—Glory.—Reply to a challenge.—The caricature.—
Discharges.—A picquet, sentinel, vedette, advanced guard, and flag
of truce.—Crossing rivers.—Presentations.—Camps of instruction.—
Comfort of a cigar.—Tribute to the brave.
“The love of country is creditable to every heart; and I would have you,
boys, cherish it in yours. I would, if I could, have every soldier, and
indeed every Englishman, take for his motto,
‘Old England for ever!
The land, boys, we live in!’
and make up his mind that it is his bounden duty to do all he can for
the country that gave him birth. Most of the old boys at Greenwich
Hospital, and Chelsea College, who have lost an arm or a leg, or are
otherwise injured, would heartily join in this sentiment, though they
somehow seem to think fighting, and their country’s good, the same
thing.”
“When a soldier is wounded, no doubt he tries to comfort himself with
the honour he has got in the battle?”
“O boys! boys! ‘Will honour take away the grief of a wound?’ A soldier
had need have something better to support him than the mere love of
glory: he ought to have the consolation of knowing that he has fought in
a just cause, and that it is his country’s good, and not his own that he
aims at. In my time, perhaps, I have run after the bubble glory as
ardently as the boy pursues his butterfly; but there are seasons—I speak
from experience—when the heart of a soldier is sick of war; and then he
muses and moralizes like other men. When, harassed, day after day, and
night after night, when, bivouacing on the cold ground, or watching by
the dying embers of the camp-fire, and, especially, when lying among the
wounded on the battle-field, he sees friends and foes around him who
have been swept down by the sharp scythe of war, he yearns for the calm
quiet, the soothing peacefulness of a happy home, where the wasting
sword of battle is unknown; and then, like others, he can break out in
ardent exclamations against mad ambition, questioning the value of mere
glory, and even doubting the lawfulness of making earthly honours an
object of his desires.
‘O glory! glory! Mighty one on earth!
How justly imaged by the waterfall!
So wild and furious in thy sparkling birth,
Dashing thy torrents down, and dazzling all;
Sublimely breaking from thy glorious height,
Majestic, thundering, beautiful, and bright.
‘Oh! what is human glory, human pride?
What are man’s triumphs, when they brightest seem?
What art thou, mighty one! though deified?
Methuselah’s long pilgrimage—a dream!
Our age is but a shade, our life a tale,
A vacant fancy, or a passing gale.’
“You see, that though I am an old soldier, I have no notion of men
fighting for mere glory. The good of their country and the real welfare
of those around them is a better motive to move a soldier’s or a
sailor’s heart than all the glory that can be acquired.”
“Officers sometimes fight duels, uncle, that cannot be for the good of
their country.”
“Very true. He who kills another in a duel lays up for himself a bed of
briers and a pillow of thorns. There are restless nights and ugly dreams
in store for him. Perhaps you may have heard of the reply that was once
given to a challenge. As, however, it is short, I will repeat it to you.
It ran pretty much in this manner: ‘I have two objections to this duel
affair; the one is, lest I should hurt you, and the other is, lest you
should hurt me. I do not see any good that it would do me to put a
bullet through any part, though even the least dangerous part of your
body. As to myself, I think it more sensible to avoid than to place
myself in the way of anything harmful. I am under great apprehension you
might hit me: that being the case, I think it more advisable to stay at
a distance. If you want to try your pistols, take some object—a tree, or
anything else about my dimensions; if you hit that, send me word, and I
shall acknowledge that if I had been in the same place you might have
hit me.’”
“That was a famous answer, however.”
“I once saw a caricature of two sailors fighting a duel in a saw-pit
with blunderbusses. If this method should ever become popular, the
number of duels will not be very great. ‘Do you know the use of the
sword?’ was once tauntingly asked of a brave officer by a mad-headed
young ensign, who wished to provoke him to a duel. ‘Better than you do,
young man,’ was the noble reply: ‘A soldier’s sword should defend his
country from her foes, and not be plunged into the hearts of her
friends.’ I knew a private soldier in the dragoons, well educated, but
of a proud and violent temper, who quarrelled with his captain, and sent
him a challenge. The captain refused to fight with a private; and this
so wounded the pride of the dragoon that he destroyed himself with one
of his own pistole. I would have all such untractable, reckless spirits
discharged from the army.”
“When are soldiers discharged?”
“Under different circumstances. We will not here allude to desertion,
for then, men and muskets too sometimes _go off_ without being
_discharged_. At times soldiers are found unfit for service; they have
purchased their liberty; the army has been reduced; their period of
service has been completed; or some crime has been committed by them, on
account of which they are dismissed with disgrace. It often happens,
however, that a soldier, unfit for one duty, is very capable of
performing another, and thus many are invalided; they are put on
garrison duty, though unfit for general service.”
“Ay! that seems a very good plan. Garrison-duty, then, is not so hard as
other service?”
“It is not. Sometimes, when soldiers are discharged, they have pensions,
and sometimes they have not. Many a man, who is not active enough for a
picquet in the field, makes a good sentinel in garrison.”
“What is a picquet?”
“A picquet is an out-guard, posted before an army, to reconnoitre and
give notice of the approach of an enemy. Picquets have been called the
watchdogs of an army.”
“Is a picquet and a sentinel the same?”
“No; for a sentinel is one man, whereas picquets are often strong bodies
of horse and foot. Sentinels in the night should be careful not to give
false alarms. I knew of one case, wherein a camp was put in confusion by
a sentinel firing his piece at a horse, which had strayed; the sentinel
mistook the animal for an enemy—the alarm became general, but at last
the cause of it was discovered. In case of a sudden surprise, the
picquet guard make what resistance they can, that the army may have time
to get ready. Picquets should be composed of smart fellows, all alive
and equal to their undertaking; men who will behave kindly to the
inhabitants around them, and keep on good terms with them. Telescopes
and pocket-compasses are very necessary to picquets. At night, sounds
may be heard at a great distance, and the vedettes posted by the
picquet, should be very silent to catch a distant sound. At night, too,
a person can see better, looking up hill than looking down. These, and a
hundred other things, should be well known by picquets, to render them
thoroughly useful.”
“You did not say what a vedette was?”
“A vedette is a sentinel on horseback. His carbine should be advanced
ready for use, and his horse’s head turned in the direction of expected
danger. Once, when I was on a picquet in Spain, near Corunna, a vedette
gave the alarm, and a body of horse burst upon us so suddenly that had
it not been for a couple of carts and some timber, which we had but just
dragged across the narrow pass before us, every soldier must have been
sacrificed. These are moments that try men, and tell us what they are.
Advanced guards are parties of horse or foot, and frequently of both the
one and the other, marching on before large forces, and thus covering
the front of a column.”
“How do soldiers manage when a flag of truce is sent?”
“I will tell you. A flag of truce is sent to an enemy when a cessation
of hostilities is required; when time is wanted to bury the dead, or
when articles of peace are about to be drawn up. It is the duty of an
officer carrying a flag of truce to make the best of his eyes, that he
may observe all he can of the strength and position of the enemy. And
when a flag of truce arrives the receivers of it should blindfold the
messenger who bears it, if he goes to head-quarters. The bearer of a
flag of truce is generally preceded by a trumpeter.”
“How do soldiers manage to get across brooks, that are deep, and rivers?
That must be no easy matter?”
“The crossing of great rivers is one of the most difficult of military
operations, yet this is frequently necessary to be done in the face of
an enemy. It is effected in different ways; sometimes a river, which
cannot be crossed in a straight line, may be crossed in a slant one.
When not fordable at all, pontoons, and pontoon bridges are resorted to.
Pontoons are flat-bottomed boats, made of wood, but lined with tin or
copper, as the case may be, a little better than twenty feet long.
Bridges of boats, too, are used, as well as cables, stretched from the
bank by tackles and capstans, and resting on the decks of vessels,
moored at different distances. Flying bridges are at times very
serviceable. They are formed by anchoring a floating body in the water
to receive the action of the stream obliquely, by which a force is
derived from the current to move the vessel across the river. Then,
there are rafts of timber, casks, air-tight cases, and inflated skins,
resorted to, as well as carriage-bridges, and suspension-bridges,
bridges on trestles, piles, truss-frames, and other applications of
carpentry.”
“Oh! tell us what an inspection is?”
“Inspections, like many other duties, are only useful when they are well
and efficiently performed. An inspecting general should have a thorough
knowledge of his profession, a quick eye, a sound judgment, a love for
the service, a nice sense of honour, and an independent mind, altogether
inaccessible to flattery. In a word, he should do what he undertakes to
do; he should patiently and narrowly examine the troops under
inspection, commending and encouraging soldierlike conduct, and
reproving and correcting what is deserving of censure.”
“No doubt, inspections must be very good things!”
“I will show you how an inspection may be rendered useless. Fancy to
yourselves, boys, a general, setting off with his aid-de-camp in a great
bustle, and in high good humour, determined to hurry through his duties.
You may be sure that the colonel and the adjutant of the troops to be
inspected will not be inattentive to him; and if the colonel and
adjutant are forward, the paymaster, the quarter-master, and the surgeon
are not likely to be backward. How can the kind-hearted general make
himself disagreeable to others by finding fault, when every one is
trying to be agreeable to him? The thing is out of the question; and he
looks with a favourable eye on everything in the barracks, the hospital,
and the books. He is highly gratified in finding such order and
discipline, and praises much, and censures very little. He must be very
different from the common character of men, if a well-supplied mess,
good wines, and complimentary speeches, should sour his temper; so that
when the review, the grand field-day comes, on the morrow, he must be a
Turk if he does not regard things with a kindly spirit. He is struck
with the admirable manner in which the battalion is put through the
manœuvres by the senior major and captain; both manual and platoon
exercises are ably performed, and all goes off surprisingly. With a
courteous and condescending air, he approaches the colonel, in the
fulness of his heart, and thus addresses him:—‘Colonel, the soldierlike
bearing, and general appearance of the men under your command, afford me
much satisfaction. They show what British soldiers, under the command of
British officers, can attain. Their steadiness and promptitude under
arms, and the correctness and precision of their movements, are highly
creditable to you and to them. I trust that a spirit of emulation will
be kept up among the troops, so that they will never decline from their
present high state of efficiency, nor forfeit the good opinion they now
deserve.’ Now, if all this were to be huddled up in haste, instead of
occupying a reasonable time for its accomplishment, and good humour and
kindly feeling were thus allowed to take the place of discipline and
duty, it is clear that very little advantage would be obtained from the
inspection. A sense of duty, and a high and honourable bearing, should
fill the bosom of a soldier, whether he be a drill-sergeant or a
commanding-officer.”
“A review must be a grand sight!”
“Many of them are very much so. The review which took place 7th July,
1824, before the Duke of York, when the guards were present, is thus
described:—‘The whole of the movements were executed with a degree of
precision which excited universal admiration, and received the
unqualified approbation of the commander-in-chief. It would be difficult
to imagine anything, except an actual field-of-battle, more terrific
than the view of the troops when performing some of the attacks. One
brigade charging at full gallop, the other supporting them in the rear;
the roaring of the artillery in the flanks; the irregular discharge of
carbines by the pursuers; the sounding of trumpets, and neighing of
steeds, all combined in forcing upon the mind a powerful idea of a scene
of real warfare.’ A presentation is often an imposing spectacle.”
“What is a presentation?”
“Presentations are of different kinds. Sometimes colours are presented,
and sometimes other things. In January 1831, King William was pleased to
declare himself colonel-in-chief of the household brigade of cavalry,
consisting of the first and second regiments of life-guards and the
royal regiment of horse-guards. His Majesty expressed his intention to
present to each of the two regiments of life-guards a pair of silver
kettle drums, constructed of fine silver, ornamented with royal and
regimental devices, of fretted silver, in high relief, with the name of
the sovereign, the number and title of the regiment, and the date of
presentation, on each drum. The second regiment received these May 6th,
1831. When the ninetieth regiment of light-infantry was presented with a
new stand of colours, in the square of the Royal Hospital, Kilmainham,
Lieutenant-General Sir Hussey Vivian concluded his address to the troops
in the following words:—
“Before I conclude, I must impress upon you, that at all times the
watchword of a soldier ought to be ‘Honour and fidelity.’ To attain
this, the governing principle of his conduct must be, ‘obedience to the
orders of his superiors.’ I will remind you of the last, that most
impressive order of that great naval commander, who fell in the most
glorious victory ever gained by the navy of England, and who in falling
sealed the maritime ascendency of the country, annihilating the fleets
of France and Spain,—I say, I must remind you of that last, that most
impressive order, which he issued to those brave men under his command,
calling upon them to recollect that ‘England expects every man to do his
duty,’ an order so nobly given, and so gloriously and triumphantly
executed, that the remembrance of it can never be effaced from the
annals of our country. And, lastly, I must beg of you never to forget,
when marching against the enemy to victory and glory, as I have no doubt
you will do, should an opportunity offer; I say, when marching against
the enemy under those colours which I now place in your care, I call on
you never to forget that they are to be stained only with your blood; to
be surrendered only with your lives.”
“Sir Hussey Vivian knew how to animate his men.”
“Many military men say, that camps of instruction ought to be formed in
England, that soldiers may become more accustomed to the usages of war,
and made more perfect in their duty. They have them in France, and other
countries: and one bad effect has certainly followed the plan, it has
made the people more fond of fighting than they were before. You are no
smokers, boys, and therefore can hardly conceive what a luxury a cigar
is, under some circumstances. You shall hear what a brother officer says
on the subject.”
“Ay! let us know all about his cigar.”
“‘Late on the eve of the memorable battle of Waterloo,’ says one who was
engaged in the strife, ‘the regiment to which I belonged took up its
position on that hard-fought field, in front of Hougomont, or, more
properly speaking, the Château de Goumont, a strong farm-house, and the
key-stone of the British line. The sun set red, ominously foretelling
stormy weather; and about dark the rain descended in torrents. Our
situation, as may easily be conceived, was none of the most enviable,
being totally destitute of tents or field _matériel_. We bivouacked in
line; and here and there might be seen, through the murky gloom of
night, men huddled together, trying to retain that animal heat so
necessary to our existence, to say nothing of our comfort. A party of
half-a-dozen of us gathered round a fire of half-ignited logs of wood,
trying, by every means ingenuity could invent, to nurse it into flame,
and prevent the rain utterly drowning its genial influence. We were
sitting despondingly, wet, and talking over our probable fate in the
morrow’s fight, when, by some unaccountable influence, I put my hand
into the side-pocket of my grey great coat. I felt a something; I
withdrew my hand with a mingled feeling of joy and fear; joy, occasioned
by the unlooked-for discovery; fear, from a dread of being disappointed
if I prosecuted my search without ultimate success; when, having essayed
again, to my great delight, and to the envy of my companions, I pulled
out a cigar,—my last cigar! I seized the half-ignited stick and applied
it to the weed,—alas! no smoke rewarded my efforts. I cursed my folly
for so carelessly exposing it in my pocket: I rolled it and unrolled it;
in fact, I tried all the arts that smokers have invented to doctor a bad
cigar, when, after half-an-hour’s patient endeavour, I elicited a blue
curling cloud from my last cigar. Happy moment! Though years have
intervened, never have I forgotten that most ecstatic speck in the few
hours of terrestrial happiness I have met with.’”
“Poor fellow! How he must have enjoyed it!”
“No doubt he did, boys! It recalls to my mind not only the memorable
plains of Waterloo, but also many a camp-scene, wherein comforts were
scarce. It sets before me bygone struggles in company with those who are
now no more. Vimiera, Corunna, Busaco, Salamanca, and Vittoria, rise
before me! To the memory of many who fought and fell on Spanish ground,
the following beautiful lines would be an appropriate tribute:—
“It was not in holy ground,
Bless’d by white-rob’d priest, they laid him,
But on the field,
While the cannon peal’d,
A hasty grave they made him,
With the brave around.
“It was not in costly shroud,
Sewn by cherish’d hands, they wound him,
But on the plain,
Soil’d by many a stain,
They wrapped his cloak around him,
While the strife was loud.
“It was not by the tolling bell
That to his grave they bore him;
By the iron note
Of the cannon’s throat
They cast the cold sods o’er him,
Where he bravely fell!
“It was not by a sculptur’d stone
That in after-years they found him:
They knew full well
Where he fought and fell,
With the bold and the brave around him,
Ere the fight was done!”
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