In the warmth of his military ardour, Cruikshank says: “As my father served as a private in the ‘St. Giles’s and St. George’s Bloomsbury Volunteers,’ and as my late brother Robert, at a later period, served in the rifle company of the ‘Loyal North Britons’ (in which corps he rose to the rank of sergeant), and further, as I (at a still later date) carried a rifle in the same company, I think that I have a right, and that I ought to stand forth for the defence of the military character of my relations, my friends, and my brethren-in-arms, and myself.” * He was even ready to take the command of the army. Having severely criticised the military authorities of the day, he says: “This is a very different style of thing to what I would adopt, if I had the command of our forces; but as that is not likely to be the case (although I flatter myself that I am quite capable of doing so), I must leave all these matters to our Royal Commander-in-Chief and his staff of general officers. People will here, perhaps, smile at what they would term my vanity, and wish to know upon what grounds I would dare to take so responsible a position; to which I reply, that I had, as before stated, acquired as a child almost all the discipline necessary for an infantry soldier, completing when a youth this part of my military education by serving as a volunteer. This early acquaintance with soldiering led me to study the sword exercise; and understanding the small-sword, and the broadsword as well, and the use of firearms, I consider myself able (with a properly trained horse) to mount at a moment’s notice, to act as an irregular cavalry man; and having paid some attention to gunnery on land, and attended the gunnery practice on board Her Majesty’s ship The Excellent, in Portsmouth Harbour, I could lend a hand to work a gun afloat, or, of course, as Horse-Marine,—or, if ashore, as an artilleryman; and besides all this, I have—although it is not generally known, nor do I lay too much stress upon it—yet I have served in the Militia—by substitute; but as this was in a time of peace, and as my representative was such a queer, uncommon, wild-looking fellow—one who, I am sure, would not hurt anybody—I don’t think any harm was done in any way except the picking of my pocket for the ‘bounty.’ But as they ‘drew’’ me for the Militia, I in return drew them—‘Drawing for the Militia’’—as may be seen in ‘My Sketch Book.’”
* General Sir W. Napier had aroused Cruikshank’s wrath by
writing a letter to the Times, in which he described the
volunteers as “mere mimics, without solidity to support the
regular army;” as “offering points of weakness to the
enemy,” and as irregulars who should they come in contact
with an enemy, “would have had to trust to their legs.”
The humourist peeps through the military reformer and the military boaster, as he peeped always through Cruikshank’s many grotesque masqueradings. Even his earnestness took grotesque forms. He was extravagant in all his expressions, a caricaturist even “Shillahoo! Who durst tread upon that? Is it yerself durst set yer ugly foot upon it?”—From “More Mornings at Bow Street.”
His soldiering forcibly reminds the spectator and the reader of Bobadil; albeit George Cruikshank was brave as a lion, and in downright earnest. He had the simplicity, also the faith, of Don Quixote.
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He tells the story of his military career as a boy and a young man, and how it was brought to a close, in his own peculiar fashion:—
“Not only did the men in 1803 form themselves into regiments of volunteers, but the boys of that day did so likewise, and my brother (of whom I have already spoken), and who was my elder by three years, formed one of these juvenile regiments, and appointed himself the colonel. We had our drum and fife, our ‘colours,’ presented by our mammas and sisters, who also assisted in making our accoutrements. We also procured small ‘gun-stocks,’ into which we fixed mop-sticks for barrels, kindly polished by ‘Betty’ with a tinge of blacklead, to make’em look like real barrels.