So ended the Train of Artillery for Port Mahon, which the reader will remember was one of those quoted in 1716 as a reason for some permanent force of Artillery at home. Since 1709, with a short interval in the time of the Seven Years' War, a train had remained in Minorca; but now, overpowered by numbers, the force of which it was a part had to evacuate the island. It was a stirring time for the Foreign establishments, as they were called in pre-regimental days: that in Gibraltar was earning for itself an immortal name; those in America were within the clouds of smoke and war which covered the whole continent; and this one had just been compelled to die hard. Of the four, which were used as arguments for the creation of the Royal Regiment of Artillery, only one remains at this day—that at Gibraltar. Those at Annapolis and Placentia have vanished before the breath of economy, and the dawn of a new colonial system; and in this brief chapter may be learnt the end of the other, the Train of Artillery for service at Port Mahon.
N.B.—It is worthy of mention, that during this siege, three non-commissioned officers, Sergeants-Major J. Swaine, J. Shand, and J. Rostrow, were commissioned as Second Lieutenants in the Regiment, by the Governor, for their gallantry. They were afterwards posted to the Invalid Battalion.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The American War of Independence.
There are few campaigns in English history which have been more systematically misunderstood, and more deliberately ignored, than the American War between 1775 and 1783. The disadvantages under which the British troops laboured were many and great; they were not merely local, as in most English wars, but were magnified and intensified by the unpopularity of the campaign at home, by the positive hostility of a large party, including some of the most eloquent politicians, and by the inflated statements of the Government, which made the tale of disaster—when it came to be known—more irritating and intolerable.
Soldiers will fight for a nation which is in earnest: British soldiers will even fight when they are merely the police to execute the wishes of a Government, instead of a people. But in the one case they are fired with enthusiasm,—in the other, their prompter is the coldest duty.
The American War was at once unpopular and unsuccessful. When it was over, the nation seemed inspired by a longing to forget it; it was associated in their minds with everything that was unpleasant; and the labour of searching for the points in it which were worthy of being treasured was not appreciated. English historians have always been reluctant to pen the pages of their country's disasters; and their silence is at once characteristic of, and thoroughly understood by, the English people. There has, however, been a species of self-denying ordinance laid down by English writers, and spouted ad nauseam by English speakers, in which the whole blame of this war is accepted almost greedily and its losses painted in heightened colours as the legitimate consequences of national error. England was to blame—taxation without representation undoubtedly is unjust; but were American motives at the outset pure? It may readily be granted that after the first shedding of blood the resistance of the colonists was prompted by a keen sense of injury such as might well animate a free and high-spirited people; but, before the sword was drawn, the motives of the Boston recusants no more deserve to be called worthy, than the policy of England deserves to be called statesmanship.
England, with the name, had also the responsibilities of a mighty and extended empire. Her colonies had the name and the advantages, without the responsibilities. The parent was sorely pressed and heavily taxed, to protect the children; the children were becoming so strong and rich that they might well be expected to do something for themselves. The question was "How?" It is only just to say that when the answer to the question involved the defence of their own soil by their own right hand, no more eager assistants to the Empire could be found than our American colonists. But when they were asked to look beyond their own shores, to contribute their share to the maintenance of the Empire elsewhere—perhaps no bad way of ensuring increased security for themselves—the answer was "No!" They would shed their blood in defence of their own plot of ground; but they would not open their purses to assist the general welfare of the Empire.
The colonial difficulty in more recent times has been met by presenting to the colonies the liberty desired by the old American provinces, but at the same time throwing on them to a great extent the duty of their own defence. It is a mere suspension of the difficulty, well enough in theory, but which must break down in practice. While the parent has the sole power of declaring war, and of involving in its area distant children, innocent and ignorant of the cause, she can no more throw off the duty of their defence than she can bury herself beneath the waves that chafe her coasts. But, for the present, it affords a tolerable compromise. In the future, unless our rulers can spare time from the discussion of such petty measures as the Ballot, for the consideration of a question which involves the national existence, the Colonial Question is as certain again to face us as a difficulty, as it did in 1775. Then, the system which seemed most natural to the rulers of England was to accept the duty of the Empire's defence, but to insist on the colonies contributing to the cost. Unwise as this step was, the colonies being unrepresented in the Taxing Body, it might have been borne, had it not interfered with certain vested, although ignoble rights. The collection of the new revenue required imperial cruisers to enforce it: and these vessels sorely interfered with the habits and customs of the merchants of Massachusetts, who were the most systematic smugglers. With what petty matters are the beginnings of great revolutions entwined! The sensuality of Henry VIII. was a means to the religious reformation of England: the selfishness of the Boston traders was the note which raised in America the thirst for independence. It is an easy thing to raise a cry which shall at once carry with it the populace, and yet smother the real issues. And this was done in Boston. Up to the commencement of military operations, it is difficult to say which is the least enticing subject for contemplation, the blind, unreasoning, unaccommodating temper of the English Government, or the selfish, partisan, ignoble motives of those who were really the prime movers of the Revolution, although soon dwarfed and put out of sight by the Frankenstein which their cunning had called into existence. It is almost a relief to the student, when the sword is drawn: he has then to deal with men, not schemers; he has then pictures to gaze at of an earnest people fighting for independence, or, on the other hand, an outnumbered army fighting for duty; and he has then such figures to worship as that purest and noblest in history, George Washington, for the proper revelation of whose character the losses of that war's continuance may be counted to all time as a clear gain. What a grim satire it reads as one finds this god-like man a puppet in the hands of those who were as incapable of understanding his greatness as of wielding his sword! Wellington in Spain, worried by departmental idiocy in England, was an object of pity, but his troubles are dwarfed by those under which a weaker man than Washington would have resigned in disgust. It is pleasant to read of the gallant way in which the Royal Artillery acquitted itself in the American War: but no encomium from an English General has greater value than that of Washington, who urged his own Artillery to emulate that of his enemy: and in all the satisfaction which such praise from Washington, as an enemy, must beget, there is mingled a feeling of pride that it should have been in a school of war, where Washington was a comrade, instead of an enemy, that he had taken the first lessons in the science of which he proved so great a master.
It is to be regretted that the silence of the one country's historians on the subject of the American War is not compensated by the undoubted loquacity and grandiloquence of the other's. The student is equally baffled by the former, and bewildered by the latter. Perhaps the pride and boasting of the young country is natural: perhaps it was to be expected that ere long the fact would be forgotten that without the assistance of France and Spain to distract England, their independence could never have been achieved; but when coupled with this forgetfulness, comes an exaggeration of petty encounters into high-sounding battles, and of defeats like that of Bunker's Hill into something like victories, to be celebrated by national monuments, the student may smile complacently at the enthusiasm of the conquerors, but must regret the dust which is thrown in his eyes by their boasting and party-feeling.
There are fortunately two comparatively temperate writers, who were contemporary with the war, and took part in it on opposite sides, Stedman and Lee,—the latter being the officer who commanded the celebrated Partisan Legion (as it was called), on the American side; and in endeavouring to arrive at the truth as to the war, the student cannot do better than adhere to them.