On a November night in 1783, a large gathering of Artillery officers took place at the 'Bull' Inn, on Shooter's Hill, to welcome Colonel Williams and the officers who had served during the Great Siege of Gibraltar, on their return to England. Among those present were officers who had served in the Regiment during the Seven Years' War, in the American War of Independence, in the East and West Indies, and in Minorca, besides those guests whose deeds had attracted such universal admiration. This convivial meeting seems a fit standpoint from which to look back on the years of the Regiment's life and growth between 1716 and 1783. From the two companies with which it commenced, it had now attained forty service, and ten invalid companies; and instead of pleading—as was done in its infancy—inability to find men for the foreign establishments, it was able now to furnish Artillery for Canada, Gibraltar, and the West Indies, to the extent of twenty companies, besides finding drafts for the service of the East India Company, one of which had left only a few nights before this gathering to welcome the Gibraltar heroes.
Already the motto—not to be given until 1832—had been earned; already Ubique represented the services of the corps; already Quo fas et gloria ducunt represented the aspirations of its members.
Much jealousy had been displayed by the other arms of the service; but it merely served to consolidate the scattered Regiment, and to awaken as decided a Regimental esprit, as existed in smaller and less distributed corps. The decisions on points of difference had almost invariably been in favour of the Royal Artillery: in 1756 the Artillery were directed to take the right of other troops on parade; and every argument as to the status of the officers was answered in their favour up to 1751, when all doubt on the subject was removed, and all discussion ceased, by the King instead of the Master-General signing their commissions.
On every occasion when the services of the corps were required, the zeal and ability of officers and men were readily acknowledged; and their conscientiousness in duty was as conspicuous as their knowledge of their profession. And with this sense of duty and professional skill, came that loveable feeling so well described in the words quoted in the introductory chapter of this volume. "It has ever been our pride, as a corps, to be regarded as one family; and if one member of it, in any remote part of the world, in any way distinguished himself, it was felt universally that he had reflected credit and honour on the whole corps." In this gathering among the woods on Shooter's Hill, on that November night, this Regimental feeling found expression.[[51]]
Many of the readers of this volume are doubtless familiar with the beautiful interior of the new Garrison Church at Woolwich, the Walhalla of the Royal Artillery. Over the communion table, memorial windows have been placed by the officers of the Regiment, "To the glory of God, and in commemoration of the services of their Corps during the great wars with France and Russia." As autumn deepens into winter, and the twilight comes down during the evening service, many must have noticed how with the dying light all the figures in the painted windows sink away in shadow and darkness, with the exception of the centre figure, whose pale form—ghastly pale as Rubens' Dead Christ in Antwerp Cathedral—seems to start out from the darkness, and become more distinct as the others fade away.
Is the simile far-fetched—it certainly is not irreverent—to say that, as out of the gathering chancel-gloom He, the great emblem of affection and duty, seems to come and linger among his worshippers, so out of the twilight of the receding years there seems to stand amid all the dimness and uncertainty of details—the confusion of figures—the forgetfulness of even great facts, a grand eloquent figure of Duty, learnt in stern warfare, impressed in no idle peace, and loved in exact proportion as the heart became inspired by increasing esprit, and enlarged by unselfish pride?
Duty needs not love, nor encouragement, to make it noble; but a warm blush comes into the marble cheek, and a quickened pulse to the strong heart, when affection and duty go hand in hand, and the two great lessons of the God-man—love and obedience—blend unconsciously into one.
During the sixty-seven years of the Regiment's existence, at the date when this chapter concludes, this blending had gradually and surely been effected; the fierce and selfish spirit of the pre-regimental trains had disappeared, and an unselfish ambition had taken its place.
Who shall say that in the sympathy of numbers there is not a power incalculable? And who can say that in its highest sense this sympathy can be attained without either a common object, a common charge, or a common danger? If the Regimental system failed in all else in military life, it succeeds in answering these three requisites. A common object—the attainment of a glory which can be common and yet personal; a common charge—the great legacy of former glory, which a man would be a craven if he let the breath of scorn approach; and a common danger, which on service shall knit every man to his neighbour, and in after times shall bind them together again by sympathies and memory.