How Effective was Artillery in the Kabinettskriege Era?

Reenactors portray Royal Artillerymen at Brandywine

Dear Reader,

Today we are going to examine the effectiveness of an important branch of service in eighteenth-century armies: the artillery. There is a seeming contrast of information regarding the accuracy of cannons in the eighteenth century. Just how effective was artillery on the battlefield during this period of history? Allow me open with two anecdotes to illustrate this point. In the first anecdote, Frederick II "the Great", took a careful interest in the disposition of one of his guns, aiming it and hitting the target.

"'There you are,' said the king, 'you don't bother to aim properly, otherwise you would have hit it.

'You can't always rely on it,' said a veteran gunner.

'Just let me show you!', riposted the king, and he aimed the cannon once again. They fired the gun, and this time the ball followed a totally different path."[1] 

Here, we see the random and unpredictable nature of eighteenth-century artillery and the micro-managing aspects of Frederick's personality.  In the second anecdote, a trained professional, Bombardier Kretschmer, is a bit more consistent:

"General Saldern, seeing the damage caused by the enemy battery, rode up to our gunners. 'Bombardiers' he said, 'if you can knock out those guns, I'll give you 10 Thalers.' [5 months wages for an enlisted man] Our bombardier, named Kretschmer...replied, "General, it won't take long." His first howitzer shell landed in front of the battery, forcing the Austrian gunners to fall back for a moment, giving us time for another shot. With this second shot, Kretschmer hit the Imperial ammunition caisson... now the enemy left their battery. The general immediately reached into his pocket and gave Kretschmer [his reward], saying, "that was a good hit."[2] 

In the first example, cannon fire seems almost random, even if the artillery is being carefully aimed. In the second, skilled gunners conduct accurate and devastating counter-battery fire. Which is more representative of Kabinettskriege artillery?

Reenactors fire a Prussian 12-pound cannon

In answering this question, we turn to a number of well-respected authorities. Christopher Duffy, as always, provides a great mass of material on European armies of the mid-eighteenth century. For those interested in the technical aspects of cannon during the Seven Years' War, there is no better source than Christian Rogge's blog on the subject. In English during this period, it was common to refer to artillery as "guns," and I do so several times in this post. So: how accurate and effective was eighteenth-century artillery?

In brief, artillery was quite effective, even out to 800 yards, if firing at large bodies of men.  When targeting single individuals, or troops using cover and concealment, artillery was somewhat less effective, particularly during the American War of Independence.  In addition, throughout the period, as a result of Austrian and French artillery reforms, artillery became more effective.

Although perhaps comparatively less effective than rifled artillery in the mid-nineteenth century, cannons still played a dominant role on Kabinettskriege battlefields, particularly in the latter portion of the period. The Swedish Army of Charles XII did not value artillery, perhaps as much as it should have. Relying on swift-movement and aggressive tactics to win the day, Charles and his army took four cannons with them to the battlefield at Poltava, compared with the Russian eighty-six. Charles should not suffer to much blame, as many military theorists undervalued artillery, particularly in the early and mid-Kabinettskriege era.

Prussian Artillerymen from the Von Schmalen studies

Eighteenth-century military observers often undervalued the role of their cannon, leading to statements such as Mauvillon's comment, "cannon fire does no great damage during a battle, and that it is a proverb among our military men that you have to be specifically foredoomed if you are to die of a cannon shot...".[3] Such statements by military intellectuals ignore the power of cannon on the battlefield, even before 1750.  Sampson Staniforth, a common soldier in the British Army, recalled his experience at the Battle of Fontenoy in 1745:

"And in the mean time, the French batteries playing upon us, did us much hurt. We wheeled off, in order to get into the plains of Fontenoy. I had not marched far before we met a horse without his rider, and the lower part of his head taken off by a cannon-ball. A little after, I saw one of the guards lie dead ; and soon after, many more. We still advanced, and drew up in line of battle, in the plain of Fontenoy. The French before us were intrenched up to the neck, and many batteries of cannon were playing upon us. I was in the front rank, and the left-hand man joining the Dutch. We stood there, till the Dutch turned their backs and marched away. I was then left exposed to a battery on the left, and the batteries and small arms in the front. Soon after our regiment, with some others, were ordered to advance and attack the French in their trenches. We marched up boldly; but when we came close to the town of Fountenoy, we observed a large battery ready to be opened on us. And the cannon were loaded with small bullets, nails, and pieces of old iron. We had orders to lie down on the ground; but for all that, many were wounded, and some killed."[4]

 How can we account for this discrepancy between theory and practice? To a large, Mauvillon is correct that very few infantry were killed by solid-shot (non-explosive "cannon-balls") while advancing in line. These balls could be effective out to 900 yards, as they were at the Battle of Torgau. Howitzers sometimes fired explosive shells which could affect a large area. Artillery fire killed a much larger number of men when the gunners began to use canister: large numbers of smaller balls which turned the cannon into a giant shotgun. This type of ammunition became increasingly effective at under 300 yards, still outside the optimum range of musket-fire. Christopher Duffy asserts that " Canister was the tactical equivalent of machine gun fire, and in the Seven Years War it probably inflicted more casualties on the Prussian infantry than any other weapon."[5]

 Canister fire sometimes was able to repel large bodies of enemy infantry, even when the artillerymen in question were unsupported by friendly infantry. Captain Georg Pausch found himself in this rather unenviable position during the second battle at Saratoga in 1777: the Battle of Bemis Heights.  Pausch's two cannons kept up a heavy fire on the enemy, even as his infantry support collapsed:

"Now I and my cannons... held the respect of the enemy, who was before me, with cartridges for some time. How long the infantry left me alone, I cannot say with certainty.... [we] began firing alternately with canister and balls, whatever the piece would take...[the enemy] pushed forward vigorously towards my cannons, in the hope of silencing them. This effort failed twice, and was prevented by firing canister. Two cart-loads of ammunition were fired by my cannons, and I had started on the third. My cannons were so hot that no one could place a hand thereon."[6]

Pausch and his gunners were eventually overrun in the process of trying to move the guns to a safer position. Canister, then, even if only fired by two six-pound cannons, was capable of delaying enemy infantry.

Even firing round shot at longer ranges could have a devastating effect if enough cannons were present. The only example of a great infantry assault knocked back primarily by artillery, à la Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg, comes at the Battle of Torgau in 1760. 10 battalions of Prussian grenadiers emerged from the woods in front of the Austrian Army and were quickly devastated by the firepower of massed Austrian guns. As a result of their reforms from the 1750s, the Austrian artillery system was probably the best of the eighteenth century. Frederick the Great agreed with this assessment, saying that the Austrian artillery was, 'as fine as it can possibly be."[7] Although it is possible that the Prussians took 24,000 casualties in the whole of this battle, 5,000 men were cut down in the first half-hour of this initial infantry assault.[8] This figure is astounding because the Austrians were firing round shot at over 800 paces rather than canister at close range. The exact number of cannons involved in the bombardment is unclear, but the Austrian army as a whole had 275 guns at this battle.

Temporary Matrosses on loan from the King's Regiment

When massed, or firing canister, cannons could knock back infantry assaults. They were also especially deadly when the enemy was formed in marching columns or the guns managed to fire on the flanks opposing troops. At St. Lucia in 1778, British Lt. Colonel Francis Downman had an ideal target for his guns:

"We are well in formed that the French did not lose less than 2,000 men during their stay on shore, and a very great number of them by cannon shot. The battery I had the honour to command on the attack of the 18th, did great execution. I received the thanks of Generals Grant and Medows, the latter called me his best ally. I had a fine situation for galling the French army as they marched to the attack in columns, I had them then charmingly, and while forming, and after being formed, and also in their retreat. I kept up as heavy a fire as I could on their flank which was presented to me the greatest part of the action. My shot in this situation swept them off by the dozens at a time, and Frenchmen's heads and legs were as plenty and much cheaper than sheep's heads and trotters in Scotland. Three of my guns were cracked during the action, one of them is rendered totally inservicable, the others will do at a pinch."[9]

Cannons did indeed suffer malfunction if used heavily, as both Pausch and Downman indicate. Despite this, artillery could be safely be fired twice a minute. Christopher Duffy asserts that the Austrians could safely fire four rounds a minute: as fast if not faster than a musket. [10] Eighteenth-century gunners were aware of the need to fire quickly: at Bemis Heights, Georg Pausch noted that his guns were not overrun because he guns made three shots for every one fired by British twelve pounders nearby.[11]

A Sargeant of the King's Regiment aims a gun at Fort Niagara

Gunners were often, as we saw with Bombardier Kretschmer above, called upon to duel with their opposite numbers. Various military authorities have strong opinions on counter-battery fire. Frederick the Great appears to have encouraged it in the 1750s, but wrote against it in the 1780s.[12] The American guns at the Battle of Brandywine appear to have engaged in extensive counter-battery fire, particularly while covering the retreat of troops late in the day.[13]

So- having shown that guns could be effective in some circumstances: let us move to moments when they were not: against individual targets, or against dispersed groups of soldiers in concealed positions. Sometimes, cannons could be used against individuals. Famously, King William III of England was slightly wounded by a cannon shot just before the Battle of the Boyne. However, I can think of nothing comparable to the veritable assassination of Leonidas Polk by rifled artillery in the American Civil War. Against troops in concealment or rifle-armed troops, gunners could swiftly run into trouble. In the Battle of Freeman's Farm, Lt. James Hadden lost 19 of his 22 gunners to enemy fire. When enemy troops were not on the advance, or in open terrain, artillerists struggled to destroy the enemy, or even drive them from concealment.

Reenactors portray Royal Artillerymen

Infantrymen knew that gunners were perhaps their greatest foe on the battlefield, and often took steps to preserve themselves. Throughout the eighteenth century, British troops frequently laid down under artillery fire, a practice which may have been adopted by the Russian Corps of Observation at Kunersdorf in 1759. It is possible that the Prussians used a different method to avoid artillery fire: continuous movement. During a rearguard action at Hochkirch in 1758, General Saldern,

"caused the regiments to move to the right or left whenever he saw cannon shot falling among them. In this advantageous manner, he made the retreat in a sort of zig-zag motion and lost barely 130 men in the retreat, notwithstanding the overpowering enemy and hail of bullets... Saldern's eyes were always moving between the enemy, the regiments, the surrounding terrain, and a place of safety and order."[14] 

Despite these measures, artillery remained a decisive force on eighteenth-century battlefields, possibly causing more casualties than any other branch of service during the Seven Years' War. Kabinettskriege artillery, far from adding dignity to an ugly brawl, added to the violence and chaos of already indescribable battlefields.

Thanks for Reading,




Alex Burns



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[1] Anonymous, Beträge zu dem Anecdoten, 17. (Translation is Christopher Duffy's.)
[2] Ernst von Barsewisch, Meine Kriegs-Erliebnisse, 115-6.
[3] Mauvillon, Histoire de la derniere guerre de Boheme, Vol II, 101. (Translation is Duffy's.)
[4] Thomas Jackson, Lives of the Early Methodist Preachers,  Vol IV,  125.
[5] Duffy, Military Experience in the Age of Reason, 217.
[6] Georg Pausch, Georg Pausch's Journal and Reports of the Campaign in North America, 87-89.
[7] Duffy, Instrument of War, 290.
[8] Duffy, Army of Frederick the Great, 303.
[9] Downman, The Services of Lieut.-Colonel Francis Downman, 105.
[10] Duffy, Instrument of War, 290.
[11] Pausch, Journal, 87.
[12] Duffy, Army of Frederick the Great, 184.
[13] Downman, Services, 33.
[14] Carl Daniel Küster, Characterzüge des Preussichen General-Lieutenants von Saldern, 12-13.

How Accurate were Regular Soldiers in the Mid-Eighteenth Century?

A Soldier from the King's Regiment takes aim.

Dear Readers,

Today, I want to touch on a rather controversial subject.* The subject is the infantry fire effectiveness of mid-eighteenth century European and Euro-American armies. At the outset, "shooting at marks" or target practice, was common in many eighteenth-century armies. Specifically, I am examining the accuracy and limitations of firepower regular soldiers from the British and Prussian armies in the 1740-1783 era.  Many people have firm beliefs on this subject and feel that the eighteenth-century musket was a rather poor weapon.

 First of all, by modern standards, the smoothbore musket of the mid-eighteenth century was not a terribly accurate weapon. However, we need to judge it by the standards of its own time, not modern standards. In the eighteenth century, more accurate weapons existed, such as the rifles carried by specialized American troops, and Hessian Jägers. However, those weapons also took a significant time to load.

To see the drawbacks of rifles firsthand, examine this pair of videos. The first shows a musketeer and riflemen loading side by side.  The second video, below, shows how quickly British soldiers could move in order to attack riflemen with bayonets. The rifleman, offscreen, is portrayed by the director of interpretation at Old Fort Niagara, Davis Tierney. Just before the video begins, Davis has fired a shot, incapacitating one soldier. In the remaining 13 seconds, the British troops quickly cross the 100 yards separating the opposing forces.

 When bayonets were not the primary form of attack, how accurate could smoothbore-equipped forces be against one another? The Journal of the American Revolution has featured a number of posts on this topic. The purpose of this post is not to rag on any of the work of these academic, public or amateur historians. In this sense, I use amateur as it is intended to be used: these individuals are interested in the topic for the love of it, and care for it, not simply motivated by the career-orientated goals of a professional historian. As a result of these works, the general public can access information in an easy to digest format suggesting that the soldiers of the eighteenth century fired at marks, and took time to aim. Almost two years ago, living historians at Old Fort Niagara made this video, in order to seriously address this question. Take a few moments to watch the link, or click on the video below.

Firepower was vital to armies of the mid-eighteenth century. A number of authors have amassed evidence regarding the British Army's dedication to accurate fire. In his book, Louisbourg 1758, Hugh Boscawen gives a very detailed description of the British Army honing their accuracy during the Seven Years' War. During the preparations for the attack at Louisbourg, British troops engaged in extensive marksmanship training, mostly consisting of "firing at a marque" or a man sized target. [1]  The 60th of Foot, the Royal American Regiment, was praised for taking good aim during the Seven Years' War in North America.[2] In the course of the American War for Independence, despite their reliance on bayonet tactics British troops frequently practiced shooting at marks, and their Germanic allies followed suit.

British Soldiers take aim near Ft. Niagara

Friedrich Adolf, Freiherr von Riedesel, often called Baron Riedesel by English language historians, left an excellent description of this process.

"General Carleton has decreed that that the army is to practice target shooting or shooting at a goal, I am issuing orders so as to adhere to this as well and as successfully as possible. Each squadron or company is to have some rough boards fastened together, on which a ring of black is to be painted proportionately. The target may be either square or round. Have this target placed at a distance of point blank shot."

"NOW WAIT A MINUTE," you say.  How helpful could target practice be at point blank range? Well, fortunately, we have an exact idea what "point blank" meant in the eighteenth century. It may surprise you. Lewis Lochee, the author of a military treatise in this era, notes that, "the point blank of our firelocks... is known to be about 300 yards." [3] For more on the subject, check out this website. With that in mind, let us return to Baron Riedesel:

"Each man of the company will shoot eight times... a non-commissioned officer standing some distance from the target will mark on the target the location of the shot... the company officers are to gather together to prove to the men how well they can shoot and aim. When each man has shot eight times, the entire target practice will be completed. In the judgement of the captain, the one who has made the best four shots will receive the following prizes..."[4]

Riedesel goes on to list a monetary reward, and also gives instructions that men who are waiting their turn to shoot should be kept at ease, so as not to think of target shooting as a hard duty, but something necessary for military life. If Germans in North America took to target shooting with such alacrity, we should not be surprised to find that German soldiers in Europe also worried about the accuracy of their shots.

Firepower was also a key feature of Prussian infantry tactics, where Frederick II's infantry had won him the province of Silesia in the War of Austrian Succession via their skill at loading the musket.  Wargamers and reenactors debate Frederick's devotion to infantry firepower based on his theoretic military writings, but that his infantry used firepower in both the attack and defense remains clear. Frederick's mind clearly seems to have been made up on the issue by November of 1757, when after witnessing infantry firepower shattering a spontaneous and abortive French assault in columns at the Battle of Rossbach, he famously stated, "If Chevalier Folard had known how it would have turned out, he would have cursed his sacred columns."[5]

Don Troinai's recent interpretation of Freeman's Farm, one of the
few heavy firefights of the American War of Independence

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given their monarch's Enlightenment persuasion, the Prussian's under Frederick undertook a number of studies concerning accuracy of fire during his reign. The first, after the initial battles of the War of Austrian Succession, revealed that Prussian soldiers were firing to low. According to Mauvillon, a military theorist of the time:  "According to my sums, the Prussians fired 650,000 rounds of musketry during their advance at Chotusitz, and the enemy lost scarcely 2,500 dead and as many wounded. If you subtract the men who were killed and wounded by the sword, a great number of rounds must have gone astray!"[6]

Frederick himself was concerned with measuring the accuracy of fire, and as a result his general Winterfeldt had two platoons of Grenadiers fire at a target screen in 1755, scoring between 10 and 13% hits at 300 paces, 16.6% at 200 paces, and 46% at 150 paces.[7] It must be said that this target screen was around 30 feet by 30 feet. Finally, Scharnhorst tested the older musket of Frederick's period in 1813, producing the following results:

(Duffy, Military Experience in the Age of Reason, 207)

However, it is important to realize that none of these tests, no matter how hard they might try, simulated the stress of combat. This prevents these studies from truly helping us understand what occurred on mid-eighteenth century battlefields. For an indication of what that combat might have been like, we can only turn to the documentary evidence. The following two excerpts come from Prussian common soldiers' experiences of the Battle of Lobositz, the first engagement of the European Seven Years' War:

“So the battle began at six o’clock in the morning and dragged on amidst thundering and firing until four in the afternoon, and all the while I stood in such danger that I cannot thank God enough for my health. In the very first cannon shots {my friend} Krumpholtz took a cannonball through his head and the half of it was blown away, he was standing just beside me, and the brains and skull of Krumpholtz sprayed into my face and the gun was blown to pieces from my shoulder, but I, praise God, was uninjured. Now, dear wife, I cannot possibly describe what happened, for the shooting on both sides was so great, that no-one could hear a word of what anyone was saying, and we didn’t see and hear just a thousand bullets, but many thousands. But as we got into the afternoon, the enemy took flight and God gave us the victory. And as we came forward into the field, we saw men lying, not just one, but 3 or 4 lying on top of each other, some dead with their heads gone, others short of both legs, or their arms missing, in short, it was a horrifying sight. Now, dear child, just think of how we must have felt, we who had been led meekly to the slaughterhouse without the faintest inkling of what was to come.” [8]

Prussian Soldiers, from a 1730s painting

Another Prussian soldier recalled:

     “Now an indescribable slaughter took place, before we could drive the Pandurs out from among the trees. Our advance troops suffered severely, but the rear ranks pressed after them at breakneck speed, until at last all had gained the height. There we had to go stumbling over heaps of dead and wounded. Then the Pandurs went helter-skelter down the hill, jumping down over one wall after another, down to the level ground. Our native Prussians and Brandenburgers sprang upon the Pandurs like Furies. I too was quite beside myself with heat and excitement, and conscious of no fear or repugnance I loosed off nearly all my sixty cartridges without stopping, until my flintlock became almost red-hot and I had to carry it by the sling; yet I do not believe that I hurt any living thing, it all went into thin air. “[9]

With these examples in mind, the chaos of eighteenth-century warfare can begin to seem a bit more real. These passages help explain Mauvillon's discrepancy between shots expended and casualties inflicted. Eighteenth-Century battlefields were truly chaotic places, and acheiving accuracy with a smoothbore weapon was difficult at the best of times.   All that the Prussians (or any other European soldier) could hope for was a comparative advantage in firepower which would drive off the enemy force. And, as a result of thorough training, the Prussians and other armies often achieved that comparative advantage.

Infantry firepower decided many of the battles of the eighteenth century, and as a result, helped shape our world. While, "Muzzle-Velocity" military history may be out of favor with academic historians, it remains a portion of lived human experience, and as a result, a topic worthy of historical thought and explanation.

If you enjoyed this post, or any of our other posts, please consider liking us on facebook,  or following us on twitter. Finally, we are dedicated to keeping Kabinettskriege ad-free. In order to assist with this, please consider supporting us via the donate button in the upper right-hand corner of the page. As always:

Thanks for Reading,



Alex Burns


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*This is a largely updated version of an older post.
[1] Hugh Boscawen, Louisbourg 1758, 140.
[2] Alexander Campbell, The Royal American Regiment, 110.
[3] Lewis Lochee. Elements of Field Fortification, 1783,  37
[4] Hessian Documents of the American Revolution, Microform, "Riedesel's Order Book", 21.
[5] Quoted in Duffy, Prussia's Glory, 80.
[6] Translation  by Christopher Duffy, quoted in Military Experience in the Age of Reason, 209: Mauvillon, Histoire de la derniere guerre de Boheme, Vol. 1,  100-101
[7] Duffy, Army of Frederick the Great, 128.
[8] Bleckwenn, Preussische Soldatenbriefe , 13.
[9] Ulrich Bräker, Lebensgeschichte Und Natürliche Abentheuer Eines Armen Mannes Von Tockenburg (Zurich: Hans Heinrich Füssli, 1789), 150.

Parade Expectations and Campaign Realities: The Paradox of Kabinettskriege Warfare

Modern Reenactors portray soldiers moving on parade (left) and on campaign (right)

Dear Reader,

This post springs up out of a series of thoughts and conversations (both online and in person) that I have had over the last few days. What did eighteenth-century warfare look like? Did large regiments of men in restrictive clothing, locked arm in arm, advance to the beat of drums under the terrible gaze of their officers? Or did soldiers' fight in a manner which was logical at the time?  At first glance, it may seem as though two different strains of soldier existed in the eighteenth-century. Reenactors, Television, and even historians seem to display two distinct types of soldier: the 'clockwork' soldier and the 'effective' soldier. 

With the reintroduction of cadenced marching and the slow geometrical maneuvers of linear warfare, it may seem as though soldiers in the eighteenth-century were plodding automata, or what some historians, including John Lynn, have called, "the clockwork soldier." In this view, the soldier marches with no great haste towards the enemy, and on the orders of his feared officers, performs the route motions of drill on the battlefield. Indeed, John Houlding has criticized the eighteenth-century British army for its relative lack of realistic training. According to popular belief, these soldiers were hampered by cumbersome uniforms, parts of which even made it more difficult for soldiers to breathe and fight. By the logic of this school of thought, eighteenth-century warfare seems to have unfolded much like drills on the parade ground. In the video below, you can see soldiers demonstrating the more formal aspects of the Prussian drill manual. The German transcriptions are not entirely accurate.

  On the other hand, historians such as Matthew Spring point to a different set of realities of warfare in the eighteenth century: that soldiers were capable moving swiftly, adapting to tactical realities, and that junior officers both exercised sound judgment and developed a positive working relationship with their men. Iyla Berkovich has suggested that many eighteenth-century fighting men were highly motivated. Reenactors and historians in this school often point to the numerous adaptations and modifications to uniforms and tactics made by soldiers in the era. In this model, men on the march and in combat made rational and effective decisions based on the realities of their wartime service. In the video below, you can see Prussian reenactors demonstrating a maneuver meant to be used in the midst of battle.

Infuriatingly, both of these schools have evidence and rationale to back up their opinions. However, this is where historians must look carefully at the type of evidence utilized. By and large, the clockwork soldier school uses prescriptive evidence: drill manuals, regulations, and military treatises. On the other hand, the effective soldier school uses descriptive evidence: orderly books, diaries, and letters. In other words, the clockwork soldier school often uses advice given out before and during wartime, while the effective soldier school often employs descriptions of events written during and after conflicts.  It swiftly becomes clear that with such evidence, both schools must have some ring of truth, even if as a historian, I find the descriptive evidence more convincing. 

Let us take a case from the army often cited as having the most "clockwork" tendencies in the eighteenth century: the Prussian army. If you examine the Prussian drill manual of 1750, there are a myriad of examples describing the clockwork soldier. Prussians are to load in their muskets in a multitude of tiny steps, they are never permitted to fire as individuals, only as platoon-sized elements, and the maneuvers are carried out with geometric precision. Soldiers are to be punished for minor infractions of military dress, and large appendices cover the complicated and formal clothing of soldiers. However, the effective soldier school replies: what actually happened? 

Descriptive sources from Prussian soldiers talk about firing as individuals in the confusion of battle, and even describe daily orders in which soldiers wear reduced clothing in violation of the drill manual.[1] Violence on the battlefield, then, looked different for Prussian soldiers than marching on the drill square. It is hard to imagine the 8th Regiment moving fifty miles a day in the rural midwest while maintaining parade level discipline. How can we account for these differences? 

Some historians have attempted to answer the question via the North American/European divide, arguing that for various reasons (terrain, lack of cavalry, individualism, 'national character', etc) soldiers in North America were effective soldiers, while those in Europe remained clockwork soldiers.  This alone cannot explain the difference, because, as I suggested last month, the Prussian army developed quick battlefield maneuvers. Christopher Duffy describes European soldiers moving "almost at a run" during the battles of the War of Polish Succession in the 1730s, and Peter Paret, Jim McIntyre, and others have suggested that light infantry doctrine emerged in Europe, not North America.[2]

The obvious answer to this problem is that context matters a great deal. Parade ground maneuvers took on a decidedly clockwork feel, as some of the same soldiers who examine the effective choices made in the field described.[3] Officers and men who experienced frontline combat and then observed peacetime reviews often criticized such maneuvers as ridiculous.[4] Much like the army today, the importance of close order drill, traditional uniforms, and military discipline mattered a great deal, because they taught important skills to eighteenth-century soldiers. However, once in a combat or campaign environment, those clockwork ideas were quickly replaced by a need for military effectiveness. Obviously, there was never a perfect split between these two realms. But, as soldiers moved further away from garrison life and into the maelstrom of combat, some of the formality of eighteenth-century warfare seems to have fallen behind. 

As historians write about the wars of the eighteenth century, and reenactors portray it to the public, great care must be given to the exact context of what is being described and portrayed. Confusing battlefield practices and parade ground maneuvers is a fatal mistake. 

Thanks for Reading,



Alex Burns

[1] Braeker, Der Arme Mann im Tockenburg, 164; Hoppe, "A Truthful Description", 7.
[2] Duffy, Military Experience in the Age of Reason, 203, McIntrye, British Light Infantry Tactics,1-5

[3] Braeker, Der Arme Mann im Tockenburg, 140-5. 

[4] Cornwallis, Correspondence, Vol I, 212.