A BOOK OF THE MOMENT.

A SOLDIER'S LETTERS.

Letters Written During the Indian Mutiny. By Fred Roberts, afterwards Field-Marshal Earl Roberts, V.C., K.G., with a Preface by his daughter, Countess Roberts. (Macmillan and Co. 10s. 6d. net.)

LADY ROBERTS, the daughter of the Field-Marshal, gives us

a delightful example of the type of letters which young soldiers " write home to their families and friends when on active service. Such letters at their best have a very special and delightful quality, as was proved in thousands of English families, great and simple, rich and poor, during the War. Those artless and high-spirited records, coming straight from the heart and under the stimulus of great events and great emotions, often give a much truer and better view of what moves the hearts of armies than the turbid psycho-

logy prevalent in many letters which came during the Great War from abler brains and from those who in the cant of the day are called "men of vision." Those who have a good heart and the power to find happiness and content even under the very ribs of death, are often truer to the realities of the situation than those who have an imagination sensitive enough to make them see all the dangers before them and reason enough to draw the con- clusions. No wonder the latter despaired of the world and its destiny as they endured the miseries of the trenches. We should not condemn them for despondency, but in a sense must admire doubly the heroism which sprang up in such a place. Theirs was not the valour of ignorance or of the easy heart, but of pure determination. Still, who

can help feeling a glow of sympathy when youth is joyous in battle, rash and happy, glorious and inconsequent, and is visibly warming its hands with a smile at the dreadful furnaces of death ? It is a commonplace that once in his life every man is a good letter writer. The moment is when he is in love. But the emotion of danger proves in many cases a substitute for love. That is why the young soldier's letters have so often the grace as well as the poignancy of love letters.

Lord Roberts' letters written to his father and mother and his sisters during the Indian Mutiny have in them just the qualities which I have tried to describe, and have them in a very high degree. Lord Roberts was by nature and in essentials one of the best tempered, most sincere, and least selfish of mankind. He had enough of personal ambition to keep him always in the front of the fight and always alert and eager to try his fortune. But there ambition stopped. It never led him to do a mean, or selfish, or cruel act. Though he attained high distinction in the Army so early, and though he worked so keenly to get to the top, I know that I am right in saying that he never stooped to conquer. I believe I am right in saying that he was never even accused of doing so. He never "rode jealous" either in the hunting-field, in a steeplechase, at polo, or in the arena of life, and all the time he kept a heart as kind as it was gallant.

Lord Roberts' letters have as a frontispiece a most delightful reproduction of a pastel drawing by E. Grimston. The picture was done when Lord Roberts was only twenty. Yet he appears even at that early age to have had a good moustache and a pair of the most ambrosial of mid-Victorian whiskers and waving hair such as we see in the drawings of Leach, Doyle, or Thaekeray when they want to portray a young "swell." I never saw Lord Roberts till he was past sixty ; but the eyes in the picture show that he must at twenty have been a very fascinating youth. He was, of course, a very small man—too small, indeed, one would have thought. to carry such whiskers ; but the expression tells the story of his soul.

A good example of the pathos and charm of these letters is to be found in the following extract from a long letter to Lord Roberts' mother written from the field on his twenty- fifth birthday and dated September 30th, 1857 :—

" Lind I left behind at Delhi. He is a fine dashing fellow, but too quick in his temper and not sufficiently thoughtful ever to be a first-rate Officer. His likeness to .Lizzie is perfectly absurd. It is iso sad to find among the traps of the rebel Sepoys all sorts of ladies' 'dresses, work, jewellery, likenesses, &c., &c. Poor unfortunate

creatures, how they must have suffered, and what on earth these

intended ntended doing with them, I can't make out. I picked up the other day .a very handsome black net dress with red trimmings, black satin shp—m fact, all complete—crumpled up in a Sepoy'a bedding. It was no use, so I burnt it, as I could not bear to look at it, and to think to what happy, pretty girl it might have belonged. I wish much had been on this service, only not in the Com- missariat.Department. One can never win honour or glory in that. in I would finitely prefer working a gun to such an appointment, and I expect to hear that Officers will not be allowed to remain in it, but _that a somewhat similar establishment to Filder and Co. will be introduced into this country. It is very pretty about here, such trees and gardens, so different from the Punjab, yet I prefer the climate of the latter, and will return to Peshawur with great pleasure when all is over, spend two or three years there and then go home and see you, my own Mother. What a delightful prospect to think my fun has to come, and that I have not yet taken my fur- lough ! But take it I will, please God, whatever appointment I hold when my time is up. Good-bye. With my fondest love to the General, Harrie, limes, John and Hamilton, if with you.—Ever believe me, my own dearest Mother, your very affect, attached

son, FRED. ROBERTS."

Another delightful trait in the letters is one which was often noted among our soldiers at the front, whether in Flanders, in Macedonia, in Gallipoli, in Palestine, or in Mesopotamia. The British soldier, officer or man, when on foreign service retains to the full the national passion for sight-seeing. In a letter to his mother from the camp near Agra Roberts tells us of two delightful picnics at the Taj and goes on :—

"What a lovely place the Taj is. I have never seen anything like it, perfect in every way. We had it lighted up. The more you look at it, the better pleased you are. How glorious the designer must havefelt.when the means for bringing into reality what his wonderful imagination had conjured up were placed at his disposal. I could have spent days and days there. However, I had two very pleasant evenings. Heroes from Delhi ! are thought something ot, aid the poor creatures in the fort were only too glad of the opportunity of getting a little fresh air. I breakfasted one morning with an old friend of the General's, George Harvey of the Civil Service. He gave me great assistance in procuring Natives for information, and I'll bet that our camp is not surprised as we were at Agra. In writing my report about the business, I took care to mention how it occurred, otherwise great blame might have been attached to me. Your dear letter of the 7th, and Harrie's of the 17th I received a few days ago. My own Mother, I am so glad to hear from you. Travelling about in these outlandish places, I seem to be so far from you, and yet my next letter will, I fancy, go via Calcutta, as I shall not have an opportunity of writing until we arrive at Cann- pore."

It must not be supposed, however, that all was light- heartedness and family affection in the letters. Every now and then there cropped up shrewd pieces of soldierly comment —comment which proves that even as a boy Lord Roberts possessed his wonderful flair in military things. In such matters he was not a soldier by learning or scientific study, but through a kind of inspiration. In this respect, indeed, he is to be compared to some great conductor. He seems a perfectly ordinary man and without genius until he takes the baton into his hand and becomes chef d'orchestre. Then .all is changed and the world is at his feet. Lord Roberts might well have seemed commonplace in peace time, but when he was in sound of the guns and the great orchestra of war was ready to play he was inspired—finely touched to fine issues. As an example we will quote some comments upon the role of cavalry in war, which are uncannily modern in spirit :— "At a moderate calculation the enemy must muster now nearly 40,000 men, besides guns unlimited, and they certainly work them well. Their Infantry also fight well, but the Cavalry, both regular' and irregular, are not worth one sixpence. They do nothing but run away. I always thought I would like to be a Cavalry Officer, but I have seen enough to convince me that they are all show, as far as regards actual fighting. At a siege, or whatever this may be called, they have not many opportunities, but on the few occasions I have seen them out, they have always disappointed me, European as well as Native, not half the dash they ought to have. I can't understand the reason. Officers I know personally to be fine plucky fellows have lost splendid chances of a good charge from merely hesitating, and I begin to think it requires a smarter fellow to be a good cavalry leader than in any other arm. I would far prefer the Infantry to Cavalry, but the service is, no doubt, the Artztlery, whether up in the Batteries with the heavy guns or in the open with the light ones, you are sure to see most of the fun, and I never met such brave plucky fellows as our gunners, nothing alarms, nothing disconcerts them, and then you have the satisfaction of knowing that all are looking to the Artillery, foes as well as friends respect it. Altho' you used so often to advise, my dear old Father, my working hard and getting into the Engineers while at Adchscombe, instead of leading the idle, careless life I used to there, I can assure should detest, that had I the offer I would not change for anythfine gI. hl ulda Station and during times of peace our Engineers lead a h detest, building barracks and keeping accounts, and, on service, I far prefer Artillery work, not but that at times our Engineers are

perhaps exposed to greater. danger. They do their business well, whatever it is, and a finer Corps there cannot be, but let me be a ' Gunner ' 1!"

There, indeed, spoke the artilleryman. The spirit is that of Napoleon when in the presence of his parterre of Emperors and Kings he began one of his proudest boasts with the soul- shaking words :— " Quand j'etais Lieutenant d'Artillerie."

I have only one word more to say about these letters, and that is the almost total absence of bitterness or desire for a blind revenge. Even the honors of Cawnpore, which he saw soon after the massacre, do not cause blind fury, but only this comment : "Oh, Mother, looking at these horrible sights makes one feel very, very sad. No wonder we all feel glad to kill these Sepoys. What the unfortunate women and children must have suffered ! I trust the massacres