The Pattern: The 33rd Regiment and the British Infantry Experience During the American Revolution, 1770-1783

Introduction

On 16 June 1773 a London newspaper, the Morning Chronicle, printed an account of a British militia battalion’s review from the week before;

Wednesday last the First Battalion of our Militia were reviewed on Wooldridge, and went through their manual exercise and different evolutions in a manner that both pleased and astonished the spectators. They were formed on the plan of Lord Cornwallis’ Corps, the pattern regiment of the army, and were allowed to approach very near their precedent in the smartness and steadiness of their Manoeuvres, the salutes, the ambuscade formed by the light infantry and grenadiers, the march of the battalion into the wood in Indian files, where they were attacked by the light troops, afforded great amusement to the numerous company assembled on the hill.¹

A pattern is a model or design used as a guide, typically in the making of clothing and fabrics. In eighteenth-century parlance, to be described as a pattern was to be attributed as the ideal standard, the original from which other works were produced. The writer was therefore stating that the militia battalion being reviewed were closely modelled – in the best way possible – on what he called Lord Cornwallis’ Corps. That corps in question was the 33rd Regiment of Foot, of which Lord Charles Cornwallis was the colonel. Under his leadership, the 33rd – an ostensibly standard line regiment – acquired a reputation in the years immediately preceding the American Revolution as the best infantry regiment in the British Army.

That reputation would be tested in what the officers and men called the ‘American War.’ The 33rd were deployed to North America in 1776, arriving just over a year after the outbreak of hostilities. For the next eight years the regiment was one of the most heavily engaged of any unit in the British Army, playing a role in the battles of Long Island, Brandywine and Germantown, Camden, Guildford Courthouse and Yorktown, and even having a company involved in the debacle at Saratoga. At its core, this book seeks to follow the regiment on its American Odyssey, giving as complete a picture as possible of the officers and enlisted men and their experiences. The initial chapters deal with the pre-war period, looking at recruitment, training, equipment and organisation, as well as the service of the 33rd in Britain and Ireland, and addressing how they attained such a high peacetime reputation. Following that, each chapter will cover one year, from 1776 to 1783, seeking to document the trials and tribulations of the service. It hopes to act as a modern regimental history, comprehensive and analytic, and addressing more than just the battles and troop movements. Disease and diet, discipline and desertion, the role of women, the nature of camp life, the experiences of transatlantic voyages – all of these topics and more are covered.

It is worth briefly addressing the nomenclatures that will be used throughout the book. The name ‘redcoat,’ while not unknown at the time, had nowhere near the popular usage it enjoys today, and so use of it here is minimal – terms like regulars, British soldiers or king’s soldiers are more period-correct. The book also follows the example of Matthew H. Spring in his seminal work With Zeal and With Bayonets Only insomuch as it does away with the tired phrase ‘Patriot’ as the term for those fighting for American independence. Like Spring’s book, this work is written from the perspective of the British Army, and so the period term ‘rebels’ is often used – more formally, the pro-independence soldiery are called revolutionary forces, Congressional forces or, where relevant, the Continental Army. Not all ‘Hessians’ actually came from the states of Hesse-Kassel (indeed, a majority did not), therefore unless the units being described were specifically from Hesse-Kassel or Hesse-Hanau, ‘Hessian’ forces will be called Germans. Germany, of course, did not exist as a unified state until almost a century after the American Revolution, but the general concept of Germany and Germans was well enough understood during the period. Where possible, ‘Crown forces’ is a better collective name for those troops attempting to stymie American independence, giving that they included not only British soldiers but also the aforementioned Germans, Loyalist Americans and Native Americans, but I cannot claim to have been absolute in its application – ‘British’ is still sometimes used for the collective.

It should be noted that due to how heavily involved the 33rd were, this book covers almost all of the major theatres of operation during the war, but it is still intended as a history only of the regiment itself, and not of the Revolution as a whole. This applies even to the numerous battles, which are seen largely from the 33rd’s perspective. Every engagement dealt with has numerous more general works that cover any given battle in its entirety – for example, Thomas J. McGuire’s two books on the 1777 Philadelphia campaign are an excellent account of the battles of Brandywine and Germantown in their entirety. The same is true for the sprawling political, social and economic histories of the war. The bibliography should be consulted for this wider reading.

Major engagements involving the 33rd Regiment of Foot during the American Revolution, 1776–1781.

1Morning Chronicle, 16 June 1773, p.8.

Chapter 1

The Place Where the Streets are Paved with Pancakes

Recruiting

John Robert Shaw was about to make a decision that would forever alter the course of his life. The 16-year-old was going to run away from home. He later attributed his choice to the ill treatment of his stepmother, though there was a more immediate spur – his father, a weaver by trade, had departed to the mill one Monday morning having told his son that, if he did not complete his previous week’s work by the time he had returned, he would give him a beating. In response, after his father had left, Shaw put on his ‘best apparel’ and set out for Leeds.¹

He did so with a measure of uncertainty. The Yorkshire lad’s route took him through the town of Shipley and then, at a place called Windal, he paused to have his fortune told by a magician. Whatever the nature of the auguries, they do not appear to have wholly dissuaded him. He carried on to Coverly, where he paused upon the moor, vacillating. ‘I seriously deliberated with myself what was best to be done,’ he later wrote. ‘At first I thought of returning home again; but the dread of paternal chastisement, and the ridicule of my acquaintances, to which I must be exposed… banished all thoughts of domestic concern.’ Shaw’s mind became fixed. He carried on to Leeds with one intention – ‘enlisting as a king’s soldier.’²

This was not, in fact, the first time Shaw had fled his native Baildon with such an intention. Two years earlier he had fallen into the company of some bad friends, including one Thomas Field, who convinced the naive young Shaw to borrow money from one of his father’s acquaintances under the pretence that he was doing so in his father’s name. The ruse was soon discovered and, as Shaw later put it, ‘broke the way to my total overthrow.’ More teenage misdemeanours followed, included breaking the sabbath, a grievous sin as far as his religiously attentive father was concerned. After one indiscretion too many, Shaw asked Tom and his other accomplices what might be done ‘to avoid the effects of my father’s displeasure.’ Tom and another wayward friend, Jack, ‘immediately proposed that we should all go and enlist for soldiers, get clear of work, and be gentlemen at once.’ Consequently, Shaw embarked for Leeds, where he appears to have singularly failed to find a recruiting party, instead ending up living in the house of his uncle, John Hall. Missing the comforts of home, he meekly returned to his father, and there stayed until he ‘grew weary of labour,’ his stepmother and his chores.³

His second excursion met with better fortune than his first. He swiftly encountered a recruit of the 33rd Regiment of Foot who, after discovering Shaw’s intention, inveigled him with the sort of fantastical verbosity that seems to have been common of the period;

Come, my fine lad, the king wants soldiers: come on, my fine boy, I’ll shew you the place where the streets are paved with pancakes; and where the hogs are going through the streets carrying knives and forks on their backs, and crying who will come and eat?⁴

The impressionable weaver’s son was brought post-haste ‘to the recruiting party’s place of rendezvous, at the sign of the Leopard, behind the Shambles, in Bridge street,’ where he was introduced to the recruiting sergeant, one James Shackleton, and his corporal, Samuel Coggill. Shackleton briefly interrogated him about his name and where he came from, and asked him whether he was willing to serve the king. On Shaw’s affirmation, he stated ‘well, here is a shilling to serve king George the III, in the honourable 33d regiment of foot, commanded by the honourable lord Cornwallis, knight and baronet of the star and garter.’ Shackleton then promptly whisked Shaw away to his captain, a man named John Kerr (misremembered by Shaw as Carr) who, on discovering the boy was neither old enough nor tall enough, offered him a shilling and told him to ‘go home and be a good boy, and go to school, and come to me two or three years hence, and I will enlist you.’⁵

Having already determined his course of action and been further lured on by the promises of the recruiting party, Shaw had little time for the captain’s suggestion. He told him bluntly that if he would not take him on, he would go to the 59th Regiment, who were also recruiting in the area, and enlist with them as a drummer. Shaw’s determination seemingly impressed Captain Kerr, for he agreed to take him on, initially to supplement the recruiting party as his waiter.⁶

By enlisting in the British Army, Shaw trod a path undertaken by tens of thousands in the 1770s and 1780s. In the centuries since these foot-soldiers of empire campaigned to stymie the American Revolution, popular histories have stereotyped them as the scum of the earth. One historian, in a book first published in 1982 but rereleased in a new edition as recently as 2015, claimed that ‘a soldier’s existence was an alternative to filching in the streets, rotting in prison, or starving or freezing to death for want of food and clothing.’ British soldiers in the eighteenth century were the dregs of society, while the military itself was ‘a means of helping the British care for their poor population.’ It was a quasi-slave institution where destitute peasantry and vagabonds languished under the lash of uncaring, elitist officers, locked into a draconian system of discipline designed as much to keep the rank-and-file from rebelling as it was to produce an effective fighting force. Ordinary British soldiers were, ultimately, ‘cannon fodder’ for Britain’s imperial establishment.⁷

All of these views are false. At a basic level, barring short periods in 1778 and 1779, the army was a wholly voluntary organisation, and was not in the habit of enlisting the poorest elements of Britain’s eighteenth-century society.⁸ Far from it, officers charged with leading recruiting parties were instructed about the sort of men they should take on, and furnished with lists of undesirables to be avoided. One contemporary military manual by Captain Bennett Cuthbertson offered specific advice on who to avoid recruiting – convicts, sailors and colliers, those who were ‘in-kneed, or splay-footed’ or ‘those with round shoulders, or past thirty years of age’ or those with ‘ruptures, seald heads, convulsion-fits, or other extraordinary complaints,’ all of whom were to be kept from the service. He also stressed that during peacetime recruiters should be on the lookout for men who had already served in other regiments and to avoid taking such in case ‘ill behaviour was the cause of his being discharged.’ Were there any doubt about a man having previously served, a recruiting officer or sergeant was advised to inspect ‘his naked back, on which may perhaps be found some certain marks, to make that matter very clear’ – the tell-tale signs of a past flogging.⁹

Ideal recruits were ‘young, active Men, from 17 to 25 years of age … nor should they be desired taller than six feet, nor lower than five feet, six inches and a half … Great attention must be paid to the faces, legs and shoulders of Recruits, and that the Lads under eighteen have stout, thick joints, and not too much the look of being set: fine hair is also particularly desired, it being so great an ornament and addition to the appearance of a soldier.’¹⁰ An even more popular military author and officer, Thomas Simes, gave similar advice in his 1768 book, The Military Medley. Recruits were to be ideally between 17 and 25, to not include any man ‘who has been whipped or drummed out of any regiment,’ to not be under the size of five feet without shoes, and should possess ‘straight limbs, broad shoulders, a good face, and is every way well made.’¹¹

The sort of man who consequently filled the ranks was usually either born or had been living in a town or city, came from lower or middle-class background, and had a pre-existing professional skill.¹² He was physically capable, almost always recently in work or, occasionally, as in the case of Shaw, was too young to have had a serious past profession, but rarely, if ever, was he without a skill, trade or some other means of alternative employment. Such were the findings of Sylvia Frey’s ground-breaking 1981 study The British Soldier in America. Frey sought to dispel the tired notion that ordinary eighteenth-century British soldiers were criminals and wastrels kept in line only by the threat of brutal punishment.¹³ In this she succeeded, applying a statistical and analytic focus to the subject in order to establish that a range of factors, including population surplus, high levels of migration, static wages, the seasonal nature of many popular professions (especially in building and agriculture), and the first tremors of the industrial revolution, all helped contribute to ordinary, working men choosing to enlist in the king’s service in the 1760s and 1770s.

The British Army only occasionally recorded the past professions of its enlistees, though its pension service, based at the Royal Hospital Chelsea in London, required old soldiers to list their former mode of employment as part of their application. From one such record roll come the listings of 67 men who served at various times in the regiment John Robert Shaw joined – the 33rd Foot – over the course of the American Revolution. All 67 give some form of past employment (albeit one illegibly written). There are 20 different trades listed, speaking to the breadth of society that the army drew from. Among the ranks of the 33rd were tailors, butchers, hatters and shoemakers, a chairmaker, a fuller, a chandler, a miner, a potter, a stonecutter and a linen printer.¹⁴ The presence of artisans or craftsmen was not unusual – they likely represented a clear majority of regular enlisted men, with individual company records sometimes showing as many as 76 percent of recruits being listed as skilled craftsmen.¹⁵

The two most common occupations undertaken by the sample of the 33rd were those of labourer and weaver, with 21 listed among the former and 12 the latter.¹⁶ This appears to be in line with the recruits furnishing regiments throughout the British Isles during the period. Of the many and varied trades that soldiers followed before their enlistment, it was the textile industry which saw some of the earliest industrialisation, as the use of machine yarns boosted production and created an excess of labour. The subsequent drop in wages played into the hands of military recruiters, with estimates putting 20 percent of the army’s recruits as having worked previously in jobs relating to the textile industry.¹⁷

Previous occupation by soldiers of the 33rd from a sample of 66 men.

The other largest employer in the group, labourer, is more difficult to define. Typically, it has been taken to indicate those on the bottom rung of society who performed manual labour in exchange for basic wages.¹⁸ In reality though, the listing of labourer can also simply be shorthand for someone who did not pursue a single, specified trade, and did not necessarily guarantee the kind of destitution which such a description sometimes seems to imply. The fact that the term can encompass a relatively broad socio-economic range also points to the limits of the other occupations listed. The hatters, shoemakers and tailors recorded as having joined the 33rd did not have their level of proficiency graded in the Chelsea records. Indeed, there were different degrees of skill and expertise within many eighteenth century trades, which in turn marked out different social and economic statuses.¹⁹ A novice stonecutter would certainly have received different wages and, to a degree, have a different social standing to a master of the same trade, yet such nuance is not recognized in the Chelsea registers. The true depth of the past work undertaken by the army’s recruits therefore remains hidden.

What is clear is that, despite the evidence of socio-economic pressures, the concept of British soldiers being men driven into the ranks by financial hardship is largely unfounded. Though surviving written accounts from regular soldiers are few, and the literacy of those authors may have pointed to them being more employable, no regular soldier who left behind a record of why he enlisted gave unemployment or destitution as the reason he became a soldier between the years 1765 and 1775.²⁰ This is a stark contrast to the picture often painted of regular soldiers as a collection of paupers and out-of-luck tradesmen, and speaks to the realities of attempting to define just why any one individual chose to join the army. It should not be imagined that there was a single aspect or even a set of circumstances that commonly led men and, in the case of Shaw, boys to join the military, and nor should we feel bound to seek one in an effort to satisfy a desire for retrospectively unambiguous and analytic reasoning.

Reenactors portraying the 33rd Foot at the ‘present arms’ position, typically used as a form of salute. (Photo by Henry Gage)

Shaw himself gives three reasons for enlisting – being bored with his work, being disaffected towards his stepmother, and desirous to throw off the yolk of chores and punishment doled out by his father. A fourth reason can be inferred from the bad company of his erstwhile friends, who seem to have first put the idea of going for a soldier into his head. No single, hard factor can therefore be identified, and nor does Shaw try to.

The Chelsea rolls provide important data when it comes to the past occupations of recruits, but they also contain further information, namely the birthplaces of the applicants. The fact that it was a recruit of the 33rd Foot that Shaw happened upon when he eloped to Leeds was no coincidence. While the regiments of the British Army had yet to assume formal ties with specific parts of the country, some were associated with particular localities. By the 1770s the 33rd had developed links to West Riding, one of the three areas (along with East and North Ridings) that constituted the county of Yorkshire. This connection was spelled out by the 33rd’s recruits. Of the 67 mentioned in the specific Chelsea roll, 61 gave identifiable birthplaces – 13 were from Ireland, one was from Hollywell in Wales and the remaining 47 were English. Of that latter portion, 32 hailed from Yorkshire, including locations such as Halifax, Hallam, Waddington, Bradford, and Leeds itself. The neighbouring county of Lancashire was also represented by four men.²¹ The strength of the Yorkshire presence within the regiment is further corroborated by the returns of a number of prisoners subsequently captured during the fighting in America. Of the 69 English, 38 were from Yorkshire. The origins of the remaining 33 soldiers were divided between Ireland (26), Scotland (four) and abroad (two Americans and a Gibraltarian).²² One newspaper reported in 1776 that the 33rd were ‘chiefly composed of recruits from the above places [Wakefield and Leeds, in Yorkshire], and are usually called The Have a Cake, Lads. The Serjeants who recruit in those places always carrying a large oat cake on the top of their halberds and frequently in the course of their recruiting orations, address their auditory with the kind invitation Have a Cake, Lads.’²³

Place of birth for the soldiers of the 33rd from a sample of 61 men.

While the size of the Yorkshire contingent among the 33rd is significant, it is important to also note that a majority of soldiers still were not from that specific county. Among the ranks were men born in Cheshire, Warwickshire, Wiltshire and Devon. The Irish contingent was also diverse, with men hailing from the likes of Dublin, Enniskillen, County Londonderry and Killkenny.²⁴ Nor should it be assumed that a soldier’s listed birthplace was necessarily where they had grown up and spent their life prior to enlisting. While these factors prove that the 33rd was not yet truly a county regiment in the 1770s, it was well on the way to becoming one, and would have been familiar to Shaw and many of his fellow recruits.

The teenage weaver’s son seems to have enjoyed his first taste of military life. Now ensconced with the 33rd’s recruiting party at the sign of the Leopard in Leeds, a crown bowl of punch was called for and used to toast the king. ‘So we spent the night merrily,’ he later recalled, ‘and all retired to bed at 12 o’clock.’²⁵ When discussing army recruitment, much is often made of the role of alcohol, of tall tales, and of financial incentives, all combined to entice young men to take the king’s shilling. While all of those elements regularly did play a role, their nature is often distorted by secondary narratives. Recruiting parties offered a bounty on enlistment, typically 21 shillings, though sometimes more.²⁶ Shaw reported that recruits received seven guineas and a crown.²⁷ Part of this was immediately spent by the army to cover the cost of basic clothing, but this was no different from any other profession.²⁸ The bounty was therefore rarely seen as the devious form of entrapment it is sometimes described as today.

Recruits were also not routinely plied with drink and tricked into swearing on with the army. The concept, as well as the actual act, of taking a shilling was not what legally bound a man to the military. Rather, it was their attestation before a magistrate that they were enlisting voluntarily, an act typically performed within four days of agreeing to join, rather than immediately. This time interval was at least partly designed to give men the chance to reconsider.²⁹

Even if a recruit did fully enlist, it was still possible to be ‘bought off’ out of the ranks following an attestation, essentially offering a sum of money that would see the recruit released from his service. This was the fate that almost befell Shaw. On discovering that his son had joined the 33rd, Shaw’s father, accompanied by his uncle, tracked him down and attempted to negotiate with the recruiting party and, more saliently, with Shaw. ‘He proposed to me to be bought off, and return home; but I obstinately refused it, and replied if you buy me off to day, I will enlist to-morrow for a drummer … My father finding me inflexibly determined to continue in the army, gave over all entreaties, and departed in tears.’³⁰

Shaw’s military education soon began. He was required to ‘march round with the recruiting party; and exercise myself in running, jumping and learning to walk straight.’³¹ These, along with other basic lessons, formed the basis of a new recruit’s training, undertaken while he was still with the group that had enlisted him. Said recruit was learned matters like hygine standards and military deportment under the instruction of the recruiting officer while assisting him with his duties.³² So it continued until the party in question joined their regiment to undertake the main body of their training or, after the outbreak of the Revolutionary War, the Additional Companies at the various training depots in Great Britain and Ireland.

Even as he learned his first lessons, the opportunities for Shaw to recant the military life did not end. After injuring himself attempting to jump a fence, he spent some time recuperating in Leeds, and was then given an eight-week furlough to return to Baildon and visit his father. While at home he weathered ‘frequent visits from several of my relations and neighbours; all endeavouring to persuade me to be bought off, and abandon the army.’³³ Such entreaties were mixed with threats from his grandfather, ‘who was in tolerable circumstances,’ and who claimed that he would receive no future financial support from him if he followed through with his desire to remain in the army.³⁴ All of this Shaw withstood, seemingly to the surprise of the likes of Captain Kerr, Sergeant Shackleton and Corporal Coggill, for when he re-joined the recruiting party in Leeds after his furlough he ‘was received with expression of great applause for my constancy.’³⁵

The Officers

The officer who enlisted John Robert Shaw, John Kerr, was a Scotsman who had himself first joined the army at the age of 16, in 1760. He did so as an ensign, the most junior rank of commissioned officer. Raised to lieutenant in 1768, he then became captain of one of the 33rd’s Additional Companies and led it between 1776 and 1778. These units were in excess to a battalion’s 10 fighting companies, and were formed to act as a locus for new recruits prior to being shipped to join the regiment in whichever theatre it was operating.

Much as the regular soldiers of the Revolutionary-era British Army have been inaccurately stereotyped by later histories, so too have their officers. Enlisted men and commissioned officers were, according to one writer, ‘from the least productive elements at the two ends of the social scale.’³⁶ For their own part, British officers of the period have been characterised as foppish dandies, dilettantes, martinets and oafish brutes – sometimes all at once. Again, such a view is inaccurate.

Becoming an officer required the purchase of a commission ratified by the king, usually bought for a set sum from an existing officer who was himself taking on promotion or leaving the service. The officer in question recouped this sum upon retirement, but stood to lose it if cashiered for poor service, and it thus served as a surety towards his good performance. Funds were also frequently provided not in full by the officer himself, but often by a wealthy patron. Subsequent ranks required greater payments. In 1766 prices were fixed for the line regiments at £400 for an ensigncy, £550 for a lieutenancy, £1,500 for a captaincy, £2,600 for a majority and £3,500 for a lieutenant colonelcy, though in reality these figures tended to fluctuate (usually upward) quite significantly.³⁷ This ensured that on the face of it, command of the British Army was based on wealth rather than merit, a system that followed in line with the practices of wider period society.³⁸ Eighteenth-century Britain was indeed hierarchical in nature, as was its army. Despite this, the characterisation of officers as ‘inexperienced and often indifferent amateurs’ is incorrect, as is the idea that the purchase system ensured the officer corps remained the preserve of only the wealthy.³⁹

A reenactor portraying Captain James Campbell, the regiment’s most senior company-level officer during the Revolutionary War. (Photo by Henry Gage)

Deaths, especially during wartime, ensured that a third of vacancies were taken up without purchase.⁴⁰ It was not unusual for senior NCOs to receive ensigncies or lieutenancies – three NCOs in the 33rd, for example, received commissions in 1756.⁴¹ Indeed the Secretary of War, Lord Barrington, commented after the heavy losses at the Battle of Bunker Hill in 1775 that the officers who had replaced those fallen were practically penniless.⁴² It was also not impossible for enlisted men to be promoted up from the ranks for particularly long or meritorious service. While such instances were rare, neither could most officers be considered among the wealthy elite. The majority hailed from minor gentry or the emerging professional middle classes.⁴³

If few of the army’s officers could be considered notably wealthy, an even smaller number of them could be considered as such courtesy of their military employment. Standard army pay was often thought of as meagre.⁴⁴ They often had to rely on family funds, loans and the patronage of wealthy allies, and even then, progress in such a competitive system of preferment was not guaranteed. Most officers spent a considerable amount of time in junior roles. At the outbreak of the Revolution in 1775, 15 years after joining the army, John Kerr was still a lieutenant. It had taken him eight years to purchase his way from ensign to that next rung of promotion. That was longer than any of his 10 fellow-lieutenants parading with the 33rd in July 1775. The next nearest was Thomas Greening, who had served as an ensign for a little over five years, while the fastest climber was James Bailey, who spent just shy of one year and nine months as an ensign before he was able to purchase his lieutenancy.⁴⁵

Bailey was not the most meteoric climber in the regiment. John Dyke Acland purchased his ensign’s commission with the 33rd on 26 March 1774. The son of Sir Thomas Dyke Acland, 7th Baronet of Killerton, John Dyke Acland personified the privileged and influential stereotype of the British officer class, a stereotype that in reality was confined to only a lucky few. The eldest son of the Devonshire Aclands, in 1774 he was elected Member of Parliament for the rotten borough of Callington in Cornwell, a small town with only a few dozen eligible voters that never-the-less secured him a seat at Westminster. Acland was a committed Tory and a vehement opponent of American independence. He agitated to be given command of a new regiment, and only joined the 33rd as an ensign on the understanding that he would be able to purchase his way to the command of a company post-haste. When such rapid advancement, in the face of officers many years his senior, was not immediately forthcoming, he brought pressure to bear. His chain of influence reached all the way to the king, via the powerful Earl of Rochford. On 13 March 1775, a letter was written by Rochford to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in whose jurisdiction the 33rd were currently operating, directing him to ‘transmit such a proposal [Acland’s promotion] when it shall be offered’ by the 33rd’s colonel.⁴⁶ Twelve days later, Acland had his captain’s commission, not even a full year after joining the regular army.

Nor did Acland’s ambitions end there. In August 1775 the Earl of Rochford received a request from Acland to the king, asking that he be permitted to raise, at his own expense, his own infantry regiment, of which he would be appointed lieutenant colonel, with the power to choose his own officers.⁴⁷ The king was largely unimpressed by Acland’s zeal, and cautioned that things would go better for him if he tried to follow a more regular military career.

Those with less substantial reserves of cash and influence – the vast majority – took a more ponderous route up the chain of command. William Collins Dansey, born in 1745 into the country gentry of Herefordshire, was commissioned as an ensign the same year as Kerr, 1760, reached the rank of lieutenant in 1763, but did not receive his captaincy until early 1774, aged 29. Most of Dansey’s fellow-officers could tell similar stories – Captain James Campbell had, like Dansey, served 15 years by 1775, though he received his captaincy a little earlier, in 1772. Captain George Burnett had been in the service for 15 years and had been a captain for the past four. On average it took the 11 lieutenants of the regiment in mid-1775 a little over four years to rise to their rank from ensign, and six of the seven captains (removing the outlier that is Captain Acland) just over nine and a half years to take the next step up from lieutenant. It therefore took over a decade of soldiering for most officers in the 33rd to attain the command of one of the regiment’s 10 combat companies.

Military service, especially given the difficulties inherent in acquiring the funding necessary to pursue it, was not an easy pathway to wealth or authority. Young gentlemen who chose to purchase commissions, therefore, rarely seem to have done so out of veniality. They were not idle dabblers, but were required to put in years, sometimes decades, of service in order to achieve notable station.

Military traditions within certain families also often played a role in encouraging men to join the army as officers. Dansey’s father was a captain in the 33rd when he bought his son an ensign’s commission in the same regiment. Lieutenant Hildebrand Oakes’s father, also named Hildebrand Oakes, was the 33rd’s lieutenant colonel when he bought his son his ensign’s commission in 1767, when Hildebrand junior was just 13. Such literal familial bonds helped foster the more abstract concept of the British Army’s officer corps as an extended family, one which was full of quirks, cliques and occasional squabbles but which, ultimately, took its duties seriously. The 33rd’s cadre of officers in particular seem to have been quite closely bonded. All of the captains commanding companies between 1769 and 1774 ‘joined the regiment as Ensigns and served with each other for an average of 15 years,’? with many having experience of campaigning during the Seven Years War.⁴⁸ Major General William Howe wrote of the 33rd that ‘the officers have a Sutler, eat together and live in friendship.’⁴⁹ Turnover among the regiment’s officers was low, possibly in part because of just how stable the officer cadre of the 33rd was.⁵⁰ For example, nine of the 13 ensigns who joined the 33rd between 1770 and 1774 would serve with the regiment for six years or more, a higher number than the army average.⁵¹

An epaulette was worn on the right shoulder only by officers below the rank of major, except in the flank companies. The exact style varied fro regiment to regiment. (Photo by Henry