The works of Charles Sumner

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WORKS

CHARLES SUMNER

II

The immediate effect of war is to sever all relations of friendship and commerce between the belligerent nations, and every individual thereof, impressing upon each citizen or subjecl the character of runny. Imagine this instant change between England and the United States. The innumerable ships of the two countries, the white doves of commerce, Inarm- the olive of peart-, are driven from the sea, or turned from peaceful purposes to be ministers of destruction; the threads of social and business intercourse, so cart-fully woven into a thick web, are suddenly snapped asunder; friend can no longer communicate with friend; the twenty thousand letters speeded each fortnight from this port alone are arrested, and the human affections, of which they are the precious expression, seek in vain for utterance. Tell me, you with friends and kindred abroad, or you bound to other lands only by relations of commerce, are yon ready for this rude separation?

This is little compared with what must follow. It is but the first portentous shadow of disastrous eclipse, twilight usher of thick darkness, covering the whole heavens with a pall, broken only by the lightnings of battle and sie

Such honors redden the historic page, while, to the scandal of humanity, they never want historians with feelings kindred to those by which they arc inspired. The demon that draws the sword also guides the pen The favorite chronicler of modem Europe, Froissart, discovers his sympathies in his Prologue, where, with something of apostleship, he announces his purpose, "that the honorable enterprises and noble adventures and feats of arms which happened in the wars of France and England be notably registered and put in perpetual memory," and then proceeds to bestow his equal admiration upon bravery and cunning, upon the courtesy which pardoned as upon the rage which caused the flow of blood in torrents, dwelling with especial delight on " beautiful incursions, beautiful rescues, beautiful feats of arms, and beautiful prowesses " ; and wantoning in pictures of cities assaulted, " which, being soon gained by force, were robbed, and men and women and children put to the sword without mercy, while the churches were burnt and violated." 1 This was in a barbarous age. But popular writers in our own day, dazzled by false ideas of greatness, at which reason and humanity blush, do not hesitate to dwell on similar scenes even with rapture and eulogy. The humane soul of Wilberforce, which sighed that England's "bloody laws sent many unprepared into another world," could hail the slaughter of Waterloo, by which thousands were hurried into eternity on the Sabbath he held so holy, as a "splendid victory." 2

My presenl purpose is less to judge the historian than to expose the horrors on horrors which he applauds. At Tarragona, above six thousand human beings, almost all defenceless, men and women, gray hairs and infant innocence, attractive youth and wrinkled age were butchered by the Infuriate troops in one night, and the morning sun rose upon a city whose streets and houses

1 Froissart, Les Chroniques, Ch. 177, 179, Collection do Buchon, Tom. II. pp. 87, 92.

2 Life of William Wilberforce, by his Sons, Ch. 30, Vol. IV. pp. 256, 261.

THE TRUE GRANDEUB OF NATIONS.

were inundated with blood : and yel this is called a "glorious exploit." ' Bere was a conquesl by the French. At a later day, Ciudad Rodrigo was stormed by the British, when, in the license of victory, there ensued a savage scene of plunder and violence, while shunts and screams on all sides mingled fearfully with the groans of the wounded. Churches were desecrated, eel- Lars of wine and spirits were pillaged, fire was wantonly applied to the city, and brutal intoxication Bpread in every direction. Only when the drunken dropped from as, or t'-ll asleep, was any degree of order restored : and yet the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo is pronounced "one of the most brilliant exploits of the British army." 2 This "beautiful feat of arms" was followed by the storming of Badajoz, where the same scene-, were enacted again, with accumulated at rocil Les. The story shall be told in the words of a partial historian, who himself saw what he eloquently describes. " Shameless rapacity, brutal intemperance, savage Lust, cruelty, and murder, shrieks and piteous Lamentations, groans, shouts, imprecations, the hissing of fires bursting from the houses, the crashing of doors and windows, and the reports of muskets used in violence, resounded for two day- and nights in the streets of Badajoz. On the third, when the city was sacked, when the soldiers were exhausted by their own excesses, the tumult rather subsided than was quelled. The wounded men were then looked to, the dead disposed of." 3 All this is in the nature of con sion, fox the historian is a partisan of battle.

The siime terrible war affords another instant atrocities at a siege crying to Heaven. For weeks be-

i Alison, Hist, of Europe, Ch. 61, Vol. VIII. p. 237.

> Ibid., Ch. 04, VoL VIII. p. 482.

a Napier, Hist Peninsular War, Hook XVI. ch. 5, Vol. IV. p. 431.

fore the surrender of Saragossa, the deaths daily were from four to five hundred ; and as the living could not bury the increasing mass, thousands of carcasses, scattered in streets and court-yards, or piled in heaps at the doors of churches, were left to dissolve in their own corruption, or be licked up by the flames of burning houses. The city was shaken to its foundations by sixteen thousand shells, and the explosion of forty-five thousand pounds of powder in the mines, — while the bones of forty thousand victims, of every age and both sexes, bore dreadful testimony to the unutterable cruelty of War. ]

These might seem pictures from the life of Alaric, who led the Goths to Eome, or of Attila, general of the Huns, called the Scourge of God, and who boasted that the grass did not grow where his horse had set his foot ; but no ! they belong to our own times. They are portions of the wonderful, but wicked, career of him who stands forth the foremost representative of worldly grandeur. The heart aches, as we follow him and his marshals from field to field of Satanic glory, 2 finding everywhere, from Spain to Russia, the same carnival of woe. The picture is various, yet the same. Suffering, wounds, and death, in every form, fill the terrible canvas. Wha1 scene more dismal than that of Albuera, with its horrid piles of corpses, while all night the rain pours down, and river, hill, and forest,

2 A living poet of Italy, who will 1m- placed by his prose among the great names of his country's literature, in n remarkable ode which he has tin-own cm the urn of Napoleon invite- posterity to judge whether his career of battle was True Glory.

•• I'n vera gloria V Ai p L' ardua sentenza." — Manzdni, II Cinque Maggio. When men learn to appreciate moral grandeur, the easy sentence will be rendered.

on each Bide, resound with the cries and groans of the dying? 1 Whal scene more awfully monumental than Salamanca, where, Long after the great battle, the ground, strewn with fragments of casques and cuirasses, was still white with the skeletons of those who fell? 2 What catalogue of horrors more complete than the Russian campaign ." At every step is war, and this is enough: soldiers Mack with powder; bayonets bent with the violence of the encounter; the earth ploughed with cannon-shot ; trees torn and mutilated ; the dead and dying; wounds and agony; fields covered with broken carriages, outstretched horses, and mangled bodies; while disease, sad attendant on military suffering, sweeps thousands from the great hospitals, and the multitude of amputated limbs, which there is no time to destroy, accumulate in bloody heaps, filling the air with corruption. What tongue, what pen, can describe the bloody havoc at Borodino, where, between rise and set of a single sun, one hum lied thousand of our fellow-men, equalling in number the whole population of this city, sank to earth, dead or wounded? 8 Fifty days after the battle, no less than thirty thousand are found stretched where their convulsions ended, and the whole plain is strewn with half-buried carcasses of men ami horses, intermingled

with garments dyed in hi 1, ami bones gnawed by

dogs and vultures. 4 Who can follow the French army in dismal retreat, avoiding the spear of the pursuing Cossack only to sink beneath the sharper frost and ice,

i Napier, Book MI. ch. 7. Vol. III. p. 543. 2 Alison, Ch. 64, Vol. VIII. p s Il.i.l., Ch. 67, Vol. VIII. p. 671.

< Ibid ■ _'ur, Histde Na] IX. oh. 7,

Tom. II. [). 103. Labanme, ReL tie laCampagne do Uusmu, Liv. \ 11.

VOL. I. 2 in a temperature below zero, on foot, without shelter for the body, famishing on horse-flesh and a miserable compound of rye and snow-water ? With a fresh array, the war is upheld against new forces under the walls of Dresden ; and as the Emperor rides over the field of battle — after indulging the night before in royal supper with the Saxon king — he sees ghastly newmade graves, with hands and arms projecting, stark and stiff, above the ground ; and shortly afterwards, when shelter is needed for the troops, the order to occupy the Hospitals for the Insane is given, with the words, " Turn out the mad." 1

Here I might close this scene of blood. But there is one other picture of the atrocious, though natural, consequences of war, occurring almost within our own day, that I would not omit. Let me bring to your mind Genoa, called the Superb, City of Palaces, dear to the memory of American childhood as the birthplace of Christopher Columbus, and one of the spots first enlightened by the morning beams of civilization, whose merchants were princes, and whose rich argosies, in those early days, introduced to Europe the choicest products of the East, the linen of Egypt, the spices of Arabi;i, and l lie silks of Samarcand. She still sits in queenly pride, as she sat thjen, — her mural crown studded with towers, — her churches rich with marble floors and raresl pictures, her palaces of ancient doges and admirals yel spared 03 the band of Time, — her close streets thronged by a hundred thousand inhabitants, — at the foot of the Apennines, ;is they approach the blue and tideless waters of the Mediterranean Sea,

THE TRUE GRANDEUR OF NATIONS. L'7

— leaning hei back againsl theii strong mountain-sides, overshadowed by the foliage of the fig-tree and the olive, while the orange and the lemon with pleasant perfume scent the air whore reigns perpetual spring. Who can contemplate such a city wit In ait delighl '. Who can listen to the story of her sorrows without a pang?

At the opening of the present century, the armies of the French Republic, after dominating over Italy, were driven from their conquests, and compelled, with shrunken forces, to find shelter under Massena, within the walls of Genoa. Various efforts were made by the Austrian general, aided by bombardment from the British fleet, to force the strong defences by assault. At length the city was invested by a stricl blockade. All communication with the country was cut oil', while the harbor was closed by the ever-wakeful British watchdogs of war. Beside- the French troops, within the beleaguered and unfortunate city are the peaceful, unoffending inhabitants. Provisions soon become scarce ; scarcity sharpens into want, till fell Famine, bringing blindness and madness in her train, rages like an Erinnys. Picture to yourselves this large population, not pouring out their lives in the exulting rush of battle. but wasting at noonday, daughter by the side of mother, husband by the side of wife. When grain and rice fail, flaxseed, millet, cocoa, and almonds are ground by hand-mills into flour, and even bran, baked with honey, is eaten, less to satisfy than to deaden hun Before the last extremities, a pound of horse-flesh is sold for thirty-two cents, a pound of bran for thirty cents, a pound of flour for one dollar and seventy-five cents. A single bean is soon sold for two cents, and a biscuit of three ounces for two dollars and a quarter, till finally none can be had at any price. The wretched soldiers, after devouring the horses, are reduced to the degradation of feeding on dogs, cats, rats, and worms, which are eagerly hunted in cellars and sewers.

" Happy were now," exclaims an Italian historian, "not those who lived, but those who died!" The day is dreary from hunger, — the night more dreary still, from hunger with delirious fancies. They now turn to herbs, — dock, sorrel, mallows, wild succory. People of every condition, with women of noble birth and beauty, seek upon the slope of the mountain within the defences those aliments which Nature designed solely for beasts. Scanty vegetables, with a scrap of cheese, are all that can be afforded to the sick and wounded, those sacred stipendiaries of human charity. In the last anguish of despair, men and women fill the air with groans and shrieks, some in spasms, convulsions, and contortions, yielding their expiring breath on the unpitying stones of the street, — alas! not more unpitying than man. Children, whom a dead mother's arms had ceased to protect, orphans of an hour, with piercing cries, supplicate in vain the compassion of the passing stranger: none pity or aid. The sweet fountains of sympathy are all closed by the selfishness of individual distress. In the general agony, some precipitate themselves into the sea, while (he more impetuous rush from the gates, and impale their bodies on the Austrian bayonets. Others still are driven to devour their shoes and the leather of their pouches ; and the horror of human flesh so far abates, thai numbers feed like cannibals on the corpses aboul them. 1

* This account is drawn from the animated sketches of Botta (Storia

At this stage the French general capitulated, claiming and receiving what are called "the honors of war," — but not before twenty thousand innocent persons, old and young, women and children, having no part or interest in the contest, had died the most horrible of deaths. The Austrian flag floated over captured Genoa but a brief span of time; for Bonaparte had already descended like an eagle from the Alps, and in nine days afterwards, on the plains of Marengo, shattered the Austrian empire in Italy.

But wasted lands, famished cities, and slaughtered armies are not all that is contained in " the purple testament of bleeding war." Every soldier is connected with others, as all of you, by dear tics of kindred, Love, and friendship. He has been sternly summoned from the embrace of family. To him there is perhaps an aged mother, who fondly hoped to lean her bending years on his more youthful form; perhaps a wife, whose life is jusl entwined inseparably with his, now condemned to wasting despair; perhaps sisters, brothers. As he falls on the field of war, must not all these rush with his blood? But who can measure the distress that

d' Italia dal 1789 al 1814, Tom. III. Lib. 19), Alison (History of Europe, Vol. IV. ch. 80), and Arnold (Modern History, Lect. I\. . The humanity of the last i- particularly aroused to condemn this most atrocious murder of innocent people, and, as a sufficient remedy, 1; tion of

the Laws of War, permitting non-combatants to withdraw from a blockaded town ! In thi> way, indeed, they may be spared a languishing death by starvation; but they must desert firesides, pursuits, all that makes life dear, and become homeless exiles, — a fate little better than the former. It is Btrange that Arnold's pure soul and clear judgment did not recognize the truth, that the whole custom of war i- unrighteous and unlawful, and that the horrors of this tural consequence. Laws of w

in what is lawless! rules of wrong! There can be only one Law of War, — that is, the great law which pronounces it unwise, unjust, and unchristian.

radiates as from a bloody sun, penetrating innumerable homes? Who can give the gauge and dimensions of this infinite sorrow ? Tell me, ye who feel the bitterness of parting with dear friends and kindred, whom you watch tenderly till the last golden sands are run out and the great hour-glass is turned, what is the measure of your anguish i Your friend departs, soothed by kindness and in the arms of Love : the soldier gasps out his life with no friend near, while the scowl of Hate darkens all that lie beholds, darkens his own departing soul. Who can forget the anguish that fills the bosom and crazes the brain of Lenore, in the matchless ballad of Burger, when seeking in vain among returning squadrons for her lover left dead on Prague's ensanguined plain ? But every field of blood has many Lenores. All war is full of desolate homes, as is vividly pictured by a master poet of antiquity, whose verse is an argument.

" But through the bounds of Grecia's land,

Who sent her sons for Troy to part,

See mourning, with much suffering heart,

On each man's threshold stand,

On eacli sad hearth in Grecia's land.

Well may her soul with grief be rent;

She well remembers win mi she sent,

She sees them not return :

Instead of men, to each man's home

Urns and ashes only come,

And the armor which they wore, —

Sad relics to their native shore.

For Mars, the batterer of the lifeless clay,

Who sells (nr gold the slain.

And holds the scale, in baltle's doubtful day,

Mgh balanced o'er the plain.

From Ilium's walls for men returns

Ashes and sepulchral urns, —

Ashes wet with man} a tear,

Sad relics of the fiery bier.

Round th'' full urns the genera] groan

Goes, as each their kindred own:

Till: TRUE GRAKDEUB OF NATIONS. 31

One they moan in battle rtr And one that "mid the armed throng Il<- sunk in glory's slaughtering tide, And for another's consort died.

Others they mourn whose monuments stand By Ilium's walls on foreign strand; they fell in beauty's bloom, There they lie in hated tomb, Sunk beneath the massy mound.

In eternal chambers bound." l

III

But all these miseries are to no purpose. \Var is utterly ineffectual to secure or advance its professed object. The wretchedness it entails contributes to no end, helps to establish no right, and therefore in no respect determines justice between the contending nations.

The fruitlessness and vanity of war appear in the great conflicts by which the world has been lacerated. After long struggle, where each nation inflicts and receives incalculable injury, peace is gladly obtained on the basis of the condition before the war, knows as the status ante hJlnm. I cannot illustrate this futility better than by the familiar example — humiliating to both countries — of our last war with Great Britain, where the professed object was to obtain a renunciation of the British claim, so defiantly asserted, to impress our seamen. To overturn this injustice the Arbitrament of War was invoked, and for nearly three years the whole country was under its terrible ban. American commerce was driven from the seas; the ce-

1 Agamemnon of .Eschylus: Chorus. This is from the beautiful translation by John Symmons.

sources of the land were drained by taxation ; villages on the Canadian frontier were laid in ashes; the metropolis of the Republic was captured ; while distress was everywhere within our borders. "Weary at last with this rude trial, the National Government appointed commissioners to treat for peace, with these specific instructions : " Your first duty will be to conclude a peace with Great Britain ; and you are authorized to do it, in case you obtain a satisfactory stipulation against impressment, one which shall secure under our flag protection to the crew If this encroachment of Great

Britain is not provided against, the United States have appealed to arms in vain." 1 Afterwards, finding small chance of extorting from Great Britain a relinquishment of the unrighteous claim, and foreseeing from the inveterate prosecution of the war only an accumulation of calamities, the National Government directed the negotiators, in concluding a treaty, to "omit any stipulation on the subject of impressment." 2 These instructions were obeyed, and the treaty that restored to us once more the blessings of peace, so rashly cast away, but now hailed with intoxication of joy, contained no allusion to impressment, nor did it provide for the surrender of a single American sailor detained in the British navy. Thus, by the confession of our own Government, "the United States had appealed In arms in vain." 3 These important words are not mine; they are words of the count rv.

1 Mr. Monroe to Commissioners April 1", 1813: American State Papers, Vol. VIII. pp. 677,678.

2 Mr. Monroe to C mmissioners, June 27, 1814 : Ibid., Vol. VIII. p. 093. '•'■ Mr. Jefferson, in i 'e than on.' letter, declares the peace an armistice

only, "because no security is provided against the impressment of our er to Crawford, Feb. 11, 1815; to Lafayette, Feb. 14, 1815: Works, Vol. VI. pp. 420, 427.

THE TlM'i: i;i;\M'i;[ 1: OF NATIONS. 33

All this is tlif natural result of an appeal 1" war for the determination of justice. Justice implies the exercise of the judgment. Now war not only supersedes

the judgment, but delivers over the pending question to superiority of force, or to chance.

Superior force may end in conquest; this is the natural consequence; but it cannot adjudicate any right. We expose the absurdity of its arbitrament, when, by a familiar phrase of sarcasm, we deride the right <>/ tinstrongest, — excluding, of course, all idea of right, except that of the lion as he springs upon a weaker beast, of the wolf as he tears in pieces the lamb, of the vulture as he devours the dove. The grossest spirits must admit that this is not justice.

But the battle is not always to the strong. Superiority of force is often checked by the proverbial contingencies of war. Especially are such contingencies revealed in rankest absurdity, where nations, as is the acknowledged custom, without regard to their respective forces, whether weaker or stronger, voluntarily appeal to this mad umpirage. "Who beforehand can measure the currents of the heady fight? In common language, we confess the "chances" of battle ; and soldiers devoted to this harsh vocation yet call it a "game." The (Ireat Captain of our age, who seemed to drag victory at his chariot-wheels, in a formal address to his officers, on entering Russia, says, "In war, fortune has an equal share with ability in success." 1 The famous victory of Marengo, accident of an accident, wrested unexpectedly at close of day from a foe at an earlier hour sun i ful, taught him the uncertainty of war. Afterwards, in bitterness of spirit, when his immense forces were

l Alison, Ch. 67, Vol. VIII. p. 815. 2* C shivered, and his triumphant eagles driven back with broken wing, he exclaimed, in that remarkable conversation recorded by his secretary, Fain, — " Well, this is War ! High in the morning, — low enough at night ! From a triumph to a fall is often but a step." 1 The same sentiment is repeated by the military historian of the Peninsular campaigns, when he says, " Fortune always asserts her supremacy in war; and often from a slight mistake such disastrous consequences flow, that, in every age and every nation, the uncertainty of anus has been proverbial." 2 And again, in another place, considering the conduct of Wellington, the same military historian, who is an unquestionable authority, confesses, "A few hours' delay, an accident, a turn of fortune, and he would have been foiled. Ay ! but this is War, a/irags dangerous cud uncertain, an ever-rolling wheel, and armed with scythes." 3 And will intelligent man look for justice to an ever-rolling wheel armed with scythes ?

chance is written on every battle-field. Discerned Less in the conflict of large masses than in that of individuals, it is equally present in both. How capriciously the wheel turned when the fortunes of Koine were staked on the combat hetween the Horatii and Curiatii ! — and who, at one time, augured that the single Eoratius, with two slain brothers on the field, would overpower the three living enemies? But this is not alone. In all the combats of history, involving the fate of individuals ot nations, we learn to revolt at the frenzy which carries questions of property, freedom, or Life to a judgmenl so uncertain and senseless. The humorous poel fitly exposes its hazards, when he says, —

i Alison, Ch. 72, Vol. IX. p. 497.

a Napier, Book WIY. ch. 6, Vol. VI. p. 687.

« [bid., Book W l. oh. 7, Vol. IV. p. 476.

THE 1 1: i i : GB \m>i:u: 0* v\i i 36

" thai :i turnstile ia more certain Than, in event- of war, Dame Fortune." *

During the early modern centuries, and especially in the moral night of the I »ark Ages, the practice prevailed extensively throughout Europe of invoking this adjudication for controversies, whether of individuals ox communities. I do not dwell on the custom of Private War, though it aptly illustrates the subject, stopping merely to echo that joy which, in a time of ignorance, before this arbitramenl yielded gradually to the ordinances of monarchs and an advancing civilization, hailed its temporary suspension as The Truce of God. But this beautiful term, most suggestive, and historically important, cannot pass without the attention which belongs to it. Such a truce is still an example, and also an argument ; but it is for nations. Eere is something to he imitated ; and here also is an appeal to the reason. If individuals or communities once recognized the Truce of God, why not again ? And why may not its benediction descend upon nations also? Its origin goes hack to the darkest night. It was in 1032 that the Bishop of Aqnitaine announced the appearance "l an angel with a message from Heaven, engaging men to cease from Mar and be reconciled. The people, already softened by calamity and disposed to supernatural impressions, hearkened to the sublime mes- . and consented From sunset Thursday to sunrise Monday each week, also during Advent and Lent, ami at the great festivals, all effusion of blood was interdicted, and qo man could molest bis adversary. Women, children, travellers, merchants, laborers, were assured perpetual peace. Every church was made an asylum,

i Budibras, Part I. Canto 3, w. 23, 24.

and, by happy association, the plough also sheltered from peril all who came to it. This respite, justly regarded as marvellous, was hailed as the Truce of God. Beginning in one neighborhood, it was piously extended until it embraced the whole kingdom, and then, by the authority of the Pope, became coextensive with Christendom, while those who violated it were put under solemn ban. As these things passed, bishops lifted their crosses, and the people in their gladness cried, Peace ! Peace. ! 1 Originally too limited in operation and too short in duration, the Truce of God must again be proclaimed for all places and all times, — proclaimed to all mankind and all nations, without distinction of person or calling, on all days of the week, without distinction of sacred days or festivals, and with one universal asylum, not merely the church and the plough, but every place and thing.

From Private Wars, whose best lesson is the Truce of God, by which for a time they were hushed, I come to the Judicial Combat, or Trial by Battle, where, as in a mirror, we behold the barbarism of War, without truce of any kind. Trial by Battle was a formal and legitimate mode of deciding controversies, principally between individuals. Like other ordeals, by walking barefoot and blindfold among burning ploughshares, by holding hoi iron, by dipping the hand in hot water or hoi oil, and like the great Ordeal of War, it was a presumptuous appeal to Providence, under the apprehension and hope thai Heaven would give the victory to him who had the right. Its object was the

i Robertson, Hit. of Charles V., Vol. I. note 21. Semichon, La Paix ct la Treve de Dieu, Tom. II. pp. 35, 53.

Till: TBUE GRANDEUB OF NATIONS. 37

wry object of War, — the determination of ■>

It was sanctioned by Municipal Law as an arbitrament

tor individuals, as War, to the scandal of civilization is .-till sanctioned by International Law as an arbitrament for nations. "Men," says the brilliant Frenchman, Montesquieu, "subject even their prejudices to rules" ; and Trial by Battle, which he does not hesitate to denounce as a " monstrous usage," was surrounded by artificial regulations of multifarious detail, constituting an extensive system, determining how and when it should Lc waged, as War is surrounded by a complex code, known as the Laws of War. " Nothing," says Montesquieu again, "could be more contrary to good sense, but, once established, it was executed with a certain prudence," — which is equally true of War. No battle-field for an army is selected with more care than was the field for Trial by Battle. An open space in the neighborhood of a church was often reserved for this purpose. At the famous Abbey of Saint-Germain-des- Fres, in Paris, there was a tribune for the judges, oxerlooking the adjoining meadow, which served for the field. 1 The combat was inaugurated by a solemn mass, according to a form still preserved, Missa pro Duello, so that, in ceremonial and sanction, as in the field, the Church was constantly present. Champions were hired, as soldiers now. 2