and cheerfulness.  However tinctured with superstition, he had deep devotional feelings; and it is stated that he never went to battle without offering up a prayer, and that it was his first and last occupation every day.  Often when provisions were failing he would order a fast to be observed by the troops, as a token of humiliation for their sins:  and he always set the example of the prescribed abstinence himself.  The noble self-denial which made him scorn any care for himself which was beyond the reach of the common soldiers, so thoroughly identified him with them, that all their tender sympathies were with him, as much as their respect and veneration.  He was never seen on the long and heavy marches of his infantry but on foot by their side; and in every advance of his cavalry he was at their head on horseback.  He worked indefatigably with them in the trenches, and in all their military operations.  When the war broke out afresh with the Turks in the year 1785, he was surprised in the town of Kenburn by an advance of a great body of Osmanli horse; his troops were scattered through the adjacent country, and could not be brought together without great difficulty—­a successful attack had been made upon one his generals.  When the news was brought to him he betrayed no agitation, but instantly repaired to the church, where he directed that a Te Deum should be chanted as for a victory.  This he might have done to show his firm trust in the prophesied success of the Russian arms, even under discouragement.  He joined in the chant with animated fervor.  As soon as the service was over he placed himself a the head of a small body of troops which were in waiting, and hastened to meet the enemy, who were coming on in considerable force.  By a most desperate onset he drove them back, but in the engagement he was wounded; and his soldiers, no longer animated by his presence, became disheartened, and fled in confusion.  Suwarrow leaped from the litter in which he was carried—­all bleeding and wounded as he was—­and springing on horseback, exclaimed, “I am still alive, my children!” This was the rallying cry—­he led them on to victory.

Of all the brilliant achievements of Suwarrow, there was none more wonderful than the conquest of Ismail.  It had stood out against two sieges, and was considered almost impregnable.  The Empress, provoked at its not having yielded, gave an absolute order that it should be taken.  Potemkin, who was then at the head of the Russian army, dreaded Catharine’s displeasure should she be disappointed the third time.  In his embarrassment he consulted with Suwarrow, who undertook the conduct of the siege.  Notwithstanding the great danger of an enterprise which had failed twice, he felt confident of success; and said, with earnest faith in the result, “The Empress wills it—­we must obey!”