value. But what has given Gustavus Adolphus unfading reputation as a
captain is the conduct, for the first time in the Christian era, of
a campaign in which the intellectual conception overrides the able,
consistent, and at times brilliant execution. From a mere contest of
animal courage he had raised war at one step to what it really should
be, a contest in which mind and character win, and not brute force.
Little wonder that Gustavus, landing at Rügen to attack the colossal
power of the German Empire with his 15,000 men, should have excited
the laughter of his enemies, and have provoked Wallenstein to exclaim
that he would drive him back to his snow-clad kingdom with switches.
It appeared like Don Quixote riding at the windmills. But his action
was in truth founded on as substantial a calculation as Hannibal’s
march into Italy, and was crowned with abundant results. The method of
his work could not but win. And Gustavus did one thing more. He showed
the world that war could be conducted within the bounds of Christian
teachings; that arson, murder, rapine, were not necessary concomitants
of able or successful war; that there was no call to add to the
unavoidable suffering engendered of any armed strife, by inflicting
upon innocent populations that which should be borne by the armies
alone. In both these things he was first and preëminent, and to him
belongs unqualifiedly the credit of proving to the modern world that
war is an intellectual art; and the still greater credit of humanizing
its conduct.
LECTURE V.
FREDERICK.
While Frederick II., or as Prussians love to call him “Friedrich der
Einzige,” had been brought up by a military martinet, and had gone
through every step by which a Hohenzollern must climb the ladder
of army rank, he had, in youth, exhibited so little aptitude for
the pipe-clay of war, that few suspected how great his military
achievements were to be. But Prince Eugene, then the greatest living
soldier, whom young Frederick joined with the Prussian contingent in
1733, is said to have discovered in him that which he pronounced would
make him a great general. Frederick had been a keen student of history,
and there is nothing which trains the high grade of intellect and the
sturdy character which a good leader must possess as birthright, as
does the study of the deeds of the great captains, for out of these
alone can that knowledge be gleaned, or that inspiration be caught,
which constitutes the value of the art. The camp and drill-ground,
however essential, teach but the handicraft, not the art, of war.
We all know how Frederick’s youth was passed: how his father sought to
mould him into the ramrod pattern of a grenadier, and how he avoided
the system by constant subterfuge. He was an intelligent, attractive
lad, witty and imaginative, and possessed a reserve of character
which grew abreast with his father’s harshness. As we know, Frederick
William’s brutality finally culminated in an attempt to punish by
death the so-called desertion of his son, to which his own cruelty
and insults had impelled him. The succeeding years of retirement were
full of active work, and no doubt gave Frederick the business training
which in after life made him so wonderful a financier, as well as the
opportunity for study; and perhaps the tyranny of his father added to
his constancy and self-reliance as well as to his obstinacy, than which
no character in history ever exhibited greater. Frederick William,
before his death, understood his son’s make-up. Frederick ascended the
throne in 1740, and from that day on he was every inch a king.
Frederick had certain hereditary claims to Silesia, in the validity
of which he placed entire confidence, though no doubt his belief was
colored by the desirability of this province as an appanage of the
Prussian crown. Maria Theresa was in the meshes of the Pragmatic
Sanction imbroglio. Frederick determined to assert his claims. He was,
thanks to his father, equipped with an army drilled, disciplined, and
supplied as none since Cæsar’s day had been, unconquerable if only the
divine breath were breathed into it, and a well-lined military chest.
Giving Austria short shrift, he marched across the border and in a few
weeks inundated Silesia with his troops. From this day until 1763, when
it was definitely ceded to him, Frederick’s every thought was devoted
to holding this province. Nothing could wrest it from his grasp.
His first campaign, however, brought him near discomfiture.
Field-Marshal Neipperg quite out-manœuvred Frederick, who, under the
tutelage of old Field-Marshal Schwerin, had failed to carry out his own
ideas, and cut him off from his supply-camp at Ohlau. Seeking to regain
it, the Prussian army ran across the Austrians at Mollwitz (April
10, 1741). Here, but for the discipline of the Prussian infantry,
the battle would have been lost, for the Prussians were tactically
defeated. But these wonderful troops, drilled to the highest grade of
steadiness, had no idea of being beaten. To them rout and disaster on
all sides were as nothing. They stood their ground like a stone wall,
and their five shots to two of the enemy’s finally decided the day. The
young king had been hurried off the field by Schwerin when defeat was
imminent.
This campaign taught Frederick that in war he must rely only on
himself. He never after allowed one of his generals to hamper his
movements. Counsel was neither asked nor volunteered. Frederick was
distinct head of the Army and State.
[Illustration: MAP FOR SEVEN YEARS’ WAR.]
In the second campaign the king advanced, with the French and Saxons,
in the direction of Vienna. But these allies proved weak, and Frederick
was fain to abandon his project. Prince Charles made his way around
the king’s right flank and threatened his supplies. But Frederick took
prompt advantage of this manœuvre, and at the battle of Chotusitz
(May 17, 1742) inflicted a stinging defeat on the Austrians. This ended
the First Silesian War. Silesia became a Prussian province.
Frederick had learned good lessons. He had gained self-poise, and a
knowledge of the hardships of war, the meannesses of courts, and the
fact that he could trust no one but himself and his devoted legions.
He was disenchanted. War was no longer a glory, but a stern, cold,
fact. He had, however, won his point, and he proposed to maintain it,
though he must give up the delights of his attractive French Court
for the labors of his thoroughly German camp. He had found that his
own conceptions of war ranged beyond the stereotyped routine of the
Prussian army, though this indeed was not to be underrated. Silesia
became valuable to Prussia beyond the wildest dreams of its worth by
Austria, and, being allied by religion with North Germany, had every
reason to remain satisfied and faithful.
It is generally assumed that great captains are fond of war for war’s
sake, or for the lust of conquest. While often true, it was not so
with Frederick. To none of the great captains was war so heartily
distasteful. Not one was so fond of the pursuits of peace. The king had
as marked a liking for the pleasures of literature, music, art, the
companionship of clever men, and intellectual friction of all kinds,
as any monarch who ever reigned. He cordially hated the hardships
and mental strain of war. But Frederick would listen to no peace
which should not leave him in possession of Silesia. His naturally
inflexible nature could entertain no other idea. And for this he would
fight if he must.
During the two years’ peace which ensued, Frederick prepared for
the war which he knew must occur whenever Maria Theresa felt strong
enough to attempt to reconquer her lost province. He was abundantly
ready for it when it came in 1744. Austria had as allies England,
Saxony, Sardinia, and some of the lesser German States. Frederick had
France, the Emperor, the Elector Palatine, and Hesse Cassel. As usual,
Frederick opened with a sharp offensive. Prague was taken, and from
here, the French agreeing to neutralize Prince Charles, who was in the
Rhine country, the king undertook a second operation toward Vienna
(Sept., 1744). But this was equally unlucky. The French were shiftless.
Field-Marshal Traun was joined by Prince Charles, and the two drove
Frederick from his purpose. Traun would not come to battle, but worried
the king by restless manœuvring. The Prussians were fortunate to reach
Silesia without a serious disaster. Frederick had this time learned
that confederates were like broken reeds, and that he himself was his
own best ally. With the wonderful frankness which characterized him,
the king acknowledged the ability of Traun, and the good lessons he had
learned from this opponent.
Elate Prince Charles, early next year (1745), invaded Silesia with
seventy-five thousand men and descended upon its fertile plains with
flying colors, intending to march on Breslau. The king made no attempt
to stop his crossing the mountains. “If you want to catch a mouse,
leave the trap open,” quoth he, and lay in wait for him, with an
equal force, behind Striegau Water. This time he was managing his
own affairs. Prince Charles camped near Hohenfriedberg, unsuspicious
of his vicinity (June 4). Silently, all night long, and with such
precautions that he was not discovered, Frederick marched his men
across the stream. His plan was perfectly worked out. Every man and
officer had his orders by heart. Daylight had no sooner dawned than,
with a tactical beauty of precision which reads like the meter of a
martial poem, Frederick struck the Saxon left. Blow succeeded blow;
battalion after battalion was hurled upon the enemy with a rapidity
and certainty and momentum which the world had never yet seen. By
eight o’clock--barely breakfast-time--the Saxons and Austrians were
utterly overthrown. They had lost nine thousand killed and wounded,
seven thousand prisoners, seventy-six standards, and sixty-six
guns. Frederick’s whole performance--his first--had bordered on the
marvellous.
The king followed the Austrians across the mountains. By careless
detachments and small-war his forces fell to eighteen thousand men.
Prince Charles had nearly forty thousand. Frederick was about to retire
to Silesia, when Prince Charles surprised him, and appearing in rear of
his right flank at Sohr, actually cut him off from his line of retreat.
The prince had bagged his game. But not so thought Frederick, though
his army stood with its back to the enemy. “They are two to one of us,
but we will beat them yet, meine Kinder! You shall see!” exclaimed
the king, and ordered a change of front of the army by a right wheel
of over one-half circle, under a fire of artillery enfilading the
whole line. Fancy an army doing such a thing to-day! The manœuvre was
completed in perfect order. Not a man left the ranks unless shot down.
The line came into oblique order opposite the Austrian left. And no
sooner in place than the king flung his squadrons and regiments up
the heights against the Austrians, who stood curiously watching the
strange evolution. So audacious and skilful was the whole affair, and
so brilliant the Prussian fighting, that the king inflicted another
telling defeat, with loss of eight thousand men, twenty-two guns, and
twelve flags, on the Austrian army (Sept. 30). After some manœuvring,
during the winter peace was made, and Frederick kept Silesia. This was
the Second Silesian War.
Such was Frederick’s apprenticeship. He emerged from it the best
tactician the world has ever seen. As a strategist he had yet made no
great mark.
The First and Second Silesian wars were succeeded by a ten years’
peace, which Frederick used to the best advantage in military
preparations. His army became the one perfect machine of Europe.
In 1756 came the Seven Years’ War. Maria Theresa had resolved to regain
Silesia at any cost. We can barely glance at the leading events of each
year. In 1756 Frederick had Field-Marshal Brown opposed to him. He took
Dresden, and defeating Brown at Lobositz, he captured the Saxon army at
Pirna (October). The year’s end saw Saxony under Frederick’s control.
The campaign was in every sense deserving its success.
In 1757, France, Russia, and Sweden made common cause with Austria.
England was Frederick’s one reliance, and aided him with money and
an observation-army in Hanover. No less than one hundred millions of
population were arrayed against his scant five millions, including
Silesia. The allies put four hundred and thirty thousand men on foot,
Frederick one hundred and fifty thousand. Always first in the field
and retaining the offensive, Frederick advanced on Prague in three
large concentric columns, setting the sixth of May for meeting there
and beating the Austrians. So accurate were his calculations and their
execution by his lieutenants, that in the bloody battle of Prague, on
the very day set, he drove Prince Charles and Field-Marshal Brown into
the city and sat down before it.
But Field-Marshal Daun was not far off with an army of relief of
sixty thousand men. To meet this serious threat, Frederick, from his
lines at Prague, could barely detach thirty-four thousand, and in the
battle of Kolin (June 18), by a series of _contretemps_, in part due
to the king’s hasty temper,--though he had attacked and handled Daun
so roughly that the latter actually gave the order of retreat,--he was
finally beaten and obliged to raise the siege. But Frederick shone in
reverse far higher than in success. From not only the field of battle
but from the siege-lines of Prague he retired deliberately, without a
symptom of flurry, and unopposed.
He was none the less in a desperate strait. He had but seventy
thousand men available. In his front were the victorious Austrians,
one hundred and ten thousand strong, elate and confident. On his left
were approaching one hundred thousand Russians, and these not only
threatened Berlin, but an Austrian raiding party actually took the
suburbs. On his right, a French and Imperial army of sixty thousand
threatened Dresden. The king’s case was forlorn. But he utilized to
the full his central position. Turning on the French, and marching one
hundred and seventy miles in twelve days,--a remarkable performance at
that date,--he reached their vicinity at Rossbach, beyond the Saale.
Soubise outnumbered Frederick nearly three to one. But in a simply
exquisite manœuvre the king took advantage of the enemy’s error in
trying to cut him off by a wide flank march, fell upon their head of
column, and in a bare half-hour disgracefully routed them, with loss of
eight thousand men, five generals, and four hundred officers, seventy
guns, and numberless flags (Nov. 5). Having performed which feat, he at
once turned his face toward Silesia, whence came alarming rumors.
During his absence disaster had piled on disaster. The Duke of Bevern,
left in command, had been driven back to Silesia, and the Austrians had
captured Breslau and Schweidnitz, and proclaimed Silesia again part
of Her Imperial Majesty’s dominions. There is something so heroic,
so king-like, about Frederick’s conduct in the ensuing campaign,
which culminated in the battle of Leuthen, that I cannot refrain from
enlarging upon it, as typical of the man.
As the king proceeded on his way, the news of what had happened
gradually reached his ears. There had been, God wot, enough already
to tax Frederick’s manliness, and such great misfortunes were fit to
overwhelm him. But the king’s mettle was indomitable. There was not
an instant of pause or hesitation. The greater the pressure, the more
elastic his mood and his method. And he had the rare power of making
his lieutenants partake of his buoyant courage. Nothing was ever lost
to Frederick till he had played his final card. He would rather die
with his last grenadier at the foot of the Austrian lines than yield
one inch of Silesia. His men marched in light order, leaving the heavy
trains behind, and making no stops to bake the usual bread. The king
rationed his army on the country. This was not the first instance, but
it had been rare, and but partially done, and was a novelty in war. It
is curious that so clear-sighted a man as Frederick did not expand the
method, so important a factor in speed. But at that day, to sustain an
army by foraging in an enemy’s country would have been considered an
infraction of the laws of nations. The distance from Leipsic, nearly
one hundred and eighty miles, was covered in fifteen days. At Parchwitz
he met the troops brought from Breslau by Ziethen, some eighteen
thousand men. This increased Frederick’s force to thirty-two thousand
under the colors.
The king determined to attack Prince Charles whenever and wherever he
should meet him. He called together his general officers and made them
one of those stirring speeches which lead captive the heart of every
soldier: “You know, Meine Herrn, our disasters. Schweidnitz and Breslau
and a good part of Silesia are gone. The Duke of Bevern is beaten.
There would be nothing left but for my boundless trust in you and your
courage. Each of you has distinguished himself by some memorable act.
These services I know and remember. The hour is at hand. I shall have
done nothing if I do not keep Silesia. I intend, in spite of all the
rules of art, to seek Prince Charles, who has thrice our strength,
and to attack him wherever I find him. It is not numbers I rely on,
but your gallantry and whatever little skill I myself possess. This
risk I must take or everything is lost. We must beat the enemy, or
perish every one of us before his guns. Tell my determination to your
officers, and prepare the men for the work to be done. I demand of you
and them exact obedience. You are Prussians, and will act as such.
But if any one of you dreads to share my dangers, he may now have his
discharge without a word of reproach.” The king paused. A murmur and
the soldier’s look of pride were his answer. “Ah! I knew it,” said the
king, “not one of you would desert me. With your help victory is sure!”
After a few more words the king added, “I demand again exact obedience.
The cavalry regiment which does not on the instant, on orders given,
dash full plunge into the enemy, I will unhorse and make a garrison
regiment. The infantry battalion which, meet it what may, pauses but an
instant shall lose its colors and sabres, and I will cut the trimmings
from its uniform. And now, goodnight. Soon we shall have beaten the
enemy, or we shall never meet again.”
Having learned of the approach of the Prussian army, Prince Charles,
relying on his vast preponderance of forces, left his intrenched camp
at Breslau and marched out to meet the king. He felt certain of
victory, as how could he otherwise? Had not Frederick been beaten at
the last encounter and his territory overrun? He imagined that he
would stand on the defence along the Katzbach. He little knew this
iron-hearted king.
The Austrian van, with the bread bakery, was sent to Neumarkt. In his
own advance, Frederick ran across this outpost and bakery and captured
it. It was on a Sunday, and furnished the men a holiday dinner. He was
glad to learn that the enemy had come out to meet him. Prince Charles,
surprised at the Neumarkt incident, lost heart and retired to receive
battle in front of Schweidnitz Water. The Austrian army was posted at
Leuthen, extending from Nypern to Sägeschütz. The villages in its front
were prepared for defence.
The king broke up from Neumarkt long before day. He was advancing
by his right, in four columns, on the straight road toward Breslau.
Prince Charles lay across his path (Dec. 5). In Frederick’s mind was
nothing but the firm determination he had expressed to his officers.
He proposed to attack the enemy on sight, and under any conditions. In
boldness alone for him lay safety, and he never doubted himself or his
men.
[Illustration: LEUTHEN DEC. 5, 1757.]
Riding with the vanguard, as was his wont in an advance, the king
ran across a cavalry outpost at Borne. Quickly surrounding it, he
captured almost the entire body. The few who escaped carried confused
tidings back to Prince Charles, who believed the king’s party to be
only scouts. From here Frederick rode to the Scheuberg, from whence
he could see the Austrian line, and gauge its strength. Careful to
occupy this hill and a range of knolls running south from it and
parallel with the Austrian line, the king speedily perfected his plan
of battle. He was never at a loss. His vanguard he sent beyond Borne to
engage the enemy’s attention. He knew the ground well. On the Austrian
right it was swampy and unsuited to manœuvring. On their centre and
left it was open and firm. The Austrian position, in two lines, had
been well chosen, but, almost five miles long, was open to be broken
by well-concentrated columns. Nadasti held the left, Lucchesi the
right. Frederick filed his entire army off the main road in columns
of platoons to the right, behind the swelling hills, and ployed his
four columns of advance into two, which would thus become the first
and second lines when the column should wheel to the left into line.
Upon doing this they were to advance in echelon and obliquely upon
the Austrian left flank. On good manœuvring ground and with Prussian
troops, the king felt confident that he could strike a formidable blow
to the enemy.
Frederick’s officers and men had become familiar with this oblique
order of attack, from the frequency of its use on the drill-ground and
in battle. Its origin was Epaminondas’ manœuvre at Leuctra, but the
details the king himself had introduced. The cumulative effect of the
impact, acquiring power as every additional battalion came into line,
was apt to impose strongly upon the enemy. And at the actual point of
contact Frederick would have the larger force, though outnumbered three
to one.
Prince Charles occupied Leuthen belfry. He could not see beyond the
Scheuberg hills. The Prussian cavalry here he assumed to be the
Prussian right wing, as it extended some distance south of the main
road. The attention of Lucchesi was particularly called to the Prussian
van of horse, and he conceived that the Austrian right was to be
attacked in overwhelming numbers. He sent for reënforcements. These
were denied him by Daun, who was second in command; but the request was
repeated so urgently that Daun, finally convinced, moved the bulk of
the cavalry and part of the reserve from the Austrian left over to the
right, an operation requiring nearly two hours. Here was an unfortunate
blunder to begin with. To read aright your enemy’s intentions savors of
the divine.
The king’s columns soon emerged from the shelter of the Scheuberg
hills, opposite the strongly posted Austrian left. To the distant
observer they appeared a confused mass, without form or purpose. But
the king well knew how certainly, at the proper moment, his perfectly
drilled battalions would wheel into line. Eye-witnesses state that
the movement was conducted as if on parade; that the heads of columns
remained absolutely even, and that the echeloning of the line was
done at exact intervals. Each battalion followed the one on its right
at a distance of fifty paces. The line was not only oblique from its
echeloned character, but was formed at an angle to the Austrian front
as well. The Austrian left was thrown back in a crochet. It was the
salient of line and crochet which was to be the centre of attack. The
manœuvre had lasted two hours. The Austrians had not budged.
It was one P.M. A battery of ten heavy guns was placed opposite the
abatis which protected the Austrian left and shortly broke this down.
Ziethen headed his cavalry for an attack upon the extreme left of the
enemy, to complement that of the main line. Lest his own right should
be turned, he reënforced it with some infantry troops. Nadasti had been
weakened by the removal of his cavalry, but nothing daunted, he sallied
out without waiting for Ziethen’s shock, and all but countered the
Prussian blow. But though the Prussian horse, charging uphill, for a
moment wavered, the infantry on its right was undisturbed. Nadasti was
hustled back.