posted by the king to sustain the attack of his infantry delivered an
effective fire. Under its cover the Prussian regiments, despite the
abatis which, now quite levelled, still retained them under fire, after
a sanguinary struggle, broke the salient at its apex, while Ziethen
turned its extreme left. The crochet was thus taken in double reverse,
a battery of fourteen guns was captured, and the main line of the enemy
was outflanked. It was barely two o’clock, but the left wing of the
Austrians had been completely broken.
Prince Charles, alarmed, hurried troops and guns from the centre to the
assistance of Nadasti; but the more came up the greater the confusion.
Ziethen was taking whole regiments prisoners. Seeing that all efforts
to rally the left were useless, and that Nadasti could probably retreat
upon the centre while the Prussians were gathering for a second blow,
the prince made a desperate effort to form a new line at Leuthen.
Lucchesi moved forward by a left wheel. Nadasti fell back as best he
might. Prince Charles posted a strong force in Leuthen churchyard as a
_point d’appui_.
The Prussian army was now advancing almost north. The new Austrian line
lay at right angles to its first position, and, as drawn, encircled
the village. The Prussians, within half an hour, attacked them in this
new position. A bitter contest ensued around the churchyard and some
windmills on the hills beyond. The Austrian line was badly mixed up. In
places it was thirty to one hundred men deep, and the Prussian guns cut
great furrows through the mass. Still the resistance was so stubborn
that Frederick was compelled to put in his last man.
Meanwhile Lucchesi, whose misconception had caused the defeat of the
Austrian left, debouched with his cavalry upon the Prussian left, which
was engaging the enemy on the west of Leuthen. This diversion was well
intentioned and came near to being fatal. But the Prussian squadrons
left by the king on the Scheuberg hills, emerging from their hiding
when the Austrians had somewhat passed, fell smartly upon their flank
and rear. Lucchesi was killed and his cavalry scattered; the flank of
the enemy’s new line was thus taken in reverse, and the position soon
made untenable. Prince Charles was compelled again to beat a hasty
retreat.
A third stand was attempted at Saara, but to no effect. The defeated
Austrians poured pell-mell over the bridges spanning Schweidnitz Water.
The Prussian cavalry followed them some distance.
In this astonishing victory, which was won in three hours, the Prussian
loss was six thousand two hundred killed and wounded out of thirty
thousand men. The Austrians, out of over eighty thousand men, lost ten
thousand in killed and wounded, and twelve thousand prisoners on the
field of battle, fifty-one flags, and one hundred and sixteen guns.
Within a fortnight after, nearly twenty thousand more men, left by
Prince Charles at Breslau, were taken prisoners.
Prince Charles crossed the mountains and reached Königsgrätz with a
force of but thirty-seven thousand men, of whom twenty-two thousand
were invalided. So much alone was left of the proud army which was to
give the _coup de grace_ to doughty Frederick.
By this victory, whose like had not been seen since Cannæ, and
which is, tactically considered, distinctly the most splendid of
modern days, Frederick rescued himself from immediate disaster, and
earned a winter’s leisure in which to prepare for the still desperate
difficulties before him. The most threatening matter was the Russian
army; the one comfort a subsidy from England. Pitt was clear-sighted in
his help to the king.
Frederick is by no means as distinguished a strategist as Napoleon, but
he is a more brilliant tactician. He was not a conqueror; he was a king
defending his territory. While theoretically on the defensive, he kept
the initiative and was always the attacking party. Surrounded as he was
by enemies, his strategy was confined to selecting the, for the time,
most dangerous opponent and making an uncompromising onslaught upon
him. During the Seven Years’ War he was placed somewhat as was Napoleon
in the campaign around Paris, in 1814, and flew from one margin of his
theatre of operations to the other. But Frederick won; Napoleon lost.
It was Frederick’s fortitude, unmatched save by Hannibal, which carried
him through.
In 1758, true to his custom, Frederick took the field before the enemy
and surprised him by a march into Moravia and a sudden siege of Olmütz.
But Frederick, like Hannibal, was never happy in his sieges. This one
was interrupted by Daun from Königsgrätz, and ended in the capture of
one of Frederick’s convoys by the active partisan chieftain Laudon.
Frederick was forced to retire, but he did so deliberately and with all
his trains. One of the most remarkable qualities of the king was the
dread he inspired, even in defeat. As the Romans avoided Hannibal, so
the Austrians never ventured to attack Frederick in disaster. Napoleon
by no means rose superior to misfortune in the manner of Frederick.
In this instance the enemy attempted no pursuit, and to Daun’s utter
consternation, instead of retreating on Silesia from whence he had
come, Frederick made a forced march around the Austrian flank, captured
and established himself in Daun’s own fortified camp, and there feasted
his men on Daun’s supplies. He had absolutely checkmated the Austrian
general. This turning of the tables almost provokes a smile. (July.)
From Königsgrätz, however, Frederick was soon called against the
Russians, who had advanced as far into Prussian territory as Frankfurt.
He marched rapidly northward, met the enemy at Zorndorf, and by a
beautiful movement around their position established himself on their
communications. Then with his thirty thousand men he boldly assailed
the fifty thousand Russians strongly entrenched on Zorndorf heights
(August 25). The Russians have always been stubborn fighters, but
they now met a man who would not take less than victory. There ensued
one of those horrible butcheries which these tenacious troops have so
often suffered rather than yield. Frederick won the day, but it was
with a loss of ten thousand four hundred killed and wounded out of his
thirty thousand men,--more than one-third,--in a few hours, while the
Russians lost twenty-one thousand men and one hundred and thirty guns.
Frederick, however, from sheer exhaustion, allowed the Russians to
retire without pursuit, and singularly enough he neglected to seize
the Russian wagon-camp, which was absolutely under his hand. This was
an undoubted error; but he had eliminated the most grievous danger from
his problem, which was all he had in view.
He was now obliged to hurry back to draw Daun away from Dresden.
This he accomplished; but Daun still stood athwart his path to
Silesia, which the king must reach to relieve the siege of Neisse. In
endeavoring to elude the enemy he ran across him at Hochkirch, and,
in one of his not unusual fits of unreasonable obstinacy, sat down in
a recklessly bad position within a mile of the Austrian front. Here
he remained four days. “The Austrians deserve to be hanged if they
do not attack us here,” said grim Field-Marshal Keith. “They fear us
worse than the gallows,” replied the king. But just as Frederick was
preparing a new flank march, Daun, who had ninety thousand men, fell
upon the Prussian army of less than forty thousand, and, despite the
best of fighting, fairly wrested a victory and one hundred guns from
the king (Oct. 14). For all which Frederick retired from the field in
parade order--merely shifted his ground, as it were--and again camped
within four miles of the battle-field. “The marshal has let us out
of check; the game is not lost yet,” quoth he. From here, within a
few days, Frederick made another of his wonderful turning movements,
and this time actually seized the road to Silesia. Thus in spite of a
defeat and of numbers he had gained his point. The Austrians raised the
siege of Neisse at the mere rumor of his approach, and this campaign of
marvellous marches left the king in possession of all that for which
he had been contending.
But though Frederick had in every sense held his own, and had won
battles such as the world had never yet seen, he had none the less
lost ground. His three years’ hard fighting had robbed him of most of
his trusted generals and the flower of his army. He had an inimitable
knack of making recruits into soldiers, but these were not his old
grenadiers, nor could his dead lieutenants be replaced. The Austrian
troops were, on the contrary, distinctly improving. Their ranks
contained more veterans, for, in their larger standing army, the losses
of the Austrians did not decimate their battalions.
The king’s financiering during these years was remarkable. He never
ran in debt. He always had money ahead. How he managed to arm, equip,
supply, feed, and pay his men on less than eighty-five dollars per man
per year, is beyond our comprehension. But he did it, and well too.
As 1759 opened, a cordon of over three hundred and fifty thousand
men surrounded Frederick’s one hundred and fifty thousand. The king
had, however, interior lines and undivided purpose. His difficulty
in raising troops--and he had a press-gang in every country of
Europe--obliged him to give up fighting for manœuvring, like Hannibal
after Cannæ. He could afford battle only when he must wrench the
enemy’s grip from his very throat. He remained in Silesia watching
Daun, who induced the Prussians to advance into Brandenburg, by sending
Soltikof some reënforcements under Laudon.
Frederick must parry this thrust at his heart. He marched on the allies
and met them at Kunersdorf, and, though he had but half their force,
he attacked them with his usual impetuous valor. But the king was
over-impetuous that day. Ill luck beset him. His combinations would not
work. He tore himself to shreds against the entrenchments and artillery
of the enemy. He would have victory. Not until he had lost one-half his
army, nineteen thousand out of forty-two thousand men, would he desist
from repeated, obstinate assaults. He was the last to leave the field.
No such stubborn fighting is elsewhere inscribed on the roll of fame.
After the battle the king could assemble but three thousand men. The
allies had been too roughly handled to pursue (Aug. 12).
For once despair seized poor Frederick. He thought the end had come.
But his elasticity came to the rescue. In three days he was himself
again. Every one was certain that Prussia was gone beyond rescue.
Happily the allies were lax. Dresden was indeed lost, and Frederick was
cut off by Soltikof and the Austrians from Prince Henry, who were on
the confines of Saxony. But by a handsome series of manœuvres between
him and the prince--as beautiful as any on record--he regained touch
and reoccupied all Saxony except Dresden. And although he suffered
another grievous blow, and again by his own obstinacy, as at Hochkirch,
in the capture of twelve thousand men at Maxen, still Daun made no
headway, and the end of the fourth year saw the king where he was at
the beginning.
The characteristic of 1760 was a series of wonderful manœuvres.
Frederick, from Saxony, had to march to the relief of Breslau,
threatened by Laudon. He had thirty thousand men. The enemy barred
his passage (August) with ninety thousand, and the Russians were
near by with twenty-four thousand more. Despite this fearful odds of
four to one, despite the unwonted activity of the enemy, Frederick,
by unheard-of feats of marching, the most extraordinary schemes for
eluding his adversaries, strategic turns and twists by day and night,
the most restless activity and untiring watchfulness, actually made his
way to Silesia, beat the Austrian right at Liegnitz and marched into
Breslau safe and sound, and with martial music and colors flying. No
parallel exhibition of clean grit and nimble-footedness can be found.
From Breslau as base, Frederick then turned on Daun in the Glatz region.
The Russians and Austrians now moved on Berlin, and while Frederick
followed, Daun marched towards Saxony (October). The king by no means
proposed to give up this province. To its fruitful fields he was
indebted for too much in breadstuffs and war material for a moment
peaceably to yield them up. His stubbornness had grown by misfortune.
Knowing full well that failure meant the dismemberment of Prussia, he
was ready to sacrifice every man in the ranks and every coin in the
treasury, and himself fall in his tracks, rather than yield his point.
This wonderful man and soldier was made of stuff which, like steel,
gains quality from fire and blows.
The Berlin incident proved more bark than bite, and in the battle of
Torgau, though Daun and the Imperialists had over one hundred thousand
men to Frederick’s forty-four thousand, the king attacked their
intrenchments and won a superb victory (Nov. 3).
For 1761, Frederick’s forces dropped to ninety-six thousand men.
The enemy had the usual number. This, too, was a year of manœuvres,
which are of the greatest interest to the soldier, but need volumes
to relate. At the camp of Bunzelwitz, for the first time, Frederick
resorted to pure defence. The result of this year left the king where
he had been, save the capture of Schweidnitz by General Laudon.
Frederick was fighting to keep Silesia, and the close of each year,
through good and evil alike, saw him still in possession of the
cherished province.
The winter of 1761–2 was one of great bitterness to the king. His
health had broken down. On every hand the situation was clearly
desperate. No prospect but failure lay before him. He led the life
of a dog, as he said. Still the iron-hearted man ceased not for a
moment his preparations. He was resolved to die with honor if he could
not win. Had the outlook been promising in the extreme, he could not
have labored more consistently, even if more cheerfully. “All our
wars should be short and sharp,” says he; “a long war is bad for our
discipline and would exhaust our population and resources.” The theory
of the strategy as well as the battle evolutions of the king was the
saving of time by skill and rapidity.
The death of the Czarina and accession of Peter III. gave Frederick
a breathing-spell. This lasted but a short while, when the death of
Peter again changed the current. But the war from now on languished,
and there finally came about a peace on the “as-you-were” principle.
Frederick kept Silesia (1763).
Frederick had not been a strong boy, but in early manhood he had
gained in physique. His life with troops had lent him a robustness
of constitution equal to any drain or strain, and his wonderful
determination drove him to ceaseless activity. Later in life he was
troubled with gout. Even when seventy-three years old, and clinging to
life by a mere thread, he never ceased daily, hourly work. His efforts
were all for the good of Prussia, and his subjects recognized what he
had done for the fatherland. Zimmermann, the Hanoverian physician, thus
describes him in his old age:--
“He is not of tall stature, and seems bent under his load of laurels
and his many years of struggle. His blue coat, much worn like his body,
long boots to above the knees, and a white snuff-besprinkled vest, gave
him a peculiar aspect. But the fire of his eyes showed that Frederick’s
soul had not grown old. Though his bearing was that of an invalid, yet
one must conclude from the quickness of his movements and the bold
decisiveness of his look, that he could yet fight like a youth. Set
up his unimportant figure among a million of men, and every one would
recognize in him the king, so much sublimity and constancy resided in
this unusual man!”
And the same writer says of his palace:--
“At Sans Souci there reigned such quiet that one might notice every
breath. My first visit to this lonely spot was of an evening in the
late fall. I was indeed surprised when I saw before me a small mansion,
and learned that in it lived the hero who had already shaken the world
with his name. I went around the entire house, approached the windows,
saw light in them, but found no sentry before the doors, nor met a
man to ask me who I was or what I craved. Then first I understood the
greatness of Frederick. He needs for his protection not armed minions
or firearms. He knows that the love and respect of the people keep
watch at the doors of his modest abode.”
Frederick’s military genius was coupled with absolute control of his
country’s resources. Though Gustavus Adolphus was both general and
king, he was not an autocrat. The constitution of Sweden prescribed
his bounds. In ancient days, only Alexander stood in the position of
Frederick, and Cæsar, during the latter portion of his campaigns.
Hannibal was always limited in his authority. Alexander, working in a
far larger sphere, had personal ambitions and a scope which Frederick
lacked, yet each worked for the good of his country. Frederick was
not a conqueror. He fought to defend his possessions. His military
education was narrow; his favorite studies and occupations essentially
peaceful. But from history he had sucked the ambition to make more
powerful the country which owed him allegiance, and he had digested the
deeds of the great commanders as only a great soldier can. Unconscious
of his own ability, necessity soon forced him to show what he was
worth. Like the Romans, he laid down one rule: Never wait for your
opponent’s attack. If you are on the defensive, let this be still of
an offensive character in both campaigns and battles. This rule he
followed through life.
Frederick most resembled Hannibal. He possessed Hannibal’s virtue,--the
secret of keeping a secret. He never divulged his plans. From the start
he was a captain, and so he remained to the end. How did he learn his
trade? Alexander and Hannibal learned theirs under Philip and Hamilcar
in Greece and Spain. Cæsar taught himself in Gaul; Gustavus Adolphus,
in Denmark, Russia, and Poland. But Frederick had had no opportunities,
except to learn the pipe-clay half of the art of war. His five years’
retirement after his court-martial must have done for him more than
any one ever knew. The fertility of his intelligence, and his power of
applying what he learned, were the foundation of his skill. His first
campaign advanced him more than a life of war does the greatest among
others. The First Silesian War was a school out of which Frederick
emerged the soldier he always remained.
That Frederick was not a warrior for the sake of conquest was well
shown in his moderation after the First Silesian War. He demanded only
his rights, as he understood them. And after the Second Silesian,
and the Seven Years’ War, he asked no more than he got at the peace
of Dresden, when he might have made far greater claims. Indeed,
Frederick’s whole life showed his preference for the arts of peace.
After the glamour of the first step had vanished, war was but his duty
to Prussia.
Frederick had assimilated the theory of war from the history of
great men; but its study was never a favorite pursuit. He was a
born soldier. As Cæsar taught himself from ambition, so Frederick
taught himself from necessity. What he did had not a theoretical but
an essentially practical flavor. He rose to the highest intellectual
and characteristic plane of the art, not by imitation of others, but
by native vigor. Frederick had by heart the lesson of Leuctra and
Mantinæa, but it required genius to apply the oblique order as he did
it at Leuthen. No man has ever so perfectly done this. No one in modern
times has had such troops.
Frederick placed war among the liberal arts. Perhaps the least
straight-laced of any captain, he held that only broad principles can
govern it; that the use of the maxims of war depends on the personality
of the soldier and the demands of the moment. His “Instructions” to his
generals set out Frederick’s whole art. It is full of simple, common
sense; apt rules, practical to the last degree. But it was the man who
made them so fruitful. Just because they do represent the man they are
interesting in this connection.
Frederick is the first writer on the military art who goes to the root
of the matter. He always wrote profusely,--most plentifully in bad
French verse,--but his “Instructions” are admirable throughout. At the
head of the paper stands this motto: “Always move into the field sooner
than the enemy;” and this was his course in campaign and battle alike.
He asked of the enemy a categorical _yes_ or _no_ to his ultimatum,
and upon _no_ struck an instant blow. So novel was Frederick’s quick
decisiveness that he was at first looked upon in Europe as a rank
disturber of the peace. But his was only the old Roman method revamped.
Underlying this rule was the good of Prussia. This motive he ground
into his men’s souls. He demanded as a daily habit extraordinary
exertions. His men must perform the unusual at all times. And “from
highest officer to last private, no one is to argue, but to obey,” says
he. A habit of obedience supplanted fear of punishment. The king’s
zeal flowed down through every channel to the ranks. He was himself
notoriously the hardest-worked man in Prussia, and his men appreciated
the fact.
Next in importance to discipline comes the care of the troops. In
his day subsistence tied armies down to predetermined manœuvres.
Frederick carried his rations with him, and in his rapid movements made
requisitions on the country, as Napoleon, a generation later, did more
fully.
Then follows the study of topography. Positions were to Frederick only
links in a chain, or resting places, but he ably utilized the lay of
the land in his battles. He taught his generals, wherever they might
be, to look at the surrounding country and ask themselves, “What should
I do if I was suddenly attacked in this position?” He enunciated many
maxims scarcely known at his day. “If you divide your forces you will
be beaten in detail. If you wish to deliver a battle bring together as
many troops as possible.” Frederick did not try to keep everything, but
put all his energy into the one important matter. His was no hard and
fast system. He did what was most apt. His battle plans were conceived
instantly on the ground. What was intricate to others was simple to him
and to the Prussian army. Frederick held Hannibal up as a pattern.
“Always,” said the king, “lead the enemy to believe you will do the
very reverse of what you intend to do.”
Minor operations are clearly treated of. In general the _motif_ of
these “Instructions” is attack and initiative. “Prussians,” said he,
“are invariably to attack the enemy.” Close with him even if weaker.
Make up for weakness by boldness and energy. He opposed passive
defence. Every one of his battles was offensive. He complained, indeed,
that he had to risk much all his life.
Frederick’s irrepressible courage under misfortune is equalled in
history only by Hannibal’s. Fortune was not his servant as she was
Alexander’s and Cæsar’s. He thanked himself for his good luck, or
rather his successes were due to the fact that he made use of good luck
when he had it, and threw no chances away. The magnificence of his
warlike deeds is traceable almost solely to his own mental power and
remarkable persistency. No danger or difficulty ever, in the remotest
degree, changed his purpose or affected his reasoning power. It was
this kept the ascendant on his side.