Page:EB1911 - Volume 10.djvu/744

CONCLUSION] a good deal of labour, and the defending force was scattered in houses and enclosures, so that control and united action were difficult. But the value of the ready-made protection afforded by walls was so great—and sometimes even decisive—that villages were occupied as a matter of course. This is certainly now changed, but precisely to what extent it will be impossible to say, until after the next European war. A village under fire is not now an ideal defensive position. A single shrapnel penetrating the outer wall may kill all the occupants of a room; a single field-howitzer shell may practically ruin a house. At the same time, a house or line of houses may (without any preliminary labour at all) give very good protection against shell fire to troops behind them. Further, the value to the defence of the slightest cover, once the infantry attack has developed, is so great that the ruins of walls and houses occupied at the right moment may prove an impregnable stronghold. This class of fighting, however, does not properly come under the present heading. For the details of the defence of walls, houses, &c., see the official Mil. Engineering (1908).

Entrenching under Fire.—Progress in this direction has been delayed by the reluctance of military authorities to add a portable entrenching tool to the heavy burden already carried by the infantry soldier. Further delay has resulted from the attempts of enthusiastic inventors to produce a tool that shall weigh nothing, go easily in the pocket, and be available as a pick, shovel, saw, hand-axe or corkscrew. A tool that will serve more than one use is seldom satisfactory for any.

The object of entrenching under fire is to enable attacking infantry, when their advance is checked by the enemy’s fire, to maintain the ground they have won by extemporizing cover where none exists. The need of this was first felt in the American Civil War, and towards the close of it a small entrenching

spade 22 in. long and weighing only 1 ℔ was introduced by Brigadier-General H. W. Benham into the Army of the Potomac. Since that time a great number of patterns have been tried, including shovel, trowel and adze types. The most popular of these has been the Linnemann spade, which is used by most continental armies and by the Japanese. The Austrian form of this tool is a rectangular spade with straight handle. The length over all is a little less than 20 in. The blade is 8 in. long by 6 wide. One side of it has a saw edge, and the other a cutting edge. For carriage, the blade is enclosed in a leather case, which is strapped to the pack or the waist-belt. In the British army the Wallace combined pick and shovel was used for some time, but was eventually dropped. There was always great doubt whether the utility of a portable entrenching tool was such as to justify the inconvenience caused to the soldier in carrying it. But the experience of the Russo-Japanese War seems to have finally established the necessity of it, and also the fact that it must generally be used lying down. For this purpose and for convenience in carrying it on the person, a very light short-handled tool is required.

The soldier lying down cannot attempt to dig a trench, but can make a little hole by his side as he lies, and put the earth in front of his head. A method introduced by the Japanese is that at each check in the advance the front line should do this, and, as they go forward, the supporting lines in succession should improve the cover thus commenced.

There are few things that soldiers dislike more, in the way of training, than trenchwork. For men unused to it, it is tiring and tedious work, and it is difficult for them to realize its importance. At the same time it is a commonplace of recent history that men who have been in action a few

times develop a great affection for the shovel. The need of trenches grows with the growth of firearms, and the latest feature of modern tactics is the use of them in attack as well as in defence. The observation has often been made—with what truth as a general proposition we cannot here discuss—that modern battles tend more and more to resemble a siege. The weaker side, it is said, entrenches itself; the other bombards and attacks. After gaining as much ground as they can, the attacking troops wait for nightfall and entrench; perhaps making a further advance and entrenchment before dawn. In the last stage the attack might even be reduced to gaining ground by sapping. In open and featureless ground, where the rifle and gun have full play, the trench is to the modern soldier very much what the breast-plate was to the man-at-arms, an absolute essential.

The most important point in connexion with modern field fortification is the effect on both strategy and tactics of the increased resisting power of the defence. A small force well entrenched can check the frontal attack of a very much larger force, and while holding its position can make itself felt over a wider radius than ever before. This must needs have a marked effect on strategy, and it is quite possible to foresee such an ultimate triumph of field fortification as that one force should succeed in surrounding another stronger than itself, and by entrenching prevent the latter from breaking out and compel its surrender.

In tracing the history of the science of fortification and in outlining the practice of our own time it has been necessary to dwell chiefly on the material means of defence and attack. The human element has had to be almost ignored. But here comes in the paradox, that the material means are after all the least important element of defence. Certainly it is inconceivable that the designer of a fortress should not try to make it as strong as is consistent with the object in view and the means at his disposal. And yet while engineers in all ages have sought eagerly for strength and refinements of strength, the fact remains that the best defences recorded in history owed little to the builder’s art. The splendid defence in 1667 of Candia, whose enceinte, of early Italian design, was already obsolete but whose capture cost the Turks 100,000 men; the three years defence of Ostend in 1601; the holding of Arcot by Clive, are instances that present themselves to the memory at once. The very weight of the odds against them sometimes calls out the best qualities of the defenders; and the man when at his best is worth many times more than the rampart behind which he fights. But it would be a poor dependence deliberately to make a place weak in order to evoke these qualities. One cannot be sure that the garrison will rise to the occasion, and the weakness of the place has very often been found an excuse for giving it up with little or no resistance.

Very much depends on the governor. Hence the French saying, “tant vaut l’homme, tant vaut la place.” Among modern men we think of Todleben (not governor, but the soul of the defence) at Sevastopol, Fenwick Williams at Kars, Denfert-Rochereau at Belfort, and Osman Pasha at Plevna. The sieges of the 16th and 17th centuries offer many instances in which the event turned absolutely on the personal qualities of the governor; in some cases distinguished by courage, skill and foresight, in others by incapacity, cowardice or treachery. The reader is referred to Carnot’s Défense des places fortes for a most interesting summary of such cases, one or two of which are quoted below.

Naarden was besieged by the prince of Orange in September 1673 and defended by Philippe de Procé, sieur Dupas. The duke of Luxemburg visited the place some hours before it was invested, and arranged with Dupas to relieve him as soon as he had collected his cavalry.

But the governor lost his head when he saw the enemy encamped round the place, and surrendered it before he had even lost the covered way. He was subsequently tried by a council of war and sentenced to be degraded before the troops and imprisoned for life. The reason the court gave for not condemning him to death was that they could find no regulation which condemned a man to loss of life for being a coward. (At that period the decapitation of a governor who was considered to have failed in his duty was not uncommon.) This man, however, was not wanting in physical courage. He was in prison at Grave when it was besieged a year later, obtained leave to serve as a volunteer in the defence, fought well and was killed.

A similar case occurred in the English Civil War. In 1645 the young governor of the royal post at Bletchingdon House was entertaining a party of ladies from Oxford, when Cromwell appeared and summoned him to surrender. The attacking force had no firearm more powerful than a carbine, but the governor, overawed by Cromwell’s personality, yielded. Charles I., who was usually merciful to his officers, caused this governor to be shot.

A defence of another kind was that of Quillebœuf in 1592. Henry IV. had occupied it and ordered it to be fortified. Before the works had been well begun, Mayenne sent 5000 men to retake it. Bellegarde undertook its defence, with 115 soldiers, 45 gentlemen and a few inhabitants. He had ammunition but not much provisions. With these forces and a line of defence a league in length, he sustained a siege, beat off an assault on the 17th day, and was relieved immediately afterwards. The relieving forces were astonished to find that he had been defending not a fortified town but a village, with a ditch which, in the places where it had been begun, measured no more than 4 ft. wide and deep.

At that period the business aspect of siege warfare already