the greater part of its effect because the United States Government was unable to follow up the blow by landing a sufficient force. Exactly the same thing occurred in Egypt in 1882. The only results of the bombardment of Alexandria were the destruction of the city, the massacre of the Christian inhabitants, the encouragement of the rebels, who, when the ships drew off, came to the natural conclusion that Great Britain was powerless on land. Again, in 1899 the invading Boers found the frontiers unfortified and their march opposed by an inadequate force. It is essential, then, that when hostilities across the sea are to be apprehended, the most careful precautions should be taken to ward off the chance of an initial disaster. And such precautions are always possible. It is hardly conceivable, for instance, that a great maritime power, with Cyprus as a place d’armes, could not have placed enough transports behind the fleet to hold a sufficient garrison for Alexandria, and thus have saved the city from destruction. Nor in the case of a distant province being threatened is there the smallest reason that the garrison of the province should be exposed to the risk of a reverse before it is reinforced. It may even be necessary to abandon territory. It will certainly be necessary to construct strong places, to secure the lines of communication, to establish ample magazines, to organize local forces, to assemble a fleet of transports, and to keep a large body of troops ready to embark at a moment’s notice. But there is no reason, except expense, that all this should not be done directly it becomes clear that war is probable, and that it should not be done without attracting public attention. In this way strategy may easily keep pace with diplomacy; and all that is wanted is the exercise of ordinary foresight, a careful study of the theatre of war, a knowledge of the enemy’s resources and a resolute determination, despite some temporary inconvenience and the outcry of a thoughtless public, to give the enemy no chance of claiming first blood. The Franco-German War supplies a striking example. Moltke’s original intention was to assemble the German armies on the western frontier. The French, he thought, inferior in numbers and but half prepared, would probably assemble as far back as the Moselle. But, as so often happens in war, the enemy did what he was least expected to do. Hastily leaving their garrisons, the French regiments rushed forward to the Saar. The excitement in Germany was great; and even soldiers of repute, although the mobilization of the army was still unfinished, demanded that such troops as were available should be hurried forward to protect the rich provinces which lie between the Saar and Rhine. But the chief of the staff became as deaf as he was silent. Not a single company was dispatched to reinforce the slender garrisons of the frontier towns; and those garrisons were ordered to retire, destroying railways and removing rolling-stock, directly the enemy should cross the boundary. Moltke’s foresight had embraced every possible contingency. The action of the French, improbable as it was deemed, had still been provided against; and, in accordance with time-tables drawn up long beforehand, the German army was disentrained on the Rhine instead of on the Saar. Ninety miles of German territory were thus laid open to the enemy; but the temporary surrender of the border provinces, in the opinion of the great strategist, was a very minor evil compared with the disasters, military and political, that would have resulted from an attempt to hold them.
It is hardly necessary to observe that no civilian minister, however deeply he might have studied the art of war, could be expected to solve for himself the strategic problems which come before him. In default of practical knowledge, it would be as impossible for him to Duties of the War Minister. decide where garrisons should be stationed, what fortifications were necessary, what roads should be constructed, or how the lines of communication should be protected, as to frame a plan of campaign for the invasion of a hostile state. His foresight, his prevision of the accidents inevitable in war, would necessarily be far inferior to those of men who had spent their lives in applying strategical principles to concrete cases; and it is exceedingly unlikely that he would be as prolific of strategical expedients as those familiar with their employment. Nevertheless, a minister of war cannot divest himself of his responsibility for the conduct of military operations. In the first place, he is directly responsible that plans of campaign to meet every possible contingency are worked out in time of peace. In the second place, he is directly responsible that the advice on which he acts should be the best procurable. It is essential, therefore, that he should be capable of forming an independent opinion on the merits of the military projects which may be submitted to him, and also on the merits of those who have to execute them. Pitt knew enough of war and men to select Wolfe for the command in Canada. Canning and Castlereagh, in spite of the opposition of the king, sent Wellington, one of the youngest of the lieutenant-generals, to hold Portugal against the French. The French Directory had sufficient sense to accept Napoleon’s project for the campaign of Italy in 1796. In the third place, strategy cannot move altogether untrammelled by politics and finance. But political and financial considerations may not present themselves in quite the same light to the soldier as to the statesman, and the latter is bound to make certain that they have received due attention. If, however, modifications are necessary, they should be made before the plan of campaign is finally approved; and in any case the purely military considerations should be most carefully weighed. It should be remembered that an unfavourable political situation is best redeemed by a decisive victory, while a reverse will do more to shake confidence in the Government than even the temporary surrender of some portion of the national domains. “Be sure before striking” and Reculer pour mieux sauter are both admirable maxims; but their practical application requires a thorough appreciation of the true principles of war, and a very large degree of moral courage, both in the soldier who suggests and in the statesman who approves. If, however, the soldier and the statesman are supported by an enlightened public, sufficiently acquainted with war to realize that patience is to be preferred to precipitation, that retreat, though inglorious, is not necessarily humiliating, their task is very considerably lightened. Nothing is more significant than a comparison between the Paris press in 1870 and the American Confederate press in 1864. In the one case, even after the disastrous results of the first encounters had proved the superior strength and readiness of the enemy, the French people, with all the heat of presumptuous ignorance, cried out for more battles, for an immediate offensive, for a desperate defence of the frontier provinces. So fierce was their clamour that both the generals and the government hesitated, until it was too late, to advise the retreat of Bazaine’s army; and when that army had been cut off at Metz, the pressure of public opinion was so great that the last reserve of France was dispatched to Sedan on one of the maddest enterprises ever undertaken by a civilized state. In 1864, on the other hand, while Lee in Virginia and Johnston in the west were retreating from position to position, and the huge hosts of the Union were gradually converging on the very heart of the Confederacy, the Southern press, aware that every backward step made the Federal task more difficult, had nothing but praise for the caution which controlled the movements of their armies. But the Southern press, in three crowded years of conflict, had learned something of war. In 1866 and 1870 the German press was so carefully muzzled that even had there been occasion it could have done nothing to prejudice public opinion. Thus both the sovereign and the generals were backed by the popular support that they so richly merited; but it may be remarked that the relations between the army and the government were characterized by a harmony which has been seldom seen. The old king, in his dual capacity as head of the state and commander-in-chief, had the last word to say, not only in the selection of the superior officers, but in approving every important operation. With an adviser like Moltke at his elbow, it might appear that these were mere matters of form. Moltke, however, assures us that the king was by no means a figurehead. Although most careful not to assert his authority in a way that would embarrass his chief of staff, and always ready to yield his own judgment
