Military Reform in Germany^[273]

The Italian war of 1859, even more than the Crimean war[274], established the fact that the French military organization was the best in Europe. Of all European armies, excepting the French, the Austrian army certainly ranked highest; and yet, in the short campaign of 1859, though its soldiers covered themselves with glory, the army, as a whole, could not win a single battle. With all due allowance for bad generalship, want of unity of command, and for the incompetent meddling of the Emperor, still the unanimous impression of the Austrian regimental officers and of the men was, that part of their want of success was due to an organization less adapted for real war than that of their opponents. And if the Austrian army—thoroughly reorganized as it had been only a few years before—was found to be deficient, what was to be expected from other armies whose organization was of even a more ancient date?

That the French were superior in this particular, was a fact not to be wondered at. No nation with any military aptitude can carry on petty warfare for twenty-five years on so colossal a scale as that of Algeria[275], without thereby developing to a high pitch the capabilities of its troops. While England and Russia had waged their wars in India and the Caucasus principally with troops set apart for this service, the greater part of the French army had passed through the Algerine school. France really had made the most of this school, which had been expensive in men and money, but very effective and fruitful in valuable military experience. After this, the Crimean war, another school on a larger scale, served to enhance the confidence of the soldier by showing him that what he had learned in his campaigns against nomadic tribes and irregulars, was quite as useful and applicable in a contest with regular troops.

That with such opportunities, a nation endowed with peculiar genius for the military profession, should have brought its warlike organization to a perfection exceeding anything attained by its neighbors—a fact proved beyond dispute at Magenta and Solferino[276]—nevertheless excited wonder, especially in Germany. The military pedants of that country had been so secure in their presumed superiority over the volatile, unsteady, undisciplined, immoral French, that the blow stunned them. On the other hand, the younger and more intelligent portions of the Austrian and other German armies, always opposed to martinetism, now at once began to speak out. The Austrian officers, fresh from Magenta, were the first to say, what is perfectly true, that the French carry no knapsacks in battle; that they have no stocks, no stiff collars, no tight coats or trousers; they are dressed in loose trousers, and a loose great coat with collar turned down, and neck and chest quite free; their head covered with a light cap, and they carry their cartridges in their trousers pockets. Where the men of the Austrians arrive fatigued, and out of breath, the French come up fresh and singing, and ready for any physical effort. Thus reported the letters of the Austrian officers fresh from the battle-field, and Prussian, Bavarian, and other officers soon chimed in. The awful fact was there. Soldiers had actually dared to face the enemy without all the cumbersome paraphernalia which compose almost all the glorious pomp and circumstance of war, and which taken together are equivalent to a strait-jacket; and in spite of the absence of this strait-jacket they had been victorious on every field. This fact was so very serious that even the German Governments could not close their eyes to it.

Thus military reform became the watchword of the day in Germany, to the great dismay of old fogies in general. The most revolutionary theories in matters military were not only pro-pounded with impunity, but even taken into consideration by governments. The first point was of course that of the equipment of the soldier, which had formed the most conspicuous difference between the two armies on the battle-field, and the discussion of this project was as interminable as the varieties of taste. An immense deal of ingenuity was expended on military tailoring. Caps, helmets, shakos, hats, coats, blouses, capotes, collars, cuffs, trousers, gaiters, and boots were discussed with vivacity and loquacity as if on such things alone had depended the fate of the day at Solferino. The Austrians were the most extravagant in their military fashions. From an almost exact copy of the French model (barring the color) they passed through Al the intermediate stages, up to the blouse and slouched, wide-awake hat. Imagine the stiff, conservative, staid, Imperial Royal Austrian soldier in the coquettish dress of the French chasseur, or, still worse, in the blouse and felt hat of the revolutionary German free corps of 1848. A greater satire could not be passed on the Austrian military system than that either of these extremes should have been taken seriously into consideration. As usual, the debate has been exhausted rather than settled; military old fogyism has recovered part of the lost ground, and in Austria, at least, the alterations in the uniform will, upon the whole, be trifling; while in the other German armies scarcely any change appears probable, except that the Prussian helmet, that pet invention of the romantic Frederick William IV, seems doomed to descend to the grave even before its inventor.

Next came the great knapsack question. That the French went into battle without their knapsacks was a piece of imprudence which could be justified by nothing but their good luck, and the warmth of the season. But should it become a habitual thing with them, the first reverse in cold or rainy weather would punish them severely for it. In fact, the general adoption of this usage would imply nothing less than that in every battle the beaten army should lose not only its artillery, colors, and stores, but the whole of the individual baggage of its infantry also. In consequence, a few rainy bivouacs would completely break up the infantry, reduced as it would be to such clothing as every man might happen to be dressed in. The real question, however, would seem to be, how the individual baggage of the soldier can be reduced to a minimum, and this is a point of importance which might easily be settled in a satisfactory way, if the items composing it were considered merely as to their real utility in a campaign; but the discussion in Germany has not settled it.

Beside the clothes question and the knapsack question, the organization of the various subdivisions of the army is also a matter much disputed. How many men should make a company, how many companies a battalion, how many battalions a regiment, how many regiments a brigade, how many brigades a division, and so forth. This is another point upon which a great deal of bosh may be uttered with the most serious and important face in the world. In every army the system of elementary tactics confines to certain limits the strength and number of companies and battalions; the strength of brigades and divisions find their minimum and maximum by the strength adopted in neighboring armies, so that in case of a conflict the disproportion between the larger tactical units may not be too great. To try to solve such questions not by the actual conditions as given by the facts of the case, but by an attempted recourse to first principles, is mere fudge, worthy perhaps of German philosophers but not suited to practical men. The increase in the number of the Austrian regiments of infantry of the line from 63 to 80, with a reduced number of battalions, will no more insure them "better luck next time" than the widening of their trousers and the turning down of their collars.

But while man-millinery and abstruse speculations on the normal strength and composition of a brigade occupy attention, the great defects and evils of the German military system are unheeded. What, indeed, are we to think of officers who most furiously discuss the cut of a pair of pantaloons, or of a collar, and who submit quietly to have in the German federal[277] army some twenty different calibers of field artillery, and an almost incalculable variety of calibers for small-arms? The introduction of rifled muskets, which offered such a splendid occasion for equalizing the calibers all over Germany, has not only been shamefully neglected, but has made matters worse. It is worth while to look for a moment at this confusion of calibers. Austria, Bavaria, Württemberg, Baden, and Hesse-Darmstadt, have one caliber—0.53 of an inch. With that practical good sense which the South Germans have shown in many instances, they have carried this most important reform, which establishes unity of caliber for five corps of the federal army. Prussia has two calibers; one the so-called Zündnadelgewehr, or needle-gun[a], about 0.60 of an inch, and the old smooth-bore musket, lately rifled on Minié's principle, about 0.68. The latter, however, is to be superseded by the former as soon as possible. The Ninth Army Corps has three different rifled and two or three different smooth-bore calibers; the Tenth has at least ten, and the reserved division has as many calibers almost as battalions. Now imagine this motley army in an active campaign. How is it possible that the ammunition belonging to each contingent can always be at hand when wanted, and if not, that contingent is helpless and useless? Excepting Austria, the South Germans and Prussia, no contingent can, from this circumstance alone, be of any real use in a lengthened contest. The same is true of the artillery. Instead of fixing at once upon one common caliber at least corresponding to the old six-pounder, which would thus in time become the universal caliber of rifled field guns, the Prussians, the Austrians, the Bavarians are now casting rifled ordnance quite independently of each other, which will only serve to increase the diversity of calibers already existing. An army in which such fundamental defects exist might do better than spend its time in quarreling about collars and inexpressibles, and the normal strength of brigades and battalions.

There can be no military progress in Germany so long as the idea is cherished in high quarters that armies are made for parade and not for battle. Crushed for a while by Austerlitz, Wagram, and Jena[278], and by the popular enthusiasm of 1813-15, this pedantry soon raised its head again, reigned supreme until 1848, and, in Prussia, at least, seems to have attained its culminating point during the last ten years. Had Prussia been involved in the Italian war, Pélissier could scarcely have helped inflicting another Jena upon her army, and the fortresses on the Rhine alone would have saved her. Such is the condition to which an army has been reduced which, in respect of its men, stands second to none in the world. In any future conflict between the French and the Germans, we may reasonably expect to see reproduced the features of Magenta and Solferino.

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