Map 1
The projecting hills near the head of the column form an especially dangerous point. What easier than for an enemy to plant batteries here on either side of the road. A sudden, heavy fire would throw a negligent force at once into disorder; a situation to be taken instant advantage of by a vigorous adversary; a charge of horse concealed behind the hill at ‘O’, and nothing might be left except flight, with great loss of life, and surrender with loss—if not of honor, at least of reputation as a safe leader.
Happily, we shall avoid both alternatives. Our scouts have explored most thoroughly every possible vantage ground. They have not been content with any mere glances; their instructions are to take nothing for granted. That field, marked ‘G’, looks innocent enough, but the tall, thick rye or corn may cover a skilfully placed battery. The plot marked ‘M’ may be simply a vineyard; but it does no harm to inquire. The inhabitants of the country are friendly, and, therefore, the chances are not favorable to this sort of surprise; but in war it is often not the likely, but the unexpected that happens; the commander who knows his business guards against the remote possibility.
Though we have imagined a force of a thousand, it must not be lost sight of that the same kind of precautions should be employed for very much larger numbers; indeed, you need only alter the scale of the map, imagine additional roads, a railway line or two, increase to thousands, if necessary, the fifty of our vanguard, and the result is but an application of the very first principle of warfare: Eternal vigilance is the price of safety as well as of liberty.
The troops have been in camp for some time; their condition is excellent for a long march. As the corn and rye are not yet gathered, the time is early summer. The roads are in prime condition. They set out by sunrise and halted for perhaps two hours at noon. It is by thus sparing his troops during the heat of the day that the colonel will have a body of men fresh enough at nightfall to march, if necessary, all night. But no such urgency exists; it is nearing sunset, and preparations are now being made to encamp. By his map the colonel has informed himself in the matter of distances, and has decided that they shall pitch their tents somewhere in the vicinity of the village (‘F’). The scouts report an eligible location for camp at ‘S’, and this is finally chosen. It has several advantages, being comparatively level, and yet upon high ground, and has in close proximity several wells of good water. The train containing provisions and ammunition is parked in the safest locality, the horses picketed, and the guns—perhaps two or three field pieces and machine guns—placed where they can be most easily handled.
By all means, give the men as good a supper as the neighborhood affords. It will be wise not to encroach upon the rations, but rather draw supplies from the village; there are, no doubt, purveyors of one sort or another to be found ready enough to supply us, the more so that they will be amply paid.
Refreshed by their supper the men are ready to turn in at tattoo; by the time ‘taps’ have sounded most are soundly sleeping. But some are awake; if doing their full duty, wider awake than ever they are likely to be in times of peace. The same attention to the bodily comfort of his men which impelled the colonel to give them a long rest at midday and a comfortable meal, applies with increased force to those detailed early in the morning for the night’s guard; during the march these have been spared as far as possible, even being allowed a lift now and then in an ambulance. Such privileges are not granted by a commander who knows his craft as a concession to the laziness, but rather as a preparation for the effectiveness of his men. This is a principle of action, and may apply to business as well as war, that the strong head never withholds reasonable and proper indulgence; the better, it may be said, to enforce at needful times reasonable and proper exertions.
As soon as the camp is established the guards are posted. If great precautions were needed during the day, much more are they by night.If fifty were sufficient on the march we need a hundred during the hours of darkness. In the case of a large army an elaborate system of night guards is necessary: First, ‘advanced guards’, occupying strong positions at some distance from the main body; beyond these are the picket guards; further still towards the front what are called ‘grand guards’, from which are thrown forward the outposts, to which the line of sentinels is directly attached. In case of alarm, the sentinels fall back upon the outposts; these upon the grand guards; they, in turn, if necessary, upon the pickets; the necessities of the case and the strength of the enemy’s demonstration determining the movements of the defense, even perhaps to the ‘long roll’ and rousing of the entire army.
In our case, no such elaborate system is possible; we content ourselves with outposts and the line of sentinels, all that will be needed, if vigilant, to guard against surprise. The colonel, attended by the officer in command of the guard, will select the sites for outposts. These, five in number, are marked by stars upon the map. The direction from which an attack is most probable is from the ridge (‘R’, ‘R’).
The men are usually on the sentinel line for two hours at a time, with opportunity for four hours’ sleep; that is, with shifts, or, as they are called, ‘reliefs’ of three parties, two hours on and four off. This is not, however, invariable, it being sometimes wiser to relieve the men oftener or not so often, this being regulated by circumstances—the state of weather, distance of posts apart, fatigue of the men, etc., etc. The sentinels will be posted on clear nights generally upon high ground; in bad or foggy weather the foot of the slope is preferable. The officer will see that no obstacle prevents the sentinel from retreating upon his outpost if attacked. The men will be directed to take advantage of any cover that offers, always to keep in easy touch with one another and watchful, never to raise a false alarm, but quickly and decidedly a real one, and while not failing to discover the meaning of anything unusual in their front, never to expose themselves from mere bravado.
What measures shall be taken in case of an attack in force must, of course, depend entirely upon circumstances. A night attack, intended merely as an annoyance, or ‘feeler’, or at most to stampede some of the cattle, or to gather information as to strength, resources, etc., is quite a different affair from one planned for the purpose of complete victory, either the destruction, dispersal or capture of the command.
A mere night foray is generally executed by comparatively few. The opposing chief may be desirous of getting information concerning the force that his scouts have reported is advancing down the valley. A little expedition like ours sometimes serves as a disguise for a momentous strategical movement. The chief determines to find out all he can as to our purpose. He has found us vigilant by day; he resolves to try what the night may disclose. This sort of surprise is apt to producebetter results than the project of some dashing subaltern, anxious for the bauble reputation.
For such an attack an hour near midnight is usually selected, that the information may be gathered or the mischief done and a retreat effected under cover of darkness. A dark, wet, blustering, or—if the time be winter—an especially cold night is chosen. The degree of success to be attained depends naturally upon the element of surprise. Unless this be complete the attacking party will find their attempt usually quite futile.
The other sort of attack—that which has for its object the capture of the position—is usually planned to take place during the extreme darkness just preceding daybreak. The enemy has perhaps crawled on hands and knees up the slopes towards the line of sentinels. The van of this force is composed entirely of picked men, officered by the coolest heads. Signals are agreed upon, exact times for action arranged, and everything calculated to a nicety to insure that suddenness which is the very soul of success.
It is in the planning of such an expedition that true qualities of generalship are shown. It is the fashion rather to decry the military merits of Washington; yet I know of few events in history that show more sagacity than the swift crossing of the wintry Delaware and the surprise of Trenton. It was sagacious chiefly for the accurate comprehension of the probabilities. Washington knew the convivial habits of Rahl’s Hessians, especially at Christmas-tide; he reckoned upon finding them in the midst of carousals, and the result proved the value of his forethought.
Under ordinary circumstances, on the march, to quarter a command inside four walls is never advisable. The men are not as readily under the eye of their officers; in case of surprise they cannot be called into the ranks as quickly; discipline insensibly relaxes, and the machine (for an armed force ought to be that, however intelligent its units) fails to respond instantaneously to the word of the chief. In case of a serious attack, however, the village may serve a most important purpose. Should the houses be substantial ones of stone or brick, each may become a most efficient, if temporary fortification. One consideration which might have prevented its occupation has now no longer any weight. Apart from any natural feeling of good will for our fellow citizens, how unwise it would be to unnecessarily exasperate them. But now in the face of the enemy, it will be surprising if any soul is churl enough to grudge a patriotic hospitality. Most of the denizens will, indeed, make haste to hide their precious persons in the cellar, but will seldom grumble at the necessity.
With the utmost celerity the baggage and horses are moved to the most sheltered spot; the guns, under strong guards, posted where theymay be best utilized; some of the men, previously detailed for just such an emergency, are engaged in throwing up earthworks, piling logs, stones, anything that can be utilized for barricades. The officer charged with that duty, if possible a skilled engineer, goes quickly from place to place, hurriedly indicating the lines of defense; these connecting the several buildings in such a manner as to enclose the entire command within lines of quite formidable intrenchments. All this time the troops, having taken possession of the houses, have poured an uninterrupted fire upon the assailants, obliging them to retire, or at least giving the diggers—or sappers, as they are called—time to complete their labor of defense. Surrounded by a force sufficiently large to make resistance in the field quite hopeless, we are at least in position to protract the struggle, and one capable of defense, except against an assault in overwhelming numbers, or against heavy artillery. The latter they are not provided with, or the measures we are taking might all go in the end for nothing. Several assaults are attempted during the day, but are easily repulsed with no small loss. The enemy at last withdraws, and we now see that he is busy throwing up intrenchments. Meanwhile, we have not been idle. To facilitate communication, and to enable us to concentrate our forces under cover, passageways have been constructed between the various buildings, inner partitions preventing free access from room to room within the houses have been broken through, and the débris, together with beds broken up, mattresses and ‘any old thing’ capable of arguing with a bullet, piled in the window embrasures, leaving loopholes here and there, as occasion offers, while galleries may be constructed with loopholes in the floor to fire downwards.
No. 2
One of the most important matters to be attended to is the securing of as many good positions as possible, from which fire may be concentrated upon exposed points. In a regular siege the points of attack selected will always be those most exposed, on account of their projectingbeyond the line of defense. In the case of a village like this resisting an attempt at capture the principles are identical; it will certainly be the points that project that will be danger spots and which will therefore require especial attention.
No. 3
You observe on the enlarged map of the village that there are double lines between the outer buildings; these are the improvised intrenchments. Notice that they have not been constructed flush with the face of the outer walls in any instance; but always considerably retired. The object of this arrangement is more effectually to defend the barricades. In the annexed sketch (No. 3) ‘A’ and ‘B’ represent the two adjacent buildings and the lines ‘CD’ the breastwork. In the buildings are windows—‘E’ and ‘F’—from which a heavy fire can be concentrated upon the assailants, as may be seen from the direction of the arrow heads. On the outer line are several projecting, and, therefore, especially exposed points; such as those at ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’. The arrow heads show the direction of protective fire. As additional protection, it might be wise to hold the two buildings (‘H’, ‘H’) outside the village. If not held, they ought, if possible to be destroyed, as also those marked ‘JJ’, not included in the defensive lines, as they offer excellent cover for the enemy. The utmost care should be taken to provide a safe magazine for the ammunition and to cover well the place selected for a hospital. The wagons and horses would be best protected in the space marked ‘LLL’.
Should our defense prove too obstinate for direct assault, it may be that the enemy will construct regular intrenchments from which to dig a trench deep enough to protect, and large enough to hold a body of troops, thus enabling them to approach sufficiently near to assail some weak point, without too great risk. The modern repeating rifle, dangerous at a thousand yards, and fatal at a hundred, has given the defense so great preponderance that it requires quick work indeed to capture a stronghold. Observe the broken lines ‘OF and ‘PF’; these show the direction of possible trenches dug by the enemy. But ‘OF’ would be raked by the fire from the outlying house, ‘H’; the other is, therefore, the only feasible mode of approach.
The principle of defense, shown by the direction of the arrow headsin the case of the beleaguered village, is applicable to all conditions where ramparts are used. Suppose the command whose fortunes we have followed had been attacked while on the march at the point ‘A’ onMap 1. The opposing force was manifestly too strong for resistance in the field; they retreat to the rocky eminence ‘K’ and there proceed to fortify the position. A glance atDiagram 4will show what they will try at least to accomplish. In military language that shaded portion of the work to be constructed is called a bastion; it consists of two faces (‘AX’ and ‘AY’), and the two flanks (‘JY’ and ‘HX’). The faces of this bastion are defended (as the arrow heads indicate) by the flanks of adjacent bastions; that is, the face ‘AY’ is swept by a raking fire from ‘ZE’, and the face ‘AX’ from ‘FG’. Reciprocally, ‘HX’ rakes the face ‘BG’, and ‘JY’ the face ‘ED’, and so on round the intrenchment.
No. 4
All that has been said as to protecting the ammunition and stores will apply to this work as it did to the village. If a spring of water can be included, as at ‘O’, this will be found of incalculable advantage. Of all forms of defensive ramparts the straight line is the worst; if time does not permit a work with bastions, however irregular, an enclosure shaped somewhat like a star is serviceable (shown inDiagram 6, Figs. ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’). Should an enclosed work be impracticable, the line should have its ends (or ‘flanks’) strongly guarded, and be broken up, as inDiagram 5‘D’ into short straight lines nearly at right angles, to serve for mutual support. This principle of mutual support, however achieved, is called that of ‘defensive relations’, and is capable of adaptationto all kinds of defensive works, whether of a few men beleaguered in an improvised fortification, a considerable number in a scientifically constructed work—permanent or field fortification—a fortress with an entire army behind its ramparts, or a cordon of forts surrounding a great city.
Nos. 5, 6
The ground plan of the work having been decided upon and staked out the men start in with pick and shovel, digging, if possible, a ditch, and throwing the material into the shape of the shaded portion of Diagram 7. The ditch, outside the fort, indicated by the figure ‘FGHJ’ serves the twofold purpose of getting material for the parapet ‘ABCDEF’, and for embarrassing an enemy in any attempt at assault. To further embarrass him every sort of obstacle that may be at hand should be put to use—trees, butts turned our way, boughs interlacing; stakes driven deep into the soil close together; barbed wires wound in and out; in short, every expedient that may delay his advance and keep him as long as possible exposed to our most effective fire.
No. 7
The drawing (7) was made with no attempt at exactness of proportion, and simply to show the essentials; the slope ‘EF’ is made as steep as the nature of the soil will permit; ‘DE’ slopes enough to enable a soldier standing upon ‘BC’ to fire upon an enemy entangled among the obstacles at ‘J’, but never enough to weaken the mass of earth at and near ‘D’.
Observe how common-sensible all these arrangements are; not one too many or too few; just the things that a practical man, if he could think as he felt, would do if suddenly called to command with an enemy advancing upon him. Unfortunately, perhaps, for the purposes of apatriotic and peaceful people, men are inclined, even though brave as courage itself, to get nervous or nerveless in the immediate presence of danger. This is the reason, rather than for any especial erudition involved in war’s art, that we need trained soldiers—men trained to think mechanically and to act automatically amid the uproar of battle.
No. 8
We have carefully, if briefly, considered the requirements of the first maxim of strategy—CAUTION—the need of it, and the practical methods of securing it; and also of the second maxim—DEFENSIVE RELATIONS—their necessity, and how to secure them. It now remains to consider the meaning of that phrase, ‘turning a position’, or ‘flanking’ an enemy, as to which of late we read so much in the daily press. The map (marked 8) gives an idea of a section of country where two armed bodies meet under conditions that permit one flank to be completely guarded from attack; these are the left flank of the force ‘A’, and the right flank of ‘B’. Both rest upon a lake or broad river. A steep precipice or deep morass, as at ‘H’, would serve as well. Suppose our force has advanced from the direction ‘C’, the enemy down the road from ‘E’ to ‘G’. Soon they form opposed lines facing each other, the reserve somewhat to the rear and sheltered by some inequality of ground, the ‘thin blue line’, almost, but not quite, touching elbows, stretched along the crest of the ridge in front, taking advantage of every chance to protect themselves—trees, stone walls, ditches; kneeling, crawling, lying face down, eyes along the rifle barrel, finger on trigger, keen and murderous, but prudent, and parsimonious of life. The solid formations, such as went out of vogue with old-time weapons, would melt away before machine guns and Krag-Jörgensens like frost before anAugust sun. It seems as if all chivalry had departed; it has but changed its ways.
The object of ‘flanking’ a position is to so manage as to turn that attenuated line into a mass of men upon which to let loose with dire effect either the quick-firing guns or the sharp edges of our horsemen’s sabers.
Notice those long, bent, black lines, bending like fish hooks. The arrow heads indicate the direction of a flanking attack; from ‘F’, through the woods, up the ravine, to fall upon the exposed end of the enemy’s front at ‘K’. Such would be our most feasible method of flanking; the foe might, however, have anticipated us, either by providing a bloody hospitality somewhere in that ravine, or by a flank movement of his own, as the bent black line shows, around the woods, to fall upon our right flank at ‘F’. Such an operation, if successful for them, would be utterly disastrous to us.
Surprised by a sudden and unexpected attack upon the weakest point and unable to change front in time, men lose heart, forget discipline, huddle in masses, confused and disorganized, or fly like sheep, in either case food for firearms, gluttonous of such occasions. It requires sometimes but a very small force upon a flank to produce great results; the appearance upon the field, even at a distance, of Joseph E. Johnston’s corps at the first Bull Run was sufficient to demoralize the whole Union army, and at the battle of Arcola, Bonaparte completely flanked the Austrians with a few flourishes of his trumpets.
So we have for a third maxim of war the necessity ofPROTECTED FLANKS. If we know or think that a Johnston lurks on either hand, we ought to be sure of our Pattersons; if we apprehend an unfriendly visit from a Blucher, we should see to it that our Grouchy is trustworthy.
Let us now broaden our view of operations, that we may see how the principles established for a limited number of men on the march, in the field, or behind fortifications, may apply upon a larger scale. To this end a brief study of the map (9) will show four contiguous countries—‘A’, very populous, powerful and wealthy, having a navy capable of control of the high seas, and a large and efficient army; ‘C’ represents a country even more populous, but not aggressive, ‘D’ an insignificant power, while ‘B’ is a country considerable in extent, but largely mountainous, and sparsely inhabited by a rude but warlike people.
A cause of war comes up between ‘A’ and ‘B’. In ancient times the ruder nation would have been the aggressor, tempted by the wealth and invited by the enervated populace of the larger civilization. Now the conditions are likely to be reversed. However, war begins; the forces of ‘A’ move hastily towards the frontier, while his fleet blockades ‘B’s’ solitary seaport at the point ‘E’. The maxim ofCAUTIONnownaturally expands; instead of information culled by a few daring riders from a narrow circuit, it should be made to embrace the widest area of country and the utmost latitude of information—the condition of the enemy as to armament, resources, position of forces, possible disaffection among the people—everything. In war no item comes amiss. The wealthier country will here have a manifest advantage; it can afford to hire spies, and can even (as England did during the Revolution) purchase the treason of some disaffected chief. Caution for the lesser country will—if good generalship prevails—take the shape of occupying and strengthening the natural strategic positions. These are nothing but flanks of a bastion on a large scale. Upon the map round black dots represent strategic positions along the frontier. They are points susceptible of thorough fortification which control the several passes in the mountain range between the two nations; also heads of valleys, where several meet, and from which attacks could be made at will in a number of directions. This entire frontier, which may be hundreds of miles broad, is mountainous, capable of being fortified at countless points, and having natural ‘defensive relations’ needing only the art of warcraft to render them almost impregnable. Modern murderous arms lend their services more readily to defense than to offense. It is even possible that the country ‘B’, warned in due season of the purposes of her powerful rival, may have plotted out each rod of ground among those mountain passes, and that artillery service, once a matter of gunnery, has now become a matter of mathematics.
No. 9
We now come to the fourth maxim of war; it is that of efficientSUPPLY. An army, as the saying is, moves on its belly. An invading force must ordinarily provide for all its needs from some safe place in the rear, called a ‘base of operations’; it must also provide that the line of transit of its provisions and ammunition to the front shall not be liable to interference. Assuming that at ‘F’ is a strongly fortified city, the railway line or the adjacent rivers would furnish ‘A’ with a practical base; his line of advance would be in the direction ‘FG’, called the ‘line of operations’; ‘G’, a fortified pass, the proximate, and ‘J’, the capital of ‘B’, the ultimate objective point of the campaign. But it will be noted with what facility a determined enemy could fall upon ‘A’s’ communications from the point ‘H’, which would also be the case were the advance made from ‘K’ towards ‘L’.
Of course, in the end, the larger resources will prevail; but it may be that ‘A’, baffled and exasperated by a stubborn resistance, and finding that ‘B’ is being supplied through the neutral and insignificant country ‘D’, may finally conclude, “in the interests of a higher civilization,” to violate their territory, seize the port ‘M’, and thus, by a far-reaching and bold flank movement, gain entrance into ‘B’s’ country. Such devices are not unknown in the history of war. Such a course would be a distinct violation of the ‘law of nations’; but there would be apologies and ample indemnity to ‘D’, with which, doubtless, she would be satisfied.
In imagining such a campaign no account has been taken of the attitude of the country ‘C’, or of that of any foreign nation. In war these things must be reckoned with. Neutral nations are always liable, however disposed to maintain neutrality, to be touched at some sensitive point by one or the other of the contending parties.
Thepolitical supremacy of the Caucasian race was supposed to have been decided by the fall of Carthage, more than two thousand years ago, but was thrice afterwards imperiled by an encounter with a rival of long-unsuspected resources.
The Scythians of Strabo were probably not Tartars, but Slavs (‘Sarmatians’), or, like their allies, the Getæ, Slavs, mingled with Teutons. Parthia, too, had a semi-Aryan population; but the campaign of Attila gave the champions of Europe a chance to measure their strength with that of a new foe, as shifty as the Semites, and of far greater staying-power. His Huns were undoubtedly Mongols, and came so near overpowering the inheritors of Roman strategy that at one time the fate of western civilization hung upon the issue of a single battle. The western coalition triumphed, yet its victory on the plains of Chalons (October, 451), was due to the numerical inferiority of their enemies as much as to the predominance of their own skill or valor. The very retreat of the vanquished chief established his claim to the prestige of a superlative tactician.
Again, in 1402, only the accidental quarrel of two Mongol conquerors saved Europe from the fate of its ravaged borders. Sultan Bajazet had vanquished all his western foes, and the union of his forces with those of Tamerlane would undoubtedly have sealed the doom of the Mediterranean coast lands, if not all of Christendom.
A hundred years later the generals of Solyman II. came very near retrieving the neglected chance. They vanquished Austrian, Hungarian and Italian armies, and in 1560 defeated the combined armadas of the Christian sea-power at Port Jerbeh—so completely, indeed, that the allies were eager to make peace by betraying each other.
And it would be a great mistake to ascribe these victories to a mere triumph of brute strength. That same Solyman, with all his fanaticism, was a patron of every secular science, and at a time when western princes had to sign their names by proxy, Mohammed Baber Khan, the conqueror of India, wrote essays in four different languages and published memoirs abounding with shrewd comments on social and ethical questions and problems of political economy. He was a poet, too, and liberal enough to compose a dirge in memory of a prince whom he had slain in single combat.
Ethnologically, there is, therefore, nothing abnormal in the outburstof intellectual vigor that has lifted Japan to the front rank of civilized nations. It is merely a revival, analogous to the dambreak of pent-up energies that followed the collapse of mediæval despotism. Instead of having to work out their salvation by tentative efforts, the Japanese, it is true, had the advantage of ready-made patterns, but that difference has perhaps been more than offset by achievements affecting the reforms of four centuries in as many decades, and by modifications which, in more than one instance, have improved upon Caucasian models.
“The organization of the Japanese transport system,” says a press dispatch from Taku, “was a revelation to western staff officers; bodies of troops, with their equipments of stores and camping outfit, were landed without a hitch, in quick succession, and moved to the front without a moment’s loss of time. No delay, no confusion, no blockades of wharf-boats and baggage carts; everything worked in smooth grooves and in evident conformity with a prearranged and oft-rehearsed plan.”
And in 1897, after the affront of the Russian intervention, the victorious islanders, compelled to forfeit half the rewards of their valor, proceeded to make the very best of the other half, and their provoked diplomats managed to preserve their dignity, as well as their complete presence of mind. The Japanese police enforces law and order without waging Blue-Law wars against harmless amusements; there are no associations for the prosecution of bathing youngsters, no anti-concert crusades, no suppression of outdoor sports on the day when ninety-nine of a hundred wage-earners find their only chance for leisure.
The ‘Yankees of the Orient’ have a code of honor without duellos, trade syndicates without ‘trusts’, giant cities and ghetto suburbs without anarchists. Their labor riots are settled by a dispassionate court of appeal. Their schools, Professor Arnold informs us, are hampered by ‘fads’ and experiment committees, but not by boards of bigot trustees. In spite of Buddhist conventicles, the emergence of the educated classes from the shadows of religious feudalism is a complete emancipation. The Japanese ‘Council of Finance’ has adopted American custom-house methods and Belgian systems of graded taxation. There is, indeed, a good deal of eclecticism in the supposed surrender of indigenous institutions; foreign methods have been adopted only on the evidence of their efficiency, and always with a view to making them subservient to national purposes. The key to the distinctive characteristics of the North Mongols can be found in Sir Edwin Randall’s definition of ‘Perseverance combined with shiftiness.’ The Asiatic Yankees can turn, dodge and deviate while keeping a pre-determined aim steadily in view, and it is by no means improbable that Mongol influences have impressed similar peculiarities on the character of the northeastern Slavs. Muscovy was a Tartar Khanate for a number of centuries, andRussian diplomats, since the days of Czarina Katherine, have accommodated themselves to emerging circumstances by crawling or strutting, without ever losing sight of the road to Constantinople.
In the shaggy Ainos of Yesso (probably the original home of our ‘Shetland’ ponies), that perseverance takes the form of mulish stubbornness. They strenuously object to foreign imports and stick to their sheepskin cloaks like Scotch Highlanders to their kilts, but in stress of famine seem now to take an interest in the harpoon-guns of their Russian neighbors, and now and then sell specimens of their poodle-faced youngsters to the agents of a transpacific museum.
Japan still produces athletes, as well as unrivaled acrobats, partly, no doubt, on account of bracing climatic influences, but partly, also, of a vice-resisting worship of physical prowess. About sixty years ago the slums of the large seaport towns were expurgated by a national revolt against the spread of the opium habit, and the consequent reform movement appears to have kept step with the Swedish crusade against the spread of the alcohol curse.
China may be forced into the arena of regeneration, but thus far seems to view the collapse of her ring-wall only as a blessing in a rather effective disguise. The policy of non-intercourse, indeed, had the sanction of a physical necessity in the opinion of as shrewd a statesman as the vizier of the great Kooblai Khan, who conquered rebels from Mantchooria to Siam, but recognized the hopelessness of ordinary measures for protecting the peaceful toilers of the eastern provinces against the predatory hordes of the northwest. A standard army of home-guards, he argued, would have to be composed either of natives who could not fight, or of foreign auxiliaries who might revolt; so, all things considered, it was deemed best to bar a foe that could not be beaten. Strategically, the plan succeeded, stone walls being then so inexpugnable to spear-armed besiegers that the proprietors of a stone-built robber castle could defy the wrath of the public for a series of generations. The Tartar marauders were kept at bay, but so were trading caravans and traveling philosophers; the disadvantages of all obstacles to free competition began to assert themselves. The nation, as it were, sickened in a marasmus of intellectual inbreeding. Protected incompetence propagated its species; monopolies flourished. The survival of the fittest no longer favored the brave; cowards and weaklings could find refuge under the telamonian shield of the big wall.
Within the last hundred years that process of degeneration has been hastened by two incidental afflictions—spring floods and summer droughts. The rapid increase of population has driven home-seekers into the highlands of the far west, and the destruction of land-protecting forests avenged itself in the usual manner. Every heavy snowfall in the mountains became a menace to the settlers of the lowlands; a suddenthaw was always apt to turn brooks into rivers and rivers into raging seas. The summers, at the same time, became warmer and drier. Famines, such as only India had seen before, crowded the cities with refugees. Charitable institutions were managed by agents of a paternal government, and paupers were rarely suffered to perish in wayside ditches, but hundreds of thousands were huddled together in parish suburbs and fed on minimum rations of the cheapest available food.
It was then that the masses were forced to apostatize from the dietetic tenets of Buddhism; abstinence from animal food became impossible; sanitary scruples had to be disregarded; whole settlements of famine victims were compelled to subsist exclusively on offal.
Millions of mechanics had to fight to struggle for existence by reducing their wants. The prices of food had doubled, and in order to pay the cost of one daily meal all luxuries had to be relinquished. Sleep and oblivion of misery became the only alternatives of hopeless toil, and those who could save a fewtaelsyielded to the temptation of supplementing those blessings by means of chemical anodynes. Opium-smoking became a national vice.
The ‘opium war’ did not rivet the yoke of that curse. It merely clinched the grip of a British trading company. The Chinese government had attempted to cancel their franchise, but only with a view to diverting its profits into the pockets of their own speculators. The total suppression of the traffic would have been not only difficult, but practically impossible. We might as well try to prohibit tobacco in North America.
Yet the results of these coöperating factors of degeneracy have stopped short of the extremes that might have been expected in a land of earth-despisers. Buddhism in its orthodox Chinese form is radically pessimistic. It inculcates a belief in the worthlessness of all terrestrial blessings, and considers life a disease, with no cure but death. And not death by suicide, either; the victims of misery must drain life’s cup to the dregs, to cure the very love of existence, and thus prevent the risk of re-birth.
The value of health and wealth is thus depreciated in a manner that might tend to aggravate the recklessness of life-weariness; yet the South Mongol is conservative, even in his vices. An inalienable instinct of thrift makes him shrink from senseless excesses. Tavern brawls are less frequent in Canton than in Edinburgh; the topers of the Flowery Kingdom get less efflorescent than ours, their love-crazed swains less extravagant. Absolute imbecility, as a consequence of poison habits, is a rare phenomenon in Mongoldom; nine out of ten sots remain self-supporting; the heritage of industrial habits is hardly ever lost altogether.
Nor should we forget to distinguish the primitive rustics of the inland provinces from the vice-worn population of the coast plains. Degeneration has not left its marks far above tide-water, and has hardly begun to affect the natives of the highlands, the Yunan hunting tribes, for instance, who, though South Mongols, have renounced the tenets of Buddha and adopted those of militant Mohammed.
Their chieftains welcomed war for its own sake, while the lowland conscripts were in the predicament of desert dwellers, caught in the flood of a sudden cloudburst. Thousands at first succumbed almost without a struggle; the levies drilled to oppose the Japanese invasion stood to be slaughtered like sheep, being, moreover, morally handicapped by a misgiving that the war with the champions of the north had been wantonly provoked.
Discipline has begun to break the spell of that apathy, but the desperate valor that surprised the veterans of the allies at Taku and Yangtsun had a very different significance. Fury supplied the defects of military training; the listless life-renouncers had at last been goaded into a frenzy of nationalistic resentment. It was the same delirium of retributive wrath that rallied a million Frenchmen around the standards of the invaded Republic, and hurled a horde of Russian volunteers into the bullet-storm of Borodino.
‘A united nation of fifteen millions is not vincible’, wrote Jean Jacques Rousseau, in reply to an appeal of the Polish patriots. South Mongols were supposed to be hardly worth an expedition of Caucasian regulars, but even a world coalition might find use for intrenchments if the vendetta rage of a war for national existence should arouse a land of 385,000,000 inhabitants.
Whether that storm will purify the social atmosphere of the vast empire or subside into the calm of exhaustion, is a different question. It would even be premature to accept the appearance of a few able leaders as a propitious omen of regeneration. In a land ten times the size of France the crisis of a fearful peril will always evolve a Carnot, a Danton and a Dumouriez, if not a storm-compelling Bonaparte.
The days of the West Mongol Empire, the dominion of the turbaned Turk, are undoubtedly numbered, but not as a result of national decrepitude. The successor of Sultan Bajazet will succumb, not as a ‘sick man’, but as a cripple; an invalid worn out in a fight against hopeless odds. Within the last hundred years the stadtholders of the Prophet had to defend their throne against Russian, Austrian, Greek, French and British attacks, and more than once against a West-European alliance, backed by African and Asiatic insurgents. Within that period 3,000,000 Mongol Mussulmans have perished on the battlefield, a million for every generation of an impoverished and not specially reproductive race. Their empire will collapse, but its defenders arestill the hardiest soldiers of Europe, the most unconquerable by hardships, wounds and hunger. The burden-carriers of Constantinople are still the stoutest men of our latter-day world. We might as well impeach the degeneracy of the Circassian highlanders, who resisted the power of the Russian monarchy for sixty-five years, and in their last stronghold stood at bay with drawn hunting knives—after blunting their sabres and exhausting a stock of ammunition purchased by the sacrifice of their herds and harvests. For these heroic mountaineers, too, were Mongols, kinsmen of the martial Turkomans and chivalrous Magyars. The Turanian race—a synonym of the Pan-Mongolians—comprises as many different types as the Aryans and Semites taken together.
In 1863 some twenty clans of the vanquished highlanders left the Caucasusen masseto settle in the mountains of the Turkish province of Adrianople. They will share the fate of their protectors, and may soon be obliged to follow their flight across the Hellespont.
But the final expulsion of the West Mongols will, after all, mean only that the Caucasians have recovered lost ground, and freed at least Europe from an intrusive tribe of their most persistent and most formidable rivals.
BA description of the religious beliefs of the Central Eskimo, based upon observations made by the writer, was published in the Sixth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology. The following account embodies observations which Capt. James S. Mutch, of Peterhead, Scotland, following a suggestion of the writer, had the kindness to make. The material for this study was collected by Capt. Mutch during a long-continued stay in Cumberland Sound.
BA description of the religious beliefs of the Central Eskimo, based upon observations made by the writer, was published in the Sixth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology. The following account embodies observations which Capt. James S. Mutch, of Peterhead, Scotland, following a suggestion of the writer, had the kindness to make. The material for this study was collected by Capt. Mutch during a long-continued stay in Cumberland Sound.
TheEskimo who inhabit the coasts of Arctic America subsist mainly by the chase of sea-mammals, such as seals of various kinds, walruses and whales. Whenever this source of supply is curtailed, want and famine set in. The huts are cold and dark—for heat and light are obtained by burning the blubber of seals and whales—and soon the people succumb to hunger and to the terrors of the rigorous climate. For this reason the native does everything in his power to gain the good-will of the sea-mammals and to insure success in hunting. All his thoughts are bent upon treating them in such a manner that they may allow themselves to be caught. On this account they form one of the main subjects of his religious beliefs and customs. They play a most important part in his mythology, and a well-nigh endless series of observances regulates their treatment.
The mythological explanation of all the prevailing customs in regard to sea-mammals is contained in a tale which describes their origin:
“A girl named Avilayuk refused all her suitors, and for this reason she was also called ‘She who does not want to marry.’ There was a stone near the village where she lived. It was speckled white and red. The stone transformed itself into a dog and took the girl to wife.
“She had many children, some of whom became the ancestors of various fabulous tribes. The children made a great deal of noise, which annoyed Avilayuk’s father, so that he finally took them across the water to a small island. Every day the dog swam across to the old man’s hut to get meat for his family. His wife hung around his neck a pair of boots that were fastened to a string. The old man filled the boots with meat, and the dog took them back to the island.
“One day, while the dog was gone for meat, a man came to the island in hiskayakCand called the young woman. ‘Take your bag and come with me,’ he shouted. He had the appearance of a good-looking, tall man, and the woman was well pleased with him. She took her bag, went down to the kayak, and the man paddled away with her. After they had gone some distance, they came to a cake of floating ice. Theman stepped out of the kayak on to the ice. Then she noticed that he was quite a small man, and that he appeared large only because he had been sitting on a high seat. Then she began to cry, while he laughed and said, ‘Oh, you have seen my seat, have you?’ [According to another version, he wore snow-goggles made of walrus-ivory, and he said, ‘Do you see my snow-goggles?’ and then laughed at her because she began to cry.] Then he went back into his kayak, and they proceeded on their journey.