Great captains

Caius Julius Cæsar is the only one of the great captains who trained himself to arms. Alexander, Hannibal, Gustavus Adolphus, Frederick, owed their early military training to their fathers, though, indeed, Frederick’s was but the pipe-clay of war. Napoleon got his in the best school in France. Every Roman citizen was, to be sure, trained as a soldier, and Cæsar had had a slight experience in some minor campaigns. But the drilling of the soldier cannot produce the captain. And Cæsar began his military career at an age when that of the others—except Frederick—had ceased.

A comparison of ages is interesting. Alexander made his marvellous campaigns between twenty-one and thirty-three years of age. Gustavus Adolphus’ independent military career was from seventeen to thirty-eight, the last two years being those which entitle him to rank with the great captains. Hannibal began at twenty-six and never left the harness till he was forty-five. Napoleon’s wonderful wars began at twenty-seven and ended at forty-six. Frederick opened his Silesian struggles at twenty-nine and closed them at fifty-one; the Seven Years’ War ran from his forty-fifth to his fifty-second year. Cæsar began at forty-two and ended at fifty-five. Thus the only two of the great captains whose best work was done near the fifties were Cæsar and Frederick. Of the others, Hannibal and Gustavus Adolphus were most admirable in the thirties, Napoleon between twenty-seven and thirty-nine, Alexander in the twenties. To take the age of each in the middle of his military career, Alexander and Gustavus were twenty-seven, Hannibal thirty-six, Napoleon thirty-seven, Frederick forty, and Cæsar forty-eight. Or, to place each at the height of his ability, Alexander was twenty-five, Hannibal thirty-four, Gustavus thirty-seven, Napoleon thirty-nine, Frederick forty-five, Cæsar fifty-two.

Cæsar’s youth had been that of a young man of the upper-tendom, with a not unusual mixture of high breeding and vices, and was rather inclined to be a dandy,—but one of whom Sulla remarked that “it would be well to have an eye to yonder dandy.” In manhood he can socially be best described as a thorough man of the world, able and attractive; in stirring political life always remarkable for what he did and the way in which he did it.

When Cæsar was forty-two he was chosen Consul and received Gaul as his province (B.C. 58). Pompey, Crassus and he divided the power of the Roman state. Cæsar proposed to himself, eventually, to monopolize it. His reasons do not here concern us. For this purpose he needed a thorough knowledge of war and an army devoted to his interests. He had neither, but he made Gaul furnish him both. Let us follow Cæsar in a cursory way through all his campaigns and see what the grain of the man does to make the general; for here we have the remarkable spectacle of a man entering middle life, who, beginning without military knowledge or experience, by his own unaided efforts rises to be one of the few great captains. I shall speak more of the Gallic War, because its grand strategy is not often pointed out.

Cæsar’s object in Gaul was not merely to protect Roman interests. He needed war to further his schemes of centralization. On reaching the Province, as was called the territory at that time held by Rome in Gaul (B.C. 58), he encountered an armed migration of the Helvetii, moving from the Alps, by way of Geneva, towards the fertile lowlands. This was a dangerous threat to the Province, and, moreover, to attack this tribe would serve as initiation to Cæsar and his men. He commanded the Helvetii to return to their homes, which being refused, he first outwitted them in negotiations, until he assembled troops, followed, surprised, and attacked them while crossing the Arar, and annihilated a third of their force. Then following them up with a cautious inexperience, but, though making mistakes, with extraordinary foresight and skill, he finally, in the battle of Bibracte, after grave danger and against heroic resistance, utterly worsted them, and obliged the relics of the tribe to obey his mandate. Of the entire body, numbering three hundred and sixty-eight thousand souls, but one hundred and ten thousand lived to return home. Thus began what will always be a blot on Cæsar’s fame as a soldier,—his disregard for human life, however brave his enemies, however unnecessary its sacrifice. Alexander, on several occasions, devastated provinces. But in his case the military necessity was less doubtful; and the number of Alexander’s victims never rises to the awful sum of Cæsar’s, nor was the law of nations as definite in his day as it had become fifty years before the Christian era.

Cæsar next moved against Ariovistus, a German chief who was bringing numbers of his countrymen across the Rhine to seize the lands of the friendly Gauls. Cæsar saw that to conquer Gaul he must eliminate this migratory element from the problem; for the Germans would be pouring in on his flank during any advance he might make into the heart of the country. Moreover, Cæsar’s actions always sought to forward Cæsar’s plans; only as a second consideration to protect the Roman territory. To place Cæsar at the head of the Roman state would best serve the Commonwealth. War he must have, and anything would serve as casus belli. But, though far from faultless as a statesman, Cæsar grew to be all but faultless as a soldier, and his present military object, the conquest of Gaul, he carried out in the most brilliant and methodical manner.

Cæsar ordered Ariovistus to return across the Rhine. Ariovistus declined. Cæsar moved by forced marches against him. After a useless conference, Ariovistus, who was a man of marked native ability, made a handsome manœuvre around Cæsar’s flank, which the latter was not quick enough to check, and deliberately sat down on his line of communications. Cæsar was thunderstruck. He endeavored to lure Ariovistus to battle, as an outlet to the dilemma, for he was compromised. But Ariovistus was well satisfied with his position, to hold which would soon starve the Romans out. Cæsar, not unwilling to learn from even a barbarian, resorted, after these failures, to a similar manœuvre around Ariovistus’ flank, which he made with consummate skill, and regained his line of retreat. Then, having learned that the German soothsayers had presaged defeat, if Ariovistus should fight before the new moon, he forced a battle on the Germans, and, after a terrible contest, defeated them, destroyed substantially the whole tribe, and drove the few survivors across the Rhine.

Cæsar had shown the decision, activity, courage, and quickness of apprehension which were his birthright. But underlying these was a caution bred of lack of that self-reliance which in after years grew so marked. He made blunders which in later campaigns he would not have made, nor was he opposed to such forces as he later encountered. Ariovistus had no great preponderance over Cæsar’s fifty thousand men. One rather admires in this year’s campaigns the Helvetii and the Germans for their noble gallantry in facing Roman discipline and so nearly succeeding in their struggle.

Next year (B.C. 57) Cæsar conducted a campaign against the Belgæ, whose joint tribes had raised a force of three hundred and fifty thousand men. By prompt action and concessions he seduced one tribe from the coalition, and by a well-timed diversion into the land of another, weakened the aggressiveness of the latter. He had won a number of Gallic allies. Curiously enough, all his cavalry throughout the war was native, the Roman cavalry being neither numerous nor good. All told, he had some seventy thousand men.

The Belgæ attacked him at the River Axona, but by dexterous management Cæsar held his own, inflicted enormous losses on them, and finally, from lack of rations, they dispersed, thus enabling Cæsar to handle them in detail. Many gave in their submission; others were reduced by force; disunited they were weak.

The Nervii, however, surprised Cæsar at the River Sabis, from ambush, and came near to annihilating his army. He had forgotten Hannibal’s lesson of Lake Trasymene. Nothing but stubborn courage and admirable discipline—the knowledge, too, that defeat meant massacre—saved the day. Cæsar headed his legionaries with superb personal gallantry, and his narrow escape made him thereafter much more cautious on the march. Out of sixty thousand Nervii, barely five hundred were left when the battle ended. Their fighting had been heroic beyond words. Their defeat and the capture of a number of cities induced many tribes to submit to the inevitable.

The best praise of this splendid campaign is its own success. The energy, rapidity, clear-sightedness, and skill with which Cæsar divided, attacked in detail, and overcame the Belgian tribes with their enormous numbers, is a model for study. But he still committed serious errors, of which the careless march without proper scouting, which led to the surprise by the Nervii, was a notable example. He was not yet master of his art.

During the succeeding winter the Belgæ again banded together, and the Veneti seized some Roman officers seeking corn (B.C. 56). This act Cæsar considered in the light of a revolt, and determined summarily to punish. The Veneti were a maritime people, living in what is now Brittany, whose strongholds could only be reached by sea. Cæsar’s attempts to attack them by land proved abortive, but his admiral, with a fleet built for the occasion, worsted the Venetan squadron, and Cæsar, with needless cruelty and distinct bad policy, put the Senate to death and sold the tribe into slavery. Cæsar was personally humane. These acts of extermination are the less pardonable. His lieutenants, meanwhile, had subdued a part of Aquitania. All Gaul, save only the tribes opposite the British coast, had, after a fashion, been reduced. This third year in Gaul redounds to Cæsar’s credit for the general scheme; to his lieutenants for the detailed campaigns.

The fourth year (B.C. 55) was tarnished by, perhaps, the most gigantic piece of cruelty ever charged to the score of civilized man. Two German tribes, the Usipetes and Tencheteri, had been crowded across the Rhine by the Suevi, the stoutest nation on the eastern bank. These people Cæsar proposed to chase back across the river. He marched against them, and was met by a suit for peace. Cæsar alleges treachery, on their part, in the negotiations, but his own version in the Commentaries does not sustain him. During what the barbarians deemed an armistice, Cæsar, by a rapid and unexpected march, fell upon them, and utterly destroyed the tribes, men, women, and children, whose number himself states at four hundred and thirty thousand souls. A few thousands escaped across the river. So indignant were even many of the citizens of Rome,—his political opponents, to be sure,—that Cato openly proposed to send Cæsar’s head to the few survivors in expiation. It is impossible to overlook, in Cæsar’s military character, these acts of unnecessary extermination.

Cæsar next made a campaign across the Rhine, for which purpose he built his celebrated bridge. It was a mere reconnoissance in force, of no strategic value or result. And the same must be said of his first expedition to Britain, which shortly followed. This was conducted with so few precautions, and so little knowledge of what he was actually about, that Cæsar was indebted to simple fortune that he ever returned to Gaul.

The second British expedition (B.C. 54), in which he encountered Casivelaunus, was better prepared and more extensive. But though these invasions of Britain and Germany show wonderful enterprise, they were of doubtful wisdom and absolutely no general military utility. Apart from the fact that they were unwarranted by the laws of nations, they were not required for the protection of the Province. “Cæsar observed rather than conquered Britain.”

During the succeeding winter Cæsar quartered his troops unwisely far apart, from scarcity of corn, and relying on the supposed subjection of the Gauls. This led to an uprising, the destruction of one legion and the jeopardizing of several others. The error of thus dispersing his forces was, to an extent, offset by Cæsar’s prodigious activity and brilliant courage in retrieving his error and succoring his endangered legions.

In the sixth campaign (B.C. 53), Cæsar again crossed the Rhine, with no greater result than added fame, and definitely subdued the tribes along the western borders of this stream. The work of this year was admirable in every way. At its expiration Cæsar, as usual, returned to Rome.

During his absence the chiefs of the Gallic tribes determined to make one more universal uprising, surround the legions, and, cutting Cæsar off from return, to destroy them. The leader of the movement was Vercingetorix, a young chief of exceptional ability, to whose standard flocked numberless warriors (B.C. 52). Notified of this danger, Cæsar hurried to the Province. He found himself in reality cut off from his legions, and without troops to fight his way through. He must divert the attention of Vercingetorix to enable him to reach his army. Raising a small force in the Province, he headed an expedition across the Cebenna Mountains, which had never yet been crossed in winter, into the land of the Arverni, which he devastated. Vercingetorix, astounded at his daring, marched to the rescue. No sooner had he arrived than Cæsar, with a small escort of picked cavalry, started for his legions, and, by riding night and day, faster than even news could travel, kept ahead of danger and reached them safe and sound. He at once opened a winter campaign, drew together the nearest of his legions and attacked Vercingetorix’s allies in his rear, capturing and pillaging town after town. The whole opening was a splendid piece of daring skill and brilliantly conceived.

Vercingetorix was by far the most able of Cæsar’s opponents in Gaul. He saw that in the open he could not match the Romans, and began a policy of small war and defensive manœuvres similar to what Fabius had practised against Hannibal. This greatly hampered Cæsar’s movements by cutting off his supplies. Cæsar took Avaricum; but the siege of Gergovia, which place he reached by cleverly stealing a passage over the Elaver, was not fortunate. The Gauls ably defended the town, while Vercingetorix aptly interfered with the Roman work; and by rousing to insurrection Cæsar’s allies, the Ædui, in his rear, he compelled the Romans to raise the siege. This was Cæsar’s sole failure in the Gallic campaigns. He returned to quell the uprising of the Ædui, on whose granaries he relied for corn, and was joined by the rest of the legions.

Shortly after this the pressure of the over-eager barbarians on Vercingetorix forced him to give up his sensible policy of small war. He attacked Cæsar in the open field, in an effort to cut him off from the Province, on which Cæsar, having regained his legions, now proposed to base. As always in such cases, discipline prevailed, and the Gauls suffered defeat; but Vercingetorix managed to withdraw without the usual massacre. Cæsar then sat down before Alesia, a town on holding which the barbarians had placed their last stake. Vercingetorix occupied it with eighty thousand men. Cæsar had fifty thousand legionaries, ten thousand Gallic horse, and perhaps ten thousand allies.

This siege is one of the most wonderful of antiquity. It equals Alexander’s siege of Tyre or Demetrius’ siege of Rhodes. The works Cæsar erected were marvellous in their extent and intricacy. So strong were his lines that even an army of relief of a quarter of a million men added to the garrison, was unable to break them. Alesia fell. Vercingetorix was surrendered to Cæsar and kept for exhibition in his triumph. Gaul never again rose en masse. By alternate generosity and severity, Cæsar completely reduced it to the Roman yoke.

This seventh year was a brilliant exhibition of Cæsar’s ability in engineering, strategy, tactics, logistics. His achievements are unsurpassed. He had taught the Gauls that they were not the equals of the Roman legions or nation. Still this courageous people was not subdued. They could see that although Cæsar was able to beat them wherever they met, he was not able to be in all places at once. They determined to essay one more uprising in isolated bodies. But this also failed, and Cæsar’s eighth and last year (B.C. 51) snuffed out all opposition.

It was no doubt for the good of Europe that Gaul should be brought under Roman rule. But it is questionable whether, under the law of nations, as then understood, Cæsar had the right to conquer Gaul. His duty was merely to defend the Province. Not so, however, thought Cæsar. All things bent to his ulterior designs. His cardinal motive was self. But accepting his theory, his purpose was clean-cut and carried out with preëminent skill. His errors lie more in his political than military conduct. Strategetically, his course was sound.

The Province, when to Cæsar fell Gaul as one of the triumvirs, was a species of salient thrust forward into the midst of the country. West and north of its boundary, the Rhone, lived allied peoples. From the mountains on the east danger was threatened by a number of restless tribes. The advantages of this salient were by no means lost on Cæsar, nor the central position which it afforded. He utilized it in the same fashion as Napoleon did Switzerland in 1800. His first war, against the Helvetii, was intended to and resulted in protecting the right flank of the salient, an absolute essential to safety in advancing into north or north-west Gaul. From this point, duly secured, northerly, the Rhine, and the Jura and Vosegus mountains protected in a marked degree the right of an advancing army, provided the tribes west of this river were not unfriendly; and it will be noticed that one of Cæsar’s early efforts was directed to winning the friendship of these tribes by generous treatment and effective protection against their German enemies. When he could not so accomplish his end he resorted to drastic measures. Cæsar thus advanced his salient along the Mosa as far as the Sabis, and could then debouch from the western watershed of the Mosa down the valleys of the Matrona and Axona with perfect safety. For, besides the friendship of the near-by tribes, he always kept strongly fortified camps among them. The line of the Axona thus furnished him an advanced base from which to operate against the Belgæ, and from their territory, once gained, safely move even so far as Britain, if he but protected his rear and accumulated provisions. Having subdued the Belgæ he could turn to the south-west corner of Gaul, against Aquitania. Cæsar thus exemplified in the fullest degree the advantage in grand strategy of central lines of operation. And his most serious work was devoted to establishing this central salient by alliance or conquest. Once gained, this simplified his operations to isolated campaigns.

There is nothing more noteworthy in all military history than Cæsar’s broad conception of the Gallic problem, nor more interesting than his self-education. It is true that a soldier is born, but he has also to be made; and Cæsar made himself more distinctly than the others. He began with his native ability alone. He went to school as Cæsar in the Gallic War. He graduated as one of the six great captains. Cæsar was always numerically weaker than the enemy, but far stronger in every other quality, especially in self-confidence and capacity for work. His legionaries would bear anything, and could do anything. They were very Yankees for ingenuity. Cæsar did not mix Gallic allies with his legions, as Alexander or Hannibal mixed natives with their phalanxes. He employed only native bowmen in addition to his native cavalry. He worked his army well concentrated. If he divided his forces it was but for a short time, soon to concentrate again. But he improved every chance to attack the enemy before he had concentrated. Speed of foot, with Cæsar, stood in place of numbers. His objective was always well chosen, and was either the most important point, or more commonly, the army of the enemy.

It was impossible that during this period of schooling, Cæsar should not make blunders—grave ones; but all his errors bore fruit, and raised the tone of both consul and legions. One can see, step by step, how success and failure each taught its lesson; how native ability came to the surface; how the man impressed his individuality on whatever he did; and how intelligence led him to apply whatever he learned to his future policy. No praise is too high for the conduct or moral qualities of the army. From Cæsar down, through every grade, military virtue was pronounced. In organization and discipline, ability to do almost any work, endurance of danger and trial, toughness and manhood, it was a model to the rest of Rome. And not only his legionaries, but his auxiliary troops were imbued with the same spirit,—all breathed not only devotion to Cæsar, but reflected his own great qualities.

Cæsar had some worthy opponents. Vercingetorix, Ariovistus, Casivelaunus, were, each in his own way, able leaders. That they were overcome by Cæsar was to be expected. Disciplined troops well led cannot but win against barbarians. The end could not be otherwise. And while the Gallic War does not show Cæsar—as the second Punic War did Hannibal—opposed to the strongest military machine in existence, it did show him opposed to generals and troops quite equal to most of those encountered by Alexander. The Gauls must not be underrated. They were distinctly superior to most uncivilized nations. Some of their operations, and all of their fighting, call for genuine admiration. They contended nobly for their independence. Defeat never permanently discouraged them. Once put down, they again rose in assertion of their liberty, so soon as the strong hand was removed. They were in no sense to be despised, and while Cæsar’s army proved superior to them, yet, in their motives and hearty coöperation, they were more commendable than Cæsar pursuing his scheme of conquest.

Anarchy in Rome and his disagreement with Pompey brought about the Civil War; this immediately succeeded the Gallic. Cæsar was ready for it. Pompey practically controlled the whole power of Rome. Cæsar had only his twelve legions. But these were veterans used to victory, and belonged to him body and soul. He could do with them whatever he chose. Cæsar was the embodiment of success, and fresh legions were sure to spring up at his approach. Pompey lived on his past fame; Cæsar, on to-day’s. Pompey had made no preparation; Cæsar was armed and equipped. Pompey controlled vast resources, but they were not ready to hand. What Cæsar had was fit. Moreover, Cæsar was shrewd enough to keep the apparent legal right upon his side, as well as constantly to approach Pompey with proposals for peace, which, however, he was no doubt aware Pompey would not accept.

Pompey was a man of ability, but age, as is not uncommon, had sapped his power of decision. He began by a fatal mistake. Instead of meeting Cæsar on his native soil, and fighting there for Rome, he moved to Greece so soon as Cæsar reached his front, and left the latter to supplant him in the political and armed control of Italy.

Cæsar was wont to push for his enemy as objective, and one would expect to see him follow Pompey to Greece, for it is a maxim, and maxims are common sense, first to attack the most dangerous part of your enemy’s divided forces. But there were seven Pompeian legions left in Spain, and fearing that these might fall upon his rear, Cæsar concluded to turn first toward the peninsula, relying on Pompey’s hebetude to remain inactive where he stood. He knew his man.

It had taken but sixty days for Cæsar to make himself master of all Italy. In six weeks after reaching Spain, by a brilliant series of manœuvres near Ilerda, in which he utilized every mistake Pompey’s lieutenants made, and without battle, for he wished to be looked on as anxious to avoid the spilling of Roman blood, he had neutralized and disbanded the seven legions. This accomplishment of his object by manœuvres instead of fighting is one of the very best examples of its kind in antiquity, and is equal to any of Hannibal’s. Meanwhile, Pompey had not lifted a hand against him. This was good luck; but was it not fitting that fortune should attend such foresight, activity, and skill?

Cæsar returned to Italy. He was now ready to follow his enemy across to Epirus. Pompey controlled the sea with his five hundred vessels. Cæsar had no fleet, and, curiously enough, had neglected, in the past few months, to take any steps to create one. And yet he determined to cross from Brundisium to the coast of Greece by sea. It is odd that he did not rather march by land, through Illyricum, thus basing himself on his own province; for a large part of his legions was already on the Padus. But he chose the other means, and when, with half his force, he had stolen across, Pompey’s fleet dispersed his returning transports, and so patrolled the seas that he commanded the Adriatic between the two halves of Cæsar’s army. This was not clever management. Cæsar was in grave peril, and simply by his own lack of caution. If Pompey concentrated he could crush him by mere weight. But, nothing daunted, Cæsar faced his opponent and for many months skilfully held his own.

Finally, Antonius, with the other half, eluded the Pompeian fleet and reached the coast, where, by an able series of marches, Cæsar made his junction with him. He even now had but about half Pompey’s force, but despite this he continued to push his adversary by superior activity and intelligence, and actually cooped him up in siege-lines near Dyrrachium. This extraordinary spectacle of Cæsar bottling up Pompey, who had twice his force (May, 48), by lines of circumvallation sixteen miles long, borders on the ridiculous, and well illustrates his moral superiority. But so bold a proceeding could not last. Combats became frequent, and grew in importance. The first battle of Dyrrachium was won by Cæsar. The second proved disastrous, but still Cæsar held on. The third battle was a decisive defeat for Cæsar, but this great man’s control over his troops was such that he withdrew them in good condition and courage, and eluded Pompey’s pursuit. In fact, the defeat both shamed and encouraged his legionaries. Cæsar’s position and plan had been so eccentric that it was from the beginning doomed to failure. It was one of those cases where his enterprise outran his discretion.

Cæsar now moved inland, to gain elbow-room to manœuvre. Pompey followed, each drawing in his outlying forces. The rival armies finally faced each other at Pharsalus.

Pompey commanded a force sufficient to hold Cæsar at his mercy. So certain were his friends of victory that already they saw their chief at the head of the Roman state, and quarrelled about the honors and spoils. The cry to be led against Cæsar grew among soldiers and courtiers alike.

Pompey believed that Cæsar’s troops were not of the best; that he had few Gallic veterans; that his young soldiers could not stand adversity; that his own cavalry was superior to Cæsar’s; and that with the preponderance of numbers there could be no doubt of victory. There was abundant reason for his belief. But one lame premise lay in his argument. He forgot that he had Cæsar in his front. The great weakness in Pompey’s army was the lack of one head, one purpose to control and direct events.

Cæsar, on the other hand, was his army. The whole body was instinct with his purpose. From low to high all worked on his own method. He controlled its every mood and act. He was the main-spring and balance-wheel alike. And he now felt that he could again rely upon his legions,—perhaps better than before their late defeat. He proposed to bring Pompey to battle.

The test soon came. In the battle of Pharsalus (Aug. 48) Pompey was, by tactical ability on Cæsar’s part and by the disgraceful conduct of his own cavalry, wholly defeated; fifteen thousand of his army were killed and twenty-four thousand captured. Pompey himself fled to Egypt, where he was murdered. In eighteen months from taking up arms, Cæsar had made himself master of the world by defeating the only man who disputed him this title.

Cæsar now committed one of those foolhardy acts of which several mar his reputation for wisdom, and from which only “Cæsar’s luck” delivered him. He followed Pompey to Egypt with but three thousand men, and attempted to dictate to the Government. In consequence of this heedless proceeding, he and this handful—he, the man who disposed of the forces of the whole world—were beleaguered in Alexandria by an Egyptian army for eight months, until he could procure the assistance of allies. He was finally rescued by Mithridates, King of Pergamus, and the Egyptians were defeated at the battle of the Nile.

The months thus wasted by Cæsar’s lack of caution gave the Pompeian party a breathing-spell and the opportunity of taking fresh root in Africa. This was what necessitated the two additional campaigns, one in Africa and one in Spain. Had Cæsar, immediately after Pharsalus, turned sharply upon Pompey’s adherents; or had he taken four or five legions with him to Alexandria; or had he put aside the question of the rule of Egypt by a temporizing policy, and turned to the more important questions at hand, he would have saved himself vast future trouble.

The force he carried with him was absurdly inadequate. By extreme good luck alone was he able to seize the citadel and arsenal, and the tower on the Pharos, and thus save himself from collapse. “There seems to be nothing remarkable about the campaign,” says Napoleon. “Egypt might well have become, but for Cæsar’s wonderful good fortune, the very grave of his reputation.”

Cæsar was now called against Pharnaces, King of Pontus, who, during the distractions of the Civil War, was seeking to enlarge his territory. It was this five days’ campaign (Aug. 47) which led Cæsar to exclaim, “Veni, Vidi, Vici!” And here again he committed the blunder of opening a campaign with too small a force, and came within an ace of failure. Fortune saved Alexander in many acts of rashness; she was called on to rescue Cæsar from many acts of folly.

Cæsar had barely arrived in Rome when his presence was demanded in Africa to put down the coalition of Pompey’s lieutenants; and for the fourth time he was guilty of the same imprudence. In his over-ardor to reach the scene, he gave indefinite orders to his fleet, and once more landed on the African coast with but three thousand men in his immediate command, while the enemy had near at hand quadruple the force, and along the coast, within two or three days’ march, some fifty thousand men. But again Cæsar’s audacity stood in stead of legions, and gradually reënforcements came to hand (Dec. 47). Time fails to follow up this campaign. Full of all that characterizes the great man and greater captain, it not only excites our wonder, but puzzles us by alternate hypercaution and intellectual daring. After a series of movements extending over four months, during which he made constant use of field fortifications, much in our own manner, Cæsar absolutely overthrew the Pompeians (Apr. 46) at Thapsus and dispersed the coalition to the winds. Only the two sons of Pompey in Spain remained in arms.

An interesting fact in the campaigns of Cæsar, which cannot but impress itself on every American soldier, is the handiness of Cæsar’s legionaries in the use of pick and shovel. These entrenching tools, quite apart from fortifying the daily camp, seemed to be as important to the soldiers as their weapons or their shields. They often dug themselves into victory.

Cæsar’s manœuvring and fighting were equally good. The reason for some of his entrenching in Africa is hard to comprehend. Cæsar was a fighter in his way, but he often appeared disinclined to fight, even when his men were in the very mood to command success. He was so clever at manœuvring that he seemed to desire, for the mere art of the thing, to manœuvre his enemy into a corner before attack. His pausing at the opening of the battle of Thapsus has led to the remark, that while he prepared for the battle, it was his men who won it.

We cannot follow the Spanish campaign, which ended Cæsar’s military exploits, and which came to an end in the remarkable battle of Munda (March, 45), of which Cæsar remarked that he had often fought for victory, but here fought for life. We must treat of the man rather than events.

Cæsar had the inborn growth of the great captain. In the Civil War he made fewer errors than in the Gallic. His operations, all things considered, were well-nigh faultless. He first chose Rome, the most important thing, as his objective; and in sixty days, by mere moral ascendant, had got possession of the city. The enemy was on three sides of him, Spain, Africa, Greece,—he occupying the central position, and this he was very quick to see. He turned first on Spain, meanwhile holding Italy against Pompey by a curtain of troops. Spain settled, he moved over to Epirus with a temerity from which arch luck alone could save him, and, victorious here, he turned on Africa. There is no better example in history of the proper use of central lines on a gigantic scale, though the first recognition of these is often ascribed to Napoleon. In these splendid operations Cæsar made repeated errors of precipitancy,—at Dyrrachium, at Alexandria, in Pontus, in Africa. That, despite these errors, he was still victorious in so comparatively short a time he owes to his extraordinary ability, his simply stupendous good fortune, and the weakness of his opponents. In success he was brilliant, in disaster strong and elastic, and he never weakened in morale. It is adversity which proves the man.

Cæsar’s strategy was broad and far-seeing. His tactics were simple. There are no striking examples in his battles of tactical formations like Epaminondas’ oblique order at Leuctra, Alexander’s wedge at Arbela, Hannibal’s withdrawing salient at Cannæ. Though the military writers of this age exhibit great technical familiarity with tactical formations, Cæsar was uniformly simple in his.

From the beginning Cæsar grew in every department of the art of war. In strategy, tactics, fortification, sieges, logistics, he showed larger ability at the end of his career than at any previous time. To his personality his soldiers owed all they knew and all they were. Remarkable for discipline, esprit de corps, adaptiveness, toughness, patience in difficulty, self-denial, endurance and boldness in battle, attachment to and confidence in their general, his legionaries were an equal honor to Cæsar and to Rome, as they were a standing reproach to Roman rottenness in their splendid soldierly qualities. Pompey’s men could not compare with them in any sense, and this was because Pompey had made his soldiers and Cæsar had made his.

It is difficult to compare Cæsar with Alexander or Hannibal. To make such comparison leads towards the trivial. A few of their marked resemblances or differences can alone be pointed out and their elemental causes suggested; every one must draw his own conclusions; and the fact that the equipment of all great captains is the same will excuse apparent iteration of military virtues.

In Cæsar we can hardly divorce the ambitious statesman from the soldier. We are apt to lose sight of the soldier proper. The two characters are closely interwoven. In the motive of his labors Cæsar is unlike Alexander or Hannibal. He strove, in Gaul, solely for military power; after Pharsalus he worked with the ample power so gained. Hannibal was never anything but a subordinate of the Carthaginian Senate. He had no political ambition whatever; military success was his sole aim,—and this on patriotic grounds. Alexander was a monarch ab initio. His inspiration was the love of conquest,—the greed of territory, if you like,—but as a king.

As a soldier, pure and simple, however, Cæsar is on an equal level, though his campaigns were markedly colored by his political aspirations. Hannibal employed state-craft to further his warlike aims; Cæsar waged war to further his political aims. Alexander had no political aims. His ambition was to conquer; to make Macedon the mistress of the world, as he was master of Macedon, and then to weld his dominions into one body. Rome was already mistress of the world, and Cæsar aimed to make himself master of Rome. Each had his own motive as a keynote.

In personal character, Hannibal stands higher than either. His ambition was purely for Carthage. The man was always merged in the patriot. He himself could acquire no greatness, rank, or power. His service of his country after Zama abundantly demonstrates Hannibal’s lofty, self-abnegating public spirit. What we know of Hannibal is derived, mostly, from Roman writers, and these are, of necessity, prejudiced. How could they be otherwise towards a man who for more than half a generation had humiliated their country as she had never been humiliated before? But in reading between the lines you readily discover what manner of soldier and man Hannibal truly was.

In personal attributes there is a divinity which hedges Alexander beyond all others. Despite his passionate outbursts and their often lamentable consequences, a glamour surrounds him unlike any hero of antiquity. But in mind and will, in true martial bearing, all are alike. The conduct of each is equally a pattern to every soldier.

Alexander and Hannibal, from youth up, led a life of simplicity and exercise, and their physique, naturally good, became adapted to their soldier’s work. Cæsar led the youth of a man of the world, and was far from strong at birth. He did, however, curb his pleasure to his ambition until he grew easily to bear the fatigue incident to the command of armies. Throughout life he accomplished a fabulous amount of work, mental and physical. His nervous force was unparalleled.

Intelligence and character were alike pronounced in all. But Alexander, perhaps because young, exceeded Cæsar and Hannibal in fire and in unreasoning enthusiasm. Hannibal possessed far more quiet wisdom, power of weighing facts, and valor tempered with discretion. In Cæsar we find an unimpassioned pursuit of his one object with cold, calculating brain-tissue, and all the vigor of body and soul put at the service of his purpose to control the power of the Roman State.

In each, the will and intellect were balanced, as they must be in a great captain. But in Alexander, the will often outran the intelligence; in Hannibal the intelligence occasionally overruled the ambition to act; in Cæsar it was now one, now the other bias which took the upper hand. Alexander was always daring, never cautious. Hannibal was always cautious, often daring. Cæsar was over-daring and over-cautious by turns. This is perhaps to an extent due to the ages of each, already given,—twenty-five, thirty-four, fifty-two.

Each possessed breadth, depth, strength, energy, persistent activity throughout his entire career, a conception covering all fields, a brain able to cope with any problem. But in Alexander we find these qualities coupled with the effervescence of imaginative youth; in Hannibal, with singular sharpness and the judgment of maturity; in Cæsar, with the cool circumspection of years, not unmixed with a buoyant contempt of difficulty. The parts of each were equally developed by education. By contact with the world, perhaps most in Cæsar, least in Hannibal.

The high intellectuality of each is shown in the art of their plans, in their ability to cope with difficult problems in the cabinet, and work them out in the field; and with this went daring, caution, zeal, patience, nervous equipoise which never knew demoralization. With each, intelligence and decision grew with the demand. They were never overtaxed. Strain made them the more elastic. Danger lent them the greater valor. With each the brain worked faster and more precisely the graver the test. As good judgment became more essential, the power rightly to judge increased.

All were equally alert, untiring, vigilant, indomitable. But Alexander was sometimes carried beyond the bounds of reason by his defiance of danger. Cæsar’s intellectual powers were more pronounced in action than his physical. Hannibal was always, in brain and heart, the true captain; remembering his own necessity to his cause, but remembering also the necessity to his cause of victory.

All maintained discipline at an equal standard. All fired their soldiers to the utmost pitch in battle, all encouraged them to bear privation in the field, and bore it with them. All equally won their soldiers’ hearts. All obtained this control over men by scrupulous care of their army’s welfare, courage equal to any test, readiness to participate in the heat and labor of the day, personal magnetism, justice in rewards and punishments, friendliness in personal intercourse, and power of convincing men. In what they said, Alexander and Hannibal spoke plain truths plainly. Cæsar was a finished orator. But Cæsar and Alexander were so placed as readily to win the hearts of their soldiers. That Hannibal did so, and kept the fealty of his motley crowd of many nationalities throughout thirteen long years of disaster, is one of the phenomenal facts of history.

Personal indifference or cruelty can not be charged to the score of any one of them. Each gave frequent proof that he possessed abundant human kindness. But Alexander was at times guilty of acts of brutality and injustice. To Hannibal’s score can be put nothing of the kind. Cæsar by no means lacked the gentler virtues. Some claim for him sweetness equal to his genius. But he exhibited in the Gallic War a singularly blunted conscience. Peoples were mere stepping-stones to his progress. Judging Cæsar solely by his Commentaries, there goes hand in hand with a chivalrous sense a callousness which is unapproached. He could be liberal in his personal dealings, and unfeeling in his public acts; magnanimous and ruthless.

Alexander and Hannibal were ambitious, but nobly so, and generous withal. Cæsar’s ambition more nearly approached egotism. It was not honor, but power, he sought. Not that he loved Rome less, but Cæsar more. He was satisfied with nothing falling short of absolute control. But Cæsar was not miserly. Gold was only counted as it could contribute to his success. He was as lavish in the use of money as he was careless of his methods of getting it. So far as native generosity was concerned, Cæsar had, perhaps, as much as either of the others.

All three were keen in state-craft. But Alexander was frankly above-board in his dealings. Hannibal kept his own counsel, making no promises, nor giving his confidence to any. Cæsar was able, but underhanded whenever it suited his purpose. He could be more cunning in negotiation than even Hannibal, because less scrupulous. He could exert his powers to bring the wavering or inimical to his side in a most faultless manner.

In accomplishing vast results with meagre means, Alexander apparently did more than either Hannibal or Cæsar in contending with savage or semi-civilized tribes. The difference in numbers between Alexander and the Oriental armies he met was greater, as a rule, than anything Cæsar had to encounter. Yet on one or two occasions, as at the River Axona and at Alesia, Cæsar was faced by overwhelming odds. Hannibal was the only one of the three who contended against forces better armed, better equipped, more intelligent, and ably led. There is no denying him the palm in this. Of all the generals the world has ever seen, Hannibal fought against the greatest odds. Alexander never encountered armies which were such in the sense the Macedonian army was. Cæsar fought both against barbarians and against Romans. Not equal, perhaps, in his contests with the former, to Alexander, he was never taxed with such opponents as was Hannibal. It is difficult to say that either of the three accomplished more with slender means than the other. To reduce them to the level of statistics savors of the absurd.

Each devoted scrupulous care to the welfare of his troops; to feeding, clothing, and arming them; to properly resting them in winter quarters, or after great exertions, and to watching their health.

Fortune, that fickle jade, was splendid Alexander’s constant companion from birth till death. She forsook patient Hannibal after Cannæ, and thenceforward persistently frowned upon him. She occasionally left brilliant Cæsar,—but it was for a bare moment,—she always returned to save him from his follies, and was, on the whole, marvellously constant to him. Cæsar had to work for his results harder than Alexander, but in no sense like overtaxed, indomitable Hannibal. Alexander will always remain essentially the captain of fortune; Hannibal essentially the captain of misfortune; Cæsar holds a middle place. But had not Fortune on many occasions rushed to the rescue Cæsar would never have lived to be Cæsar.

In common, these three great men obtained their results by their organized system of war, that is, war founded on a sound theory, properly worked out. To-day war has been reduced to a science which all may study. Alexander knew no such science, nor Hannibal, nor indeed Cæsar. What was, even so late as Cæsar’s day, known as the art of war, covered merely the discipline of the troops, camp and permanent fortifications, sieges according to the then existing means, and the tactics of drill and battle. What has come down to this generation, as a science, is a collection of the deeper lessons of these very men and a few others, reduced during the past century by able pens to a form which is comprehensible. Even Napoleon was annoyed at Jomini’s early publications, lest the world and his opponents should learn his methods of making war. We must remember that these captains of ancient times were great primarily, because they created what Napoleon calls methodical war. It was many centuries before any one understood the secret of their success. But Gustavus, Frederick, and Napoleon guessed the secret and wrought according to it; and they made war in a day when busy brain-tissue could analyze their great deeds for the benefit of posterity.

Whatever their terms for designating their operations, the great captains of antiquity always had a safe and suitable base; always secured their rear, flanks, and communications; always sought the most important points as objective, generally the enemy himself; and divided their forces only for good reasons, at the proper moment again to bring them together. We find in their history few infractions of the present maxims of war, and only such as a genius is justified in making, because he feels his ability to dictate to circumstances.

War to these men was incessant labor, never leisure. It was only at rare intervals that they stopped even to gather breath; and this done, their work was again resumed with double vigor. Each sought to do that which his enemy least expected, and looked upon no obstacle as too great to be overcome. Each was careful in the matter of logistics, according to the existing conditions. Each was careful to husband his resources, and each had a far-reaching outlook on the future.

Their battle tactics were alike in suiting the means at disposal to the end to be accomplished, and in originating new methods of disturbing the equipoise of the enemy, and thus leading up to his defeat. Each of them used his victories to the utmost advantage. Even Hannibal, though after the first few years he was unable to reap any harvest from his wonderful work, continued his campaign by occasional minor victories, while awaiting recognition from home. Alexander’s and Cæsar’s victories were uniformly decisive; from the very nature of the case, Hannibal’s could not be so.

In field fortification, Cæsar was far in the lead. At a long interval followed Hannibal. Alexander made little or no use of this method of compelling victory. In regular sieges, both Alexander and Cæsar stand much higher than Hannibal, who disliked siege-work, and whose only brilliant example is the siege of Saguntum. Nor can this compare with Tyre or Alesia.

What has Cæsar done for the art of war? Nothing beyond what Alexander and Hannibal had done before him. But it has needed, in the history of war, that ever and anon there should come a master who could point the world to the right path of methodical war from which it is so easy to stray. Nothing shows this better than the fact that, for seventeen centuries succeeding Cæsar, there was no great captain. There were great warriors,—men who did great deeds, who saved Europe “from the civil and religious yoke of the Koran,” as Charles Martel did at Tours, or England from the craft of Rome and power of Philip, as Howard, Drake, and Hawkins did in destroying the Invincible Armada,—men who changed the course of the world’s events. But these were not great captains, in the sense that they taught us lessons in the art of war. The result of their victories was vast; but from their manner of conducting war we can learn nothing. Cæsar is of another stamp. In every campaign there are many lessons for the student of to-day. In his every soldierly attribute, intellectual and moral, we find something to invite imitation. It is because Cæsar waged war by the use of purely intellectual means, backed up by a character which overshadowed all men he ever met, that he is preëminent. Conquerors and warriors who win important battles, even battles decisive of the world’s history, are not, of necessity, great in this sense. All that Alexander, or Hannibal, or Cæsar would need in order to accomplish the same results in our day and generation which they accomplished before the Christian era, would be to adapt their work to the present means, material, and conditions. And it is the peculiar qualification of each that he was able, under any and all conditions, to fuse into success the elements as they existed, by the choice from the means at hand of those which were peculiarly suited to the bearings of the time.

Cæsar was tall and spare. His face was mobile and intellectual. He was abstinent in diet, and of sober habit. As a young man he had been athletic and noted as a rider. In the Gallic campaigns he rode a remarkable horse which no one else could mount. He affected the society of women. His social character was often a contrast to his public acts. He was a good friend, a stanch enemy, affable and high-bred. As a writer, he was simple, direct, convincing; as an orator, second to no one but Cicero. No doubt Cæsar’s life-work was as essential in the Roman economy as it was admirably rounded. But that he was without reproach, as he certainly was without fear, can scarcely be maintained.

In leaving Cæsar, we leave the last great captain of ancient times, and, perhaps, taking his life-work,—which it has been outside my province to dwell upon,—the greatest, though not the most admirable, man who ever lived.